Second Fall

This Bo Fexler story was previously published at Muzzle Flash way back in February of 2007.  It's now been reprinted at A Twist of Noir.  Being able to tell what people want gives Bo an advantage; however, being willing to say anything to exploit that makes her dangerous. 

FFF 8: Time

I'm a little late this week... partly because I still thought the deadlines for F3 were Friday.  And partly because I really just need the whole week.  =/  I'm gonna keep trying the prompts, when they tickle my muse, but I already know I'm not gonna make any Wednesday deadlines.  ESPECIALLY not Wednesdays!

Anyway, here's my story for F3 #8...



Wasting Time
A Bo Fexler Story

The clock ticked off the seconds, each a piercing reminder that time moved forward.  It was already late on a bitter cold night.  The heat had turned off for the night—and the long holiday weekend—in the office building.  The cold workspaces, extra clean by some managerial mandate, were even more impersonal in the dropping temperature.

My shoulders were tensed, as if doing so would contain what little body heat remained in my body.  My fingers were so numb that I could barely feel the shape of the mouse as I navigated with it. 

Without the intermittent whooshing and humming of the heating system, the office was still, lifeless.  Only the barely perceptible whir of the computer fan, the faint click of the mouse button, and the interminable ticking of a clock on the desk next to the computer broke the still stillness. 

Everyone that normally worked in that office building was off doing holiday related things.  If not enjoying their families for Thanksgiving, they were tolerating them with whatever coping methods or alcohol they could manage, or just plain avoiding them at home or at the bar.  The Wednesday night before Thanksgiving is the biggest bar night of the year.  Few people work that night—besides the standard retail workers, law enforcement and emergency responders, and bartenders.  The occasional private investigator will put in a few hours, checking to make sure that a certain spouse is actually working late, rather than finding unauthorized reasons for giving thanks.  Then they, too, would join one of the normal Thanksgiving activities.  Being a PI, like being a cop, can be hard on personal relationships, though, with the odd hours and spying and trust issues that come with watching everyday people betray the trust of those who care for them. 

Luckily, I had trust issues long before I entered the PI business.  It makes the job easier.

The holidays no longer have any meaning for me beyond the normal ebb and flow of business as people increase or decrease their need to know the truth.  It’s just part of the passing of time.  One month to the next, one year to the next. 

I tucked my hands under my arm pits, trying desperately to restore some feeling to them, while the computer considered my request.  Fittingly, the machine turned a digital hour glass while we waited.  The sand grains didn’t move though.  It was an old machine, running an old operating system.  It made my job both easier and harder.  Security on that old computer was something of a joke.  And the man who used that machine wasn’t very good with computers.  The collection of empty folders named New Folder was amusing. 

The man who worked on that computer was at home with his wife and grown child.  According to the wife when she called me, he was pretty well trashed too.  That was why she'd asked if I was busy—or more importantly, was my time claimed by anyone else that holiday-eve.

 She'd first thought maybe he was staying out late because he was having an affair with some office girl.  But a couple days of surveillqnce showed that the husband was the last to leave his office, and did so well after everyone else.  Sometimes, he'd return to the office after a few hours at home, claiming he had things to do.  He had agreed to stay home the night before Thanksgiving, but promptly got plastered.  That meant she could take his keys—under the guise of keeping him from driving drunk.

So, while he was drunk, and his wife was working on a bottle of wine, I was snooping around the man's computer.  It looked like he had saved everything in the My Documents folder, without even the benefit of sub folders for organization.  Except there was another folder, buried among the system folders.  It was also named 'New Folder' but it wasn't empty.  It was quite full, actually.  Full of movies mainly, with the occaisional picture, too.  Renaming files was not part of his skill set, so I was able to tell the content without actually having to watch any of them.They had titles like Girl Takes Huge Dick and Young Blonde Likes Getting Rammed.  Not even any flicks about anal or threesomes.  As far as porn went, it was tame.    

I rummaged around in the man's internet history.  Nothing much there.  A couple porn sites, some random searches for trivia bits-- the sort of things people talk about in the break room and then Google to find out who was right-- and some searches for local addresses.  I searched for the addresses and found he'd gone looking for a bar, a floor covering outlet, two restaurants, and a sex toy store. 

With his not updated web browser, I was able to access his email, even though he'd logged out.  The session cookie was still available, so hitting the back browser until it activated the session cookie.  Except it wasn't worth the technical know how.

How the hell was I going to write up the report on this case? The man wasn't sleeping around.  He seemed to be avoiding his wife by going to the office after hours and, while there, watched porn.  And probably jerked off.   He had enough videos that he could watch for days.  Plus, given the dates on the files, it appeared that he went hunting for more every three or four days. 

 Hopefully she could accept that her husband was passing his time with porn and masturbation.  More likely, she would claim the investigation was a waste of time. 

For me, though, finding answers, no matter how mundane or disappointing, is never a waste of time.

Besides, I get paid pretty damn well for my time. 

END

FFF3-Deadly Coincidences

 Joining in with the other fine folks at Flash Fiction Friday.  This week was a themed word list with a suggested genre of suspense or horror.  I got the words, but I'm not so sure on genre.  I do know I'm not feeling the current title.  Here's my piece anyway.

Deadly Coincidences
A Bo Fexler Story
by Clair Dickson

The death of my car battery turned out to be an omen of the disruption death was going to cause in my life the next few days.  I had to cancel a meeting with my client and get a battery delivered from an auto parts place to the grocery store parking lot where I was stranded.  Canceling the next meeting with my client only bothered me in that my client was hiring me to find her missing niece, who she cared about greatly.  

As soon as the delivery hit showed up, it started to rain.  And the rain was predicted to continental for the next several days.  Regardless, I still had work to do, and to do it, I needed my car back from the dead.  I lost my umbrella in the hasty move to the new apartment, so I just stood in the rain while I installed the battery.

A couple people stopped and stared.  It’s rare enough to see a woman working on a car, let alone one who is tall, attractive, and standing in the rain.  To my surprise, the only comment was from a matronly woman who told me that I was going to catch my death of pneumonia out there.  I wondered what Louis Pasteur would think of such an enlightened comment.   

When I went inside, I found a shallow puddle of water on my bed.  It took a moment for the implication of that to set in.  My bed is fairly absorbent, so for there to be a puddle, there would have to have been an unfortunately large quantity of water.  A deluge. 

With a sigh, I went down to the land lord's unit and knocked.  And knocked.  The nosy old lady across the hall poked her head out.  “He's gone,” she snapped.

“Clearly.”

She glared at me. 

“I'll try later then.  Maybe he’ll be home tonight.  He likes to watch the Late Shows.” 

Her eyes narrowed and nearly disappeared in the wrinkles around them.  “He's gonna be gone all weekend.  Death in the family.”  She slammed the door on my incredulous response.

I debated between spending money on a hotel room or just sleeping on the couch.  The couch-- or rather my spendthrift ways-- won out.  I did flip the mattress up against the wall and put the bedding in the wash.  I was centering a bucket under the continuing drip when my cell phone rang. 

“This is Bo,” I answered. 

“Bo.  It's Raquel.   I'm gonna-- I mean-- I guess I don't need you any more.”

“Okay.  Why not?”

“They-- the police were just here.  They found McKayla.  Her car went off the road into a swamp.  The think it happened two weeks ago.”  She cried as she spoke, her voice wavering every few syllables.

“I'm so sorry for your loss,” I replied, the words automatic because my feelings were still sorting themselves out.

I was fired because the young woman I'd been hired to find was found already, and found dead.

After I hung up the phone, I sat on the couch a moment.  Then I grabbed my coat and went down two blocks.

The church was old, styled in a Gothic sort of way with narrow arches and tall stained glass windows depicting scenes from Jesus's life.  I hadn't been to church since I was a child and I couldn't articulate what I thought my visit would do or get.

But it seemed like a good idea.

END

Too Pretty

The latest Bo Fexler story has indeed found a home.  This little flash piece follows Bo as her attempts to seduce a man at the bar don't go as planned.  Being a pretty girl doesn't mean she gets everything she wants... find out what happens in "Too Pretty" over at Twist of Noir.

Fun author's note about this story: it was composed entirely on my cell phone using Mobile Word, and almost completely with T9.  I still hate T9, but it was the only way to write with one hand while I held my son in the other.  Since T9 doesn't have quote marks, I used parentheses in the original draft.  And thus, a shred of my sanity was preserved.

Out of It... And Getting Back Into It

It's been more than a year since I spent much time on short stories.  And almost as long since I paid much attention to the ever-changing landscape of short mystery/crime fiction markets.

No, this is not a post on why.  This is a post on lamenting how much work it seems like it's going to be to get back up to speed.  I have a new short story that I finished and polished up that is ready for a home.  But I don't even know where to begin looking at markets.  Most of my old-standby's are long gone.

I admit also having some of that new-writer trepidation, afraid that my work isn't going to be good enough.  It has been a good long while since I wrote and submitted anything new.  (And everything I did submit in the past year was soundly rejected.)  

It doesn't help that story in question is one of those hard-to-classify the sub-genre shorts.  It's a Bo Fexler story, of course.  I don't think it's either crime fiction or a mystery.  Just a 550 word short story that's maybe a little noir-- with a hot female detective as the lead character.  

It feels like I'm starting over, but I still have that taste of success from those two years where Bo Fexler was strutting her stuff through so many of the mystery & crime zines. 

Finally!

New Bo Fexler short story, Hit Women, up today at Beat to a Pulp. The story starts with Bo getting her ass kicked-- so what's she do about it? Check it out.

I wouldn't want to get on her bad side.

And I have to admit, I love the idea of a hit man being a woman...
(Yes, I love the Kill Bill movies.)

A New Bo Fexler Story

The short story "Least Favorite Son" is up at Darkest Before the Dawn this morning. A missing tree stand, a neighborhood feud, and, as the title suggests, a Least-Favorite Son.

This story has a piece of character development that is of great, recurring interest to me. I'm fascinated by who a person becomes-- because of, or in spite of, their past. Does the Least-Favorite Son try, still, desperately to gain affection? Or does he pretend he doesn't care? Or, a third option, does he try to return the favor of years of hurt?

Oh, one last note on this story-- it was inspired by a true case in my local paper. I ripped this story out of the police blotter some time ago. All the police blotter had was the bit about the missing tree stand. Without any witnesses or leads, the case was closed. That didn't seem right to me, so, fictionally, I reopened the case and solved it. ;-)

Anyway, enjoy the story. I've got a few others out on submission, so there is hope for new Bo Fexler short stories in the coming weeks and months.

Another Bo Fexler Story

Bo Fexler has made her first appearance in the new zine Crooked. You can click here for the PDF of Crooked #2 with my short story "Black and Pink and Blond All Over."

This is a longer one, but I think it's worth it. It's got a car chase, some seduction, and some clever investigation by a woman who's as smart as she is sexy. Another typical Bo Fexler story.

And while you're there, don't forget to check out the other stories. Patti Abbott's got one in this issue of Crooked. And she always writes great shorts.

Hey, look! It's a story!

It's been a long long time, but finally there's another new Bo Fexler story out. Yellow Mama's latest issue includes "Mighty Maids Mystery."

A maid is found dead in one of the houses she's cleaning. Can Bo figure out who did it? Well, of course. It's more a matter of how she finds out and who's behind it.

I miss Bo as much as the rest of you. She's been out on hiatus for a while. I'm hoping she'll be back for Christmas. Bo in a Santa hat... now there's something to find under the tree. ;-)

Fall Flash Fiction Challenge

Patti Abbott posted a Flash Fiction Challenge. I took the challenge. (Don't read this is you don't like naughty bits. ;-)

Weaker Sex
A Bo Fexler Story

His gaze fixed on my tits. Inside, where air conditioning dropped the temperatures to sub-arctic, I was cold. The thin little bra that's more than enough for my perky pair surely showed the physiological reaction to the cold. Often mistaken for arousal. I'm not the sort of girl to mess with a man's sexual misconceptions.

"You must be Ian," I cooed. When he managed to get his head to nod, I slid into the seat opposite him. "Bonnie," I told him. Given that he was a lawyer in the same office with one of my previous clients, it was too risky to use my real name. Women named Bo are as common as chaste prostitutes.

"How'd you know who I was?"

"Friend of yours sent me your way." I leaned forward so he could get a good view of the valley.

"Oh?" he asked my boobs.

"Yeah. Said you were good for… some fun." I gave him my naughtiest grin. He ginned, but only for a moment. "I don't know what you're talking about…"

"Aren't you friends with Andy Willmore?" I asked. My client's brother.

"Yeah… why? He said something?"

"Said that you were a hit with the ladies."

"The only lady I've been with is my wife." He showed me the gold band.

"I don't mind fucking married men." I almost said 'fucking with.'

His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair. No receding hairline-- at twice my age he was still pretty good looking. "I think-- you've got me confused-- or something."

"Still loyal to the wife? That's not what I hear. Look, I’m not a prostitute. I just prefer uncomplicated sex." Part of the reason I like to do it myself.

"I-- I love my wife."

I sat up and took an envelope from the back pocket of my jeans. I laid the envelope on the table. When I spoke, the seduction in my voice was replaced with business. "Are you honestly saying that you wouldn't cheat on your wife-- even if I paid you."

"Paid-- me? No-- I'm married."

He started to get up, but I grabbed his wrist. He looked at it, face squinched up in confusion. "Sit."

He sat. "What-- who the hell are you?"

"Bo Fexler, private--"

"Private eye. Lenny mentioned you. Said you were a pretty respectable PI. For someone who makes a living breaking up marriages."

I chuckled. "This from the lawyer."

He shrugged.

I nodded. "Would you be interested in photos of your wife… cheating on you?" I laid two photos on the table. Photos with enough nekkid to get his interest. Then I put my hand over top of them.

Several emotions passed over his face, but he returned to confusion. "Why?"

"I was hired to find evidence of infidelity in your marriage."

"By… my wife?"

"No. Kim Willmore. Andy's sister. She's rather protective and when he set his sights on your wife, she wanted to help out. And your prenup says that any spouse caught cheating gets, well, everything. Kim was willing to pay me five thousand dollars to… make sure you were caught cheating." I took half of the 5k up front.

"Kim? She's a good, respectable woman." He shook his head. That was the buzz word in his law firm-- "respectable."

"Or so you thought. You pay me five thousand, and the photos are yours."

"Why?"

"Because… it's the right thing to do."

"Can I write you a check."

I laughed. "Hell no! I'm not stupid."

"No… no I wouldn't say that." He frowned. "I'll get the money."

We met the next afternoon to make the trade. I brought a friend as back up, even pointed him out to Ian. Ian nodded but clearly thought nothing of my orange-haired friend.

I counted the money and pressed my body against his to whisper in his ear.

"Some advice: Call no woman respectable unless she's dead."

And my friend took a picture.

Went well with the set of shots my friend had taken the day before at the bar. Ian meeting with, and getting real close to, another woman.

Bo Shorts

Not so short that it would show anything off it she bent over... but there's a short story over at Mysterical-E in their Fall issue.



The story is "Family Affairs of Adult Children." It comes in just under 9k, so make sure you have time to finish.



No matter how old we get, we're still our parent's kids. For better or for worse.





Sometimes it's interesting to muse over the ways my own parents have affected me-- directly, indirectly, intentionally, or perhaps even unintentionally.



One example: being late. My folks are always late-- always have been-- to everything. Now that I am in control of my own car and schedule and such, I am always early. Always.



I live about twenty minutes from the school where I teach. I leave 40 minutes before I have to get there-- incase of traffic or other such unexpected delays. Usually, I get there with twenty minutes before class starts. Better that than being late-- at least for a quiet mouse like myself.

Two Good Things

FINALLY!! I finally figured out (part of) the end of a movie before Hubby! I have been waiting and working hard for this for a long, long time.

He's one of those irritating folk that some how figures movies out early. This time, I figured it out FIRST! Okay, well, he figured out the big part. And most of the end. But I figured out one little detail.

But I figured it out before Hubby! I win! I get to do the victory dance! XD

(In case you're wondering, the movie was Fracture. Which was rather good. I was pleased. That doesn't happen often. =)

In other news, Bo's out for revenge. You can slip over to PowderBurn Flash and maybe say some nice things about "Head for Revenge" to keep on her good side. At least, just don't piss her off. =)

• Query Results-- 1 rejection, 1 request for partial
• Novel #2 Progress-- 2800 words
• Currently Reading: Hallowed Ground by Lori Armstrong
• Current Song: Capital G by NIN

Bo in Pulp Pusher

Bo's got a story in the recent issue of Pulp Pusher. The story is called "Par for the Course" and has Bo investigating who would carve a vile word in the grass at the golf course.

And, I'll admit it. I've got this little antogonistic streak that runs through me. I read the guidelines at Pulp Pusher where they say: If you have a golf course in your story, there better be a damn good reason." Sex and murder seem to be good enough reasons.

I'm not a golfer. There are only 5,643 other things I would rather do with my time. Though, I did grow up in a house next to the golf course. We sold golf balls back to the golfers. I thnk they only bought them because we were kids trying to make a few bucks to go the video arcade on the corner. Pity money is like pity sex-- it's still good!

And those big sprinklers-- those'll take your skin off you get too close. The water coming out of there will soak your clothes on the first pass. When the big ones came on, we'd only play in it for a few minutes before we were drenched and cold.

I never found any condoms on the golf course, though. Or in the woods beyond it. In fact, I've never found a wayward condom yet, come to think of it.

• Novel Progress: 64,000 words, moving into revision stage 1.
• Reason for not writing: Curriculum bullshit
• Current Song: No Rain by Blind Melon

Crime & Suspense Spring & Summer

The latest issue of Crime and Suspense is now available and it includes the Bo Fexler short story "Summer Highs." The theme of the issue was Spring Break and Summer.

It's a subscription site, though I think it's worth it.

It's nice to read some summery stories and think warm throughts. It hasn't reach fifty around here all week. And there was rumor of snow flurries, but that rumor was dispelled by temperatures that at least stayed up over the freezing mark. I'm not complaining. My optimum operating temperature is a much high range, but this is spring in Michigan. Usually it's "Sweater-weather", warm enough to leave the old winter coat in the closet. The sun is nice and warm. The grass is starting to turn green.

Everything looks good from the view out my office window. *Go* outside? Not likely. My computer is inside. Where it's nice and warm. With my supply of Diet Pepsi and my tunes.

• Novel Progress: 58k
• Current Song: Body and Soul by Tori Amos (this video is amusing, too.)

Now Bo's in the Back Alley

The third volume of The Back Alley Webzine is out today and includes the Bo Fexler short story "Missing, but Not Missed."

Don't forget to read the other stories while you're over there. Bo always travels in good company.

• Current Story in Progress: Bo Novel #1
• Reason for not writing: Finished reading "Baby Shark" by Robert Fate (more on that later)
• Current Song: Missing by Evanesence

Who am I to argue?

Check out this review of Out of the Gutter #4 by Rod Lott at Bookgasm. The guy seems to have pretty good taste.

As for an anthology of Bo Fexler shorts-- someday. I've got over 50k in published shorts so far. That doesn't include the four shorts that are currently pending publication. First, I'd like to get the novel done. I've heard that it's rather unlikely for an 'unkown' author to get their own anthology published. But when Bo's first novel takes the nation by storm, I'll have that anthology ready in the wings to fill in the gap between novels. Not that I've spent any time thinking about this.

But first I have to finish that novel. It's still untitled, and I just took a very painful chunk out of it. 10k words sliced off the tail end. I think I whimpered. (Not that I hit delete. I cut the sections out and pasted them into a "cut scenes" doc since there may be some peices I can still salvage.) The good news, however, is that I have a much better sense of where I'm going now. I know where the missing guy has gone-- minor point in a novel about a missing guy-- and I know who was behind it and why. More trivial details, but the clarification of such should, in theory, barring any unforseen scheduling complications, allow me to make serious progress.

Unless I leave my flash drive at school again...

• Last Story Completed: Par for the Course
• Story in Progress: Bo Novel #1
• Reason for not writing: playing Pokemon CCG with hubby
• Current Song: Stiff Kittens by Blaqk Audio

Back in the Gutter

My copy of Out of the Gutter 4 arrived yesterday. Maybe I should call it my contributer's copy. My short story "Bad Dream" was plucked off Muzzle Flash and stuck into Out of the Gutter #4. Along side some other really great stories. Assuming one likes dirty, vile stories that are well written.

Such as the pieces by Anthony Neil Smith, Miracle Jones and Heather Waters. So far. I mean, I just got it yesterday. It's nice to be in such fine company.

• Story in Progress: Hit Woman
• Last Story Completed: Untitled Gangster Porn
• Reason for Not Writing: Chatting it up with my friend Mark Franchi
• Current Song: Bring me to Life by Evanescense

MuzzleFlash Archives

Since MuzzleFlash added its archives page, I added the links here for the two stories of mine that appeared in January 07. I'd almost forgotten about "Sticky." I like that little story quite a bit-- it's fun.

Crime Scene Clean-Up

Sticky


Story currently poked away at: none
Last story completed: Assortment of Bullies
Story I want to work on next: Death by PI
Excuse for not writing: creating worksheet questions for "Lady in the Lake," "Hitchhikers Guide" and "Double Indemnity."

Powder Burn Flash

Powder Burn posted another of Bo's stories, titled "Lord of His Domain."

Here's the link for the story:
http://powderburnflash.blogspot.com/2007/03/powder-burn-flash-16-clair-dickson.html

Raymond Chandler wrote stories that were a product of him time. Bo Fexler is a product of my time-- complete with internet gaming, Metallica, and cell phones. And it brings with it a whole different set of possibilities for crime and detection.

Like this blog, for instance. Not sure exactly what I'm going to do with it beyond posting updates on Bo's whereabouts. Only time will tell.

(And time, I recently found out, it more squeezed that originally thought-- stupid fifteen page paper. It's going to serious cut into my time playing Civ3.)

Novella Title: Death by PI
Story currently poking away at: LEDA v2 (working title)
Last story finished: Assortment of Bullies
Excuse for not writing: I finally won a game of Civ3

Game Over (Previously published Flash)

GAME OVER
by Clair Dickson

"Hey!"
"What?"
"You're cheating?"
"How am I cheating?"
"I don't know. But you are."
"K.O. I win."
"How? I don't believe it."
"What? That a girl can play?"
"Not just a girl. A pretty one. A pretty woman."
"Thank you. Now, you're gonna tell me where the loot is."
"I didn't rob that place."
"Robbery requires a gun. You burglarized it."
"I didn't say it was me. It's my friend."
"Then I'll just do to you what I did in the game. Until you give him up. And the loot."
"You can't do that."
"Are you willing to lose another bet?"
"But - but, that's not fair. I didn't win."
### © 2006 - Dickson Published at Quiction Online March 2006.
It *is* a Bo Fexler short.