Law Affirmation #2...or man, I'm losing it a little bit...

I remember the day I started kindergarten. Rain was pouring out of the sky. Big thick drops that wet my whole head when they hit me. My Dad had decided to go into work late so he could take me, so we were both walking through the torrent. It wasn't a far walk just a block away, across County Line Road. We'd made it all the way to the front walkway leading up to the main doors of the school when something happened. I don't remember what it was--thunder, lightning in the distance, or if it was something internal that no one could see and I couldn't explain. But, I ran. I let go of my father's hand and ran toward the school building. I can tell you it was not excitement. It was definitely fear.
The picture of my father, water dripping down his face, gently putting his hand on my shoulder as he caught me and asking me why I'd taken off has been running through my head a lot recently. For a lot of reasons, I know. But it botthers me that I didn't have an answer then and I really don't have one now.
********************
We're now under three weeks until I start school officially, in case you might have forgotten. Me? I have not forgotten. In fact, I cannot forget. I can't seem to think about anything else lately. We got our first assignments over the last weekend, along with a list of the books we'll need. It's all becoming real. And fast.
There's a logical, knowing part of my brain that is telling me I can do this. That I'm prepared as best I can be. That I'm smart enough and hard-working enough and that my experience has prepared me to be here. That I can live up to the high expectations I have for myself. I like this part of me.
Of course, there's the other part of me that I am not as prepared as everyone else. That the kids coming straight from college have a huge advantage over me and that I am going to be even more lonely as I spend time reading and trying to keep up with what is sure to be an onslaught of work. And my expectations are just dreams that I do not have the ability to live up to. This part of myself, I udnerstand and even appreciate the way it can keep me working hard, but man, it does not let up.
And lately, it has been dominating my thinking. Even as I hear people telling me they think I can do it, I have two reactions. First, I think they're just trying to calm me, which I appreciate, but makes me not believe them fully. Second, I think they also have high expectations of me that I will only let down. Which is all to say, I'm kind of freaking out here.
I know that I will work hard. I know I will do well. But the waiting is really starting to wear on me. My daily activities have stopped being interesting and now seem to be a concious effort to distract me from the reality that I will soon be starting school. Soon, but not yet. No. For now I go pick up my books and start my assignments and hope to draw comfort from that. Because that's the only tangible thing I can do to get me closer to the start of everything. And to the answers of whether I can do it or not.
But what's really got me worried is that I am having all this doubt. It's natural for me, I know. But this is definitely a time when I wish I were cocky and confident, but it's just not me. Well, it is and it isn't. With so much being an unknown right now and with so much on the line, it's normal for me to be a little shaken.
I just know that I am no fun right now. Not fun to be around. I mean, we went to Lake Minnetonka (yes, that Lake Minnetonka--with the purifying waters*) on Sunday and I couldn't stop thinking about my professors, and books and first assignments and what I'm gonna wear to the fist day and will I make friends and what if my section sucks or what if I'm too old to have any friends....and on and on...
Deep breath.
And another, shall we?
Better.
Let's look at this from a different perspective. Last year, I had just signed up for the LSAT. It wasn't much later than that that I took my first practice test and discovered there was no possible way for me to get into a decent law school, much less get a scholarship that would make law school affordable enough for me to get there. I remember walking home from the Kaplan test, feeling completely deflated. I would need to raise my score by 12 points to have a shot at going anywhere and getting anything.
And now, a year later, I'm sitting in William Mitchell waiting for my classes to start in 3 weeks. Wow. That looking back a year trick really works. Ahh. Perspective.
Okay. Three weeks to get everything as in order as I can.

*Note 1. From Purple Rain? Seriously, if you didn't know that, I feel sad for you right now. Like my heart aches for you.

Gumshoe #15

Edna Portis was the one piece of information we were missing. The one key piece that made all the others fall into line. It didn't take long to put an address to Edna Portis and the family that survived her brutal murder. It took a little longer to see how she connected to Andrew Grassley, though. We were driving to the address we were given on the outskirts of Des Moines before we found out how the two knew each other. According to one of the detectives Edna had at her disposal, Andrew Grassley was living with Ms. Portis at the time of her death. Apparently he was a foster child who had just been placed with Portis and her two kids. Portis was a teacher in her late thirties who had not married, so that when she died, the child placed with her was sent back into the system. Portis's sister moved in and took care of her children. The family still lived there. So us and a patrol car were on the way there to secure the house and question the family. Because this night had not been all the fun I had wanted.
"That's all well and good," Edna said after she shut her cell phone. "We know how he's connected to the original killings. If he's not at that house, then none of this shit matters."
"If he's not there, then he has been. There's no way he goes through all this and doesn't visit the house or talk to someone there." I said quietly. "This is a lead. A solid lead."
We'd taken the county road back toward the city and just before we hit Southridge Mall and it's ever-dimming lights, we swung right onto Indianola Ave. Out here there's a lot of space between houses, which makes for a lot of privacy. Which can be really bad in situations like this, so we took it slow. It felt like it took five minutes for us to get to the house and it was only the fifth or sixth one in.
Pulling up to the house, everything looked normal. It was a nice home. One of those white two-story numbers you picture when you think of living in the country. Nice sized porch and big windows in the front to let in all the light that isn't being blocked out by the mamoth apartment buildings that aren't just across the street. Big yard with the kind of grass you can picture kids running and falling and rolling around in, even if it was underneath a light coat of snow. This place even had a big shade tree with a tire swing, I kid you not. How could anything bad ever happen here? I could feel this place lulling me into a pleasant sleepy haze. Which is I suppose why people move out here.
We were just getting out of the car when we saw the patrol car pull in behind us and I prayed it was no one who'd seen me spouting off earlier that night. And then I took a deep breath--that was just hours ago. Before the officers even got out of their car, Edna started giving orders. "Troop, you stay with him," she said pointing to the one of the officers. "You," pointing at the other, "you're with us." She quickly turned back toward the house and it was all business.
"You want me to watch the back?" the young officer asked.
"No. We stick together. [Gumshoe], I do the talking, okay?"
I gave her a nod. She found the doorbell with her finger and gave it a polite, but urgent ring. And we sat. "No one's home?" The young officer said after a couple minutes.
"It's late. They might be heavy sleepers." I said as I pushed the button for a good minute. Maybe a minute and a half. It was late and I was really starting to feel cranky.
"Alright, already," Edna said slapping my finger off the button. "We want them happy and talkative."
Looking at my watch, I yawned and turned away from the door. "No one's happy and talkative this late at night." I looked out at the country night. We weren't so far from the city, hell there's a gas station at the end of the block, but it felt like night was heavier out here. Thicker somehow. Denser, maybe. Like it would take a stronger light to shine on the activities out here. Or maybe I was just tired.
It was then I noticed James and the otehr officer. James was pointing at something across the street. I followed his finger into the Elm Grove Cemetary. I walked off the porch and over to them. "What's up?"
James spoke up. "I saw someone moving run into the grave yard."
"Was it him?" I said feeling the adrenaline hit me again.
"I--" He wasn't sure. I could see it in the contortions of his face. He wanted to be sure, but he wasn't.
"Could it have been him?" I said not waiting for him to get his answer together.
"I think so."
By this time Edna and the other cop was there with us. "What?" Edna said with that edge in her voice.
"James saw someone run into the graveyard. Could've been Grassley." I said.
"Of course. He would run into a fucking graveyard." She pulled her gun and her flashlight. "You two stay here and call it in. You two," meaning myself and the officer who had been on the porch, "we're going to have a peak."
As we crossed over Indianola Ave and into the graveyard, I felt some relief to see that this was a small cemetary and with the fresh snow on the ground, we could see the tracks of anyone who came in. It only took a second for us to see that someone had jumped the fence and had made their way up the hill. I pulled my gun and lit my flashlight as I felt the dim streetlights already fading as I pulled myself over the fence.
We followed the tracks slowly and spread out. There was no way to see what was coming as we made our way around the tombstones and up the incline. We were crouched and ready, fuling understanding that Grassley could be waiting there for us at any moment. I took a deep breath trying to keep myself calm and collected.
I saw the movement ahead before I saw the gun blast. A great flash of light lit up the night for a second and then the deafening erruption. I told myself to dive, but not quickly enough. Luckily the shot hit the tombstone infront of me. Unluckily, it sprayed rock up at me, cutting my cheek and neck as I finally dove. I could feel the blood beginning to seep from my wounds. I pulled a dirty kleenex from my pocket and pressed it over what felt like the biggest. I sat there for what may have been an enternity before I realized I was not dying right then.
"Still time." I whispered to myself trying to get myself to focus. The shot had come from ahead on the right. The officer and Edna had been closer to him. So either he didn't see them, or he really wanted me dead. Which didn't make me feel really good, but that's how it looked.
I took a deep breath, not sure what I was doing this for, but I yelled, "You missed me Andrew." He was quiet. I took another breath hoping he wasn't too patient. "What's that? 8 bullets you've missed me with tonight?"
I could hear foot steps moving through the snow, but I couldn't make out exactly where they were coming from. I pressed my back against the tombstone and made sure the safety was off on my gun. "Bullets are expensive, Andrew? You sure I'm worth it?"
"It only takes one." It came out as a hiss, but it was enough. He'd circled counter clockwise heading away from the others and toward me. Couldn't be more than a row ahead. I pushed my feet underneath me and turned, charging to my left. Into my third step, I saw him stand and raise his gun at me. The dramatic thing would've been to jump in the air. Hurtle my body at him, maybe yelling, 'nooo', like you see in all those movies. Of course he probably would have shot the holy living shit out of me.
So, as I saw his gun raise toward my head, something from little league flicked on and I was suddenly sliding. His first shot went over my head and as he was adjusting to me, I kicked my right leg and popped up just enough to punch him right in the crotch. Hard.
He doubled over and sucked in the cold night air and dropped his gun. I scrambled to my feet and grabbed him by the arm, bending it behind him and using my other arm to hold him to me in a half-nelson. He wriggled and kicked and grunted, but I had him.
The others were to us in a less than a second and in another second, Andrew Grassley was in handcuffs. It was over and I caught the guy. Wow. Didn't I feel so much better?
***********
In the downtown station, I sat with Edna as she was typing up her report. I'd finished giving my statement. It had taken a long time to recount the whole night again. She stopped and looked up at me.
"Yes?" I said hoarsley.
"So?" She said. I shrugged at her. "You punched him in the crotch."
I smiled a big smile. First smile I'd had in a long time. "I did."
"That's not really sporting is it?"
"I'm all for a fair fight, but....you know..." God, I wish I could be glib.
She smiled and chuckled. "Still quick on your feet, I see."
"I got it where it counts," I said.
"You need a ride home?"
"Nah. I called Clarence a while ago. He's sending someone." There was a silence. "Do you think we ever stop paying?"
"For then?"
I nodded with a weariness that came from more than the night's troubles and the all of the things I'd seen on this case. I felt the weariness of years suddenly sitting on my shoulders.
"No." She said quietly. "Not when there's someone who is still hurt."
I nodded at her and we sat quietly. It was a comforting quiet. The kind that exists like a third person in the room. Calming and easy. I took a deep breath and let it out, enjoying the fact that someone wanted me dead, but I still drew breath.
"Where did you go anyway?"
"Then?"
"Yeah. When you left the force back then?" Her voice was quiet, but firm. It was full of curiousity and concern.
"Chicago."
"What's in Chicago?"
"Not much when I went." I sat up in my chair, suddenly realizing I should tell this right. "It was just gonna be a weekend. I was gonna clear my head and come back. But there I was, sitting in downtown Chicago and I realized I had nothing to go back to Des Moines for."
"Me?" She paused. "Not like that, but partners. You know, that meant a lot to me."
"Yeah. But I'd shot that to shit. I should've done it all differently."
"Yeah." We sat for a while longer.
"So, why'd you stay?"
Well, that's another story...

So that's the end of the first case. I hope everyone enjoyed it. I'm hopeful I will be able to keep some of this up for a bit here, but once law school starts, all bets are off.

I Write Like...and Dennis Lehane

I'm assuming everyone else has already seen this site, but today I came across it for the first time. I Write Like is a website that purports to tell you what famous author you write like. I know, it's probably dubious, but it's the kind of thing that I am always curious about. So...I cut and pasted all the sections of the Gumshoe that I've published so far and the name that came up most often was Raymond Chandler.

Which is awesome.
I mean, clearly, Raymond Chandler is, along with Dashiell Hammett the apex for noire writing and any idea that I may resemble his writing, no matter how superficially is a signal that I'm at least partially getting done what I want with Gumshoe. Also clearly, I don't mean to invite any real direct comparisons to Chandler. He draws a much better picture. His use of language is more engaging and interesting. In short, I know he is better writer than I. Still, I take this as a signal that I'm at least playing in the same big sandbox as one of the greats. Even if he's made grand castles and I'm just digging a moat.

*******************

Speaking of writers. I just finished Dennis Lehane's latest book, The Given Day. Good book, definitely worth a read. I recommend it to anyone looking for something to read. It's 700 pages, but they went by fast.

The book is a departure from the rest of Lehane's work in a way, but it's also not. The book is less suspsense and thriller than most of his other books. Instead it is more historical novel, but I still had trouble putting this down. And what I think of as Lehane's biggest theme--the price someone pays to do the right thing--is still there. I'm going to think more about this book before I say anything too much about it.

It's been a while since I've read a book that required me to think about it like this one does. But I'm gonna try to give some thoughts on this. Forgive me if they aren't fully formed or all that interesting. So, yeah, spoilers below (you can skip to the end of this section at which point, I will spoil no more).

A lot of the book centers around the labor movement in Boston, a lot specifically with the Boston Police Department. And one of the things I found striking* about this novel is how much of the things I assume police officers could take for granted were things that had to be fought for.** Things like sanitary sleeping conditions. Or less than 80 hour work weeks. Or uniforms and supplies that they didn't have to pay for. Or for workers' compensation when injured in the line of duty. Or to be paid above poverty levels. I should know better than to assume that everyone appreciates what police officers do and is willing to give them what they need to live at least somewhat comfortably on it. And certainly, I know now that our priorties are all messed up and that the police get shafted many times because of it. But, wow. There were no good old days. That comes across so clearly as characters repeatedly say how the problems of worker against employer (and the problems of face agains race, father against son, brother against brother, husband against wife, society's needs against society's desires, the mob against everyone) are the same as they ever were. And that this is how they will always be. This book drives home that point especially well during the riots that occurred during the policeman's strike.

As, I said, a lot of his books discuss the price someone has to pay for doing what they think is right. In this book we see the main character lose so much--family, his body, friends--to try and get what he considers to be a fair shake. The main character isn't beset by one person in this book, as is often the case in the private detective novels. There's no serial killer with an axe to grind. Instead, the hero's antagonist seems to be the political system with all of it's players and entanglements, and to some extent, the society that allows that system to stay in place. It's not really one person who makes the hero suffer or defeats him. It's all of them in concert, though with no real mastermind.

And related to what the hero of the book loses is how and why society elevates others to hero-status. Lehane examines this most obviously through the use of Babe Ruth, who is shown as a child-like alcoholic and womanizer. He has some affinity for the working man and has his own frustrations with his working conditions. He, however, has a lot more bargaining power than most the other workers in the book. And when he makes demands, they are met, though not happily. And there are no reprecussions for this action really. I mean, yes, Ruth gets traded to the Yankees, but no one seems to think of it as punishment.

Anyway, these were some thoughts.

*********************

And speaking of Lehane....I see he's working on another detective novel featuring Gennaro and Kenzie. And it's coming out in late November. Note to Dinah. My birthday is a week after this. And Christmas not long after that. And with Christmas break coming up, I will have time to read this book that I covet, especially after reading the description. So, this would make a great gift. For me.

Why be subtle?

*Note 1. Pun!

**Note 2. I know it's generally not a great idea to hang your argument on the details of an historical novel as being more historical than novel. After looking over the books that served as reference to this novel and seeing some comments made about the book, I am willing to be made a fool of if these details turn out to be changed a bit for dramatic purposes.

Gumshoe #14

It's not that long of a drive to the Indianola watertower. From downtown Des Moines, it's maybe 45 minutes with traffic. Maybe. But time can stretch when you're sitting in the back seat of a cop car. This was an unmarked car without the cage, yes. But the principle still applies. Detective Edna Muldoon was driving and she asked for James Troop to sit in the front seat next to her. I assume this is so I am not allowed to mess with the radio, but I'm making this assumption based in part on past history and largely due to the fact that I don't want to consider what else this might signal. The fact that everyone in the car was dead silent, didn't help this car ride seem short either. The only sound was the occasional chatter from the police radio. No one said a word from the time we got in the car until we reached the outskirts of Des Moines' south side. I watched through the flurries out the back window as South Ridge Mall disappeared from view taking the bright city lights with it. As we entered the unincorporated countryside where the space between streetlights stretches wide in a dark abyss, I finally said, "This is a bad idea."

Edna shot me a look in the rearview mirror. "You don't want to go to the watertower now?"

"No, that's probably not gonna lead to much, but it's worth checking out." I took a deep breath. "Not listening to the radio is a mistake."

Edna chuckled, though I could tell she didn't want to. "Don't change much do you, [gumshoe]?"

I took another deep breath and let the car fall back into silence figuring silence was better than saying what I really wanted to say. It was a harmless comment, I knew, but something about it rankled me. Anything I said back would be insulting, I knew. So instead, I looked out the window as the snow started coming down in earnest on the dark, rolling hills of Iowa. There was enough light to see the road, but beyond them, on the land, where the fields stood waiting to be used next spring there was only darkness. The streets stood lined with the light of the living, I thought, but who knew what was beyond them? The unkown always conjures up the worst in people's imaginations. Few of us think of the unlimited possibility and see the possibility for good things to be out there. The next job. The next love. The next amazing moment. Instead we think only of the evil that must be lurking in the darkness. Beyond the reach of the light. And as much as I knew logically that Andrew Grassely would not, could not be at the watertower, I still had this sickness in my stomach that told me he would be there.

Edna pulled off the highway and shut off the car. We were maybe 200 yards from the watertower and it was dark. Edna reached into her glove box and pulled out a flashlight and handed it over the seat to me. She pulled another out for herself. "You picked up your gun, I assume?"

"Check." I said quietly. I had the gun laying on the seat next to me and I picked it up and showed it to her as I looked to make sure the safety was off.

"All right. We do this my way, everyone understand?" She waited for head nods before continuing. "All right. Troop, you're a civilian, so you stay here. [Gumshoe]--"

"No." Troop said quietly but firmly. "I'm not staying here. I've been shot at tonight and if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to be around someone who can shoot back if something happens again."

"I can't take you out there if there's a possibility of--"

"Kid's got a point, Edna. And Grassley's not likely to be here anyway." I said feeling my voice quiver. "But if he is, and he gets dead while we're looking at a watertower, that's not good."

"Okay James, but you're sticking with me, okay? You're right behind me. You don't get more than 2 feet away from me and you don't ever get ahead of me. You got it?"

"Thank you." James said, now realizing that going with Edna wasn't a cake walk either.

"And you," she said turning her attention to me. "You stay right fucking next to me. You see something, you tell me. You don't shoot unless you're shot at or I tell you to shoot. You don't run in ahead and get yourself shot. Got it?"

"I do." I said as I reached for the door.

"I'm serious [Gumshoe]. No cowboy shit."

"Don't worry, I'm all out of cowboy tonight." I looked at her and I could see from her reaction she was a little surprised. She expected some sort of verbal joust from me, but I didn't have it in me. Not with the growing feeling I was getting. He was here. This man who wanted to kill me was waiting just beyond me view in the cold embrace of the night.

Everyone got out of the car, James quickly making his way behind Edna. We advanced on the water tower slowly. It didn't take too long until our eyes adjusted to the darkness. The watertower stands on the edge of Indianola, a small town not far from Des Moines whose main attractions were Simpson College, the National Hot Air Ballooning Hall of Fame and a killer A&W restaraunt. Indianola officials used to light the water tower, but apparently had stopped. My best guess was because of cost. As I stood there in the darkness, my gun raised as I looked around the tower for any sign of life, or movement, or trouble, I would've paid quite a bit of money to have the tower lit up. Our flashlights cut through the heavy darkness well enough, but I got the feeling Edna and James would've pitched in some money too.

The only sound in the darkness was the sound of our breathing, heavy not from the roughness of the terrain, but the stress of the situation. We were about 25 yards from the tower when we heard it.

A car behind us and just over a hill from where we'd park, peeled out and headed back in the direction of Des Moines. I felt the adrenaline hit me again, awaking all my senses. James hit the ground, covering his head. Edna spun and started running toward the car. "Come on!" I turned to take a quick look at the tower and let out the breath of air I didn't realize I'd been holding.

As I reached to James to give him a hand up, I yelled, "It's not him Edna."

She stopped and looked back at me quizzically. I showed my flashlight on the ground next to the tower. I saw her eyes follow the beam and she started laughing as she reached the end. James's looked over quickly and exhaled loudly taking my hand and pulling himself up.

"Two half drank beers and a box of condoms. Ahh teenage romance." I said.

"It's too cold for that shit," James said with a chuckle.

I knelt by the area to take a closer look. "They had a blanket. Maybe a sleeping bag. A couple condoms missing, so--"

"Maybe you should turn your detective skills to the relevant questions, like was Grassley here? Is there some clue as to where he might be? You know, things like this." But I didn't move. I'd come all this way in the night sure I'd find the killer, a man named Andrew Grassley, sitting here. Waiting. I was sure tonight held another shoot out for me. I never thought I'd find this. Another love interrupted.

I stood there for a second. "Seriously, [gumshoe], you're not even looking. This was your fucking--"

"What do people do when love ends?" I said. As soon as I heard it I knew I sounded like a fucking idiot.

"The fuck?" was all Edna could muster in response.

"I mean. That's it. That's how Chance met this guy. I'd bet hard money on it." I could feel myself getting excited.

"What are you talking about?"

"A support group. For people who lost someone. It's all fitting into place. Grassley lost someone. Probably Geoffrey Franks, which is why he keeps playing that murder out again and again."

"I've had people looking at Franks and Grassley for a while. We can't find any connection to Franks. But hey, once we find this guy, why don't you ask him." The frustration in her voice was palpable. "That's right. We can't find him. And you're not fucking helping." She went back to looking around.

I took a deep breath, feeling the excitement letting go of me. She was right. I mean, I was right too, I could feel it. But it didn't help us. "Fine. There's no connection to Franks," I said calmly. "So, if you're reliving or redoing the last murder over and over...and you're hunting down one of the investigating cops...one who wasn't even around for that one. Or the case before."

"It's a mystery." Edna said.

"Who was the case before?" James said quietly.

Edna stammered. "What does it matter?"

"Edna Portis." I said quietly. "Why?"

"So you weren't on that case either?"

"No. I wasn't." Something was glimmering.

"Maybe--"

"he's connected to her." We finished the sentence together.

And there it was.

Guess where I am...*

This summer has been a shocking departure from last summer's cool, lovely days. I know it's been like that for most everyone, but I am more than a little worried that the rest of my summers are going to be full of the stickiness and misery I'm associating with Minnesota. I know. I know. It's just one summer and even if it is a typical one, next summer will be better if for no other reason than I'll have somewhere to be on a regular basis. So, fine. We'll just have to see about all that.
For now though, it's crappy here. It was so humid I stood up and sweat started pouring off my brow. As many of you probably know, I sweat. Kind of a lot. But this is ridiculous. So, yesterday and today I sought refuge. For a little while I've been going to coffee shops and using their internet and their air conditioning to feel comfortable, but these past two days, I went to William Mitchell.
I've thought about coming on campus a little bit now and again. I mean, I live a block and a half from here, so it's convenient. And I am going to be a student here in the fall. And the library is open to the public. Still. I held myself back. I told myself I didn't really have any business on campus. And it was quasi-desperate to hang around a school you don't quite go to. I didn't belong.
Now though, I feel completely different. Why? Some might say it was the heat combined with the fact that I don't really feel comfortable in the coffee shops around here**. Or maybe I just grew up and saw how desperate I was to belong to something. But the truth is far more...odd. See, yesterday I was in the library. Today I'm in the lounge on the first floor. If I come back tomorrow, I might check out the second floor.
That's right. I'm doing recon. I don't think I consciously decided I needed to do recon, but when I walked into the library yesterday, I immediately walked the first floor before heading up to the second. I was looking for good places to sit. I was looking to see where some of the legal volumes were. And mostly, I was looking to get a feel for everything. I learned where the restrooms are and that I shouldn't wear my flip flops in the library because they squeak a little. I saw that there are assigned cubicles for studying. Today I learned where the vending machines are.
Most of all though, I have found myself really excited at the prospect of belonging here. I know it's still over a month before school starts, but I'm already happy with coming here. I guess I would just let you know that.
UPDATE: The dean just walked by. That was kind of cool.

*Title Note. I am sure it's quite gauche to post pictures of myself on back-to-back posts. But, that last picture sucked and I wanted another shot at it. This one's a little better. And I'll take any excuse to use my new toy, er, um educational tool (yeah) .
**Note 1. I don't drink coffee, so I'm always trying to come up with something to order. You know, something I will like. And if I get a coke, I always feel like they're judging me. And they probably are truthfully. I don't know the dance between barrista and customer. For some reason, it never dawns on me that I shouldn't wait at the counter until my drink is done. I always remember this as they're pouring whatever into the cup.

Passing time with a post...

This picture tells you two things:
1. My new laptop comes with a webcam that also takes pictures. Which is awesome. And...
2. I shaved my beard.

So yeah. This new laptop is awesome. It's so fast and so cool. And it's red, which is what I requested, but still, I'm loving this. It's really starting to feel like I'm going to be going to law school. Like soon.
Mitchell has begun sending out a series of emails (one every Friday) to inform incoming students of pretty much everything we'll need to know before school starts. This past week I was informed about the schedule for the first week. That first week looks like they are easing us in a little. The first couple days activities start in the evening and they aren't going to be very long. Wednesday is an off day to get things in order and then Thursday, classes start.
So. Yeah. It's all starting to feel like it's coming together. Which is exciting, but I've been feeling a little bored of late. I've been reading a lot*. Watching a lot of House (which really is an awesome show). Playing some video games. Still volunteering on Fridays. But I still feel like I'm waiting. Just waiting. Which is a little frustrating. I don't really think there's more I could be doing to get ready for school and anyway, I don't want to stress out too much. So, I'm left just a little at ends.
And I think it's that feeling that led me to shave my beard yesterday morning. It was a change. Not necessarily one I like now that I have made it. And I know Dinah hates it. But still, I might keep it around for a week or two. We'll see.

*Note 1. Right now I'm working on Dennis Lehane's latest, The Given Day. I'm almost halfway through the 700 pages and I've got to say it's really great. I don't quite see how everything fits together, but I trust they will. I've been a big fan of Lehane's since reading his detective novels.

Law School Affirmation #1

I've been thinking a lot about Grinnell lately. Partially because I had my reunion a little while ago and partially because I'm going to be starting school again soon.

I remember being very frightened going to Grinnell. Confused and bewildered. When you go to college, you're facing a lot of things that are new. New people. New academic challenges. New social challenges. New pyschological challenges. Starting school is a very stressful thing. I remember going into it, I thought I was ready. I thought I was ready, but had the more than sneaking suspicion that I was not ready. And I don't know, but I think that first semester, I mostly failed. Going into Grinnell, I felt I had to be awesome from day one, but I was quickly intimidated by everyone else. It was a shock going from feeling like I was among the smartest people, as I was in high school, to feeling like I was dull and slow-witted. That's how I felt that first week of Grinnell. Everyone was so amazing. So funny. So well-equipped to deal with everything that was happening. So much more than I was.

I did poorly academically. I withdrew into myself and had trouble making new friends. And I was a mess pychologically. It's not a memory that's inspiring a lot of confidence in me as I prepare for my first semester of law school. Obviously, I'm not the same 18 year old mess I was back then. But still. I will be facing a lot of the same challenges. Only, these will be more important, because first semester grades in law school can go a long way to deterimining what sort of track you end up on. If you get poor grades, the story goes, you don't get the good internship/externship/firm placement. If you get good grades, you have a better chance of getting what you want. And being that I'm going to be a little older (or a lot older) than most of my classmates, I am going to need to do well to feel like I have a chance to do what I want. (You know, not that I know exactly what I want right now.)

So. Yeah. Feeling a little bit of stress today. Which is good, actually. I turned in my financial aid paperwork today. And my law school laptop is going to be arriving soon. So, this stress means it's all starting to feel real. And real is good. It's much better than feeling like it's all so far away. Stress I can deal with. And I have the added confidence this time. Confidence that comes from having gotten better at Grinnell. From having made great life-long friends. From being a much more grounded and well put-together person. From knowing that "quote" is a verb, and that "only vile people say 'quote'."*

And most of all, I know now that I'm not really ready. Not for everything. But I know that that's okay. I can adjust. I will have to do it quicker than I did in Grinnell, which I think I can do. But I know I don't have to be awesome from day one. Day one doesn't matter. It's where I can get myself. And I want this. Even if I don't know the exact form of "this". I'm going somewhere now. And if I do this right (and I believe I will), I will be a lot happier than I was that first semester in Grinnell.

Thank you for bearing with this stressy, self-helpy update.

*Note 1. Thank you, Ed Moore. If anyone has not heard Chaucer read in a Georgian accent, they are missing out big time.

Gumshoe #13

Thanks to those who let me know they're reading the Gumshoe stuff. Like I said, I'm gonna keep writing these, but I was a little curious about whether people were really reading these or not. I know it's a little self-indulgent. Anyhoo. I think I'll be wrapping this case up in a couple or three posts.

James Troop was an actor I had lured to the Ingersol Dinner Theater with a story about him being perfect for a production that would revive the now-defunct theater. He was also the man who had walked into my office not that long ago and convinced me to take a case that turned out to be bullshit. Bullshit that gets me pulled into a murder investigation and gets me shot at. Throw in my lousy luck with women, not to mention their lousy luck with me and, yeah, this has been a pretty average couple weeks for me. Or so I was telling myself.

For James though, this had not been an average couple of weeks. As we sat in the police car, having just been told by my former partner, Edna Muldoon, that we were free to go, I could see tonight's events were taking their toll on him.

"You think the man who shot at us followed me here?" His eyes were wide and while he'd broken a sweat fighting me, now it seemed like he couldn't stop, despite the fact that we were sitting still. In fact, he was probably sitting too still. It was almost like he thought that if he moved another gun would go off. I needed to get him out of here if I was going to get anything more about Andrew Grassley and the why's and wherefor's of this case.

"I do." I said rising from the car. "Why don't we get out of here." I pulled him up and we began to walk toward my newly aerated car and the cops who were lingering around it. Pulling the keys from my pocket, I said, "Are you guys just about done here? My friend and I were really hoping to catch the last showing of the Twilight movie tonight."

Edna looked up from the conversation she was having. "I can't let you drive this car out of here. We're impounding it."

"Impounding it? You said I could go."

"Well, the car is evidence. But you're free to leave." She spoke with a grin, but her voice was firm. She'd thought about this and she was a step ahead of me.

"Take pictures of the car and that can be evidence. I need to get going."

"No can do. This is physical evidence and as such will need to be studied by analysts. Unfortunately," she said looking at her watch, "they're working on another case and should be here in a bit. If you need to be somewhere, I'd be happy to have an escort take you home. As you may know, the Des Moines Police Department values your safety and wishes greatly to solve this crime..."

I stopped listening. I should have seen this coming. Edna knew I had information and that my investigation wasn't aiding hers. It was probably making hers a lot more messy. So, while she couldn't force me to stop investigating, without incurring the wrath of my lawyers, she could take my car. And that would slow me down either by having to take cabs or busses, which in Des Moines aren't all that plentiful or helpful, or by having someone looking over my shoulder, no doubt reporting back to her. On the one hand I was a little pissed. I liked having a free hand to work. I'm a professional. On the other, it had been a really long time since I had been shot at and while I was putting up a good front about it, the thought of having someone who had been to a shooting range in the last five years and who, you know, wouldn't leave their gun in the car like a doofus, didn't sound all that bad to me.

"Fine." I said, cutting Edna off in the middle of her still-ongoing lecture about the greatness of the Des Moines Police Department.

"Fine what?" She said, I could tell I'd caught her off-guard, which made my decision a little more worth it.

"I will take an escort. But the last cop I hung around with ended up being dirty, so, I'm gonna be a bit choosy this time." Saying a cop is dirty--even a dead cop--even a dead cop who was dirty, really and truly dirty--around a group of cops is a bad idea. I could feel the tension hit the air as soon as I said it. The uniforms were now openly staring at me and I think they were looking for a reason to give me a punch. I couldn't blame them. They're cops and they have to have pride in what they're doing and why they're doing it. Otherwise, we'd end up with a force of lazy incompents, most of whom would be dirty. Still. It was a fact. "What?" I said seeing a cop take a step toward me. "It's a fact. I am sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. Take it up with someone who gives a shit."

"You don't make personell decisions," Edna said. I could tell from the way she was looking over the cops assembled here that she could see how my comments had affected everyone. I also got the sense that she knew I was probably going to continue to spout off if I didn't get what I wanted. "If you're waiting for an escort, you wait. Now get the fuck back to the car before I let one of these officers show you to the car."

And with that James and I walked slowly back to the car. "Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What?" I said not looking at James.

"Hey, I was nearly killed tonight too, but I'm not trying to take on the whole DMPD for some bullshit."

"Yeah. Well. I was nearly killed by a dirty cop and your man, Andy. So, I'm a little sensitive. Also, if this is going the way I think it is, I need a good cop watching my back. I can't just take whomever they give me."

"So, that was thought out back there?" He said in a voice of disbelief.

"More or less." I said quickly as I saw Edna making her way over to us. The way she was walking made me pretty sure she was going to punch me in the face when she got to us.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Edna said in a whisper that told me that whether or not she was going to punch me in the face was still up for debate in her mind.

"Been getting that a lot tonight Edna." I said.

"Keep up with that and you'll get some sort of permanant condition that will make people only feel comfortable asking each other what's wrong with you."

"Always a snappy comeback, Edna."

"[Gumshoe], just tell me what you want."

"You should escort us."

She laughed. "No fucking way."

"Then I need my car."

"Also, no fucking way."

"Gotta be one or the other."

"Or what? You'll keep spouting shit until these guys batter your pretty little face in? That's fine with me." She began to walk away.

"Or," I called after her, "I could give you all the information I have. Including the name of the man who sent someone into my office claiming to be Simon Flettering."

She turned and stepped toward us. "Arnold Grassley?" Clearly, she was a step ahead of me too. "Didn't you think it was odd I didn't interview your friend here when I arrived at the scene?" Now that she mentioned it... "I got that name a couple days ago. And I have his last known address, which we checked yesterday. Nothing. You got anything else you think I don't know?"

Turning to James, I said, "You know, if you talked ot the cops before about this, you may have wanted to let me know about it, instead of letting me look stupid."

"He didn't talk to us. We were actually watching him to see if Grassley would make contact with him again. But it's good you blew that lead for us."

"Blew it? I think he made contact tonight. Or he would've if his aim were better."

"Yeah. Very helpful." She said walking away.

"Edna. Have you checked the watertower yet?"

She stopped and I swear I saw a shiver crawl up her back. The watertower in Indianola was where the last pychopath with a penchant for scrawling music lyrics on the wall had been captured. It was a bit of a Hail Mary of me to bring this up now, but I didn't really have too much left in my arsenal. "He's probably not there, but I'll bet he visited."

Half an hour later, as Edna, James and I were heading to the Indianola water tower, I sighed. I had a feeling that one way or the other. This was going to be over before too long.

Thoughts on Weddings (including mine...again)

Last weekend, Dinah and I went back to Michigan for a wedding. Oddly enough it's the first wedding I've been to since my own. And I have to say, weddings are so much more fun when they're not yours. Which isn't to say my wedding wasn't fun--it was a lot of fun. It's just that there was so much going on--so many people I should thank for schlepping to Iowa, so many things to think about, just so much going on. It can be really intense. And indeed, it was intense for me. I remember the day after the wedding, I felt just stunned. Like everything was good. I was happy. But I was mentally exhausted and a little in disbelief that I had taken such a huge step in my life.

But someone else's wedding? That's just fun. You don't have to worry about whether the flowers turned out right. Or that your family is being weird. Or that parts of your family decided at the last minute not to make it. Or that the linnens aren't quite as you pictured them. Or that there's been a change and you have to leave the reception hall earlier than you thought. You just get to eat, dance and try to talk to people, but without the pressure of feeling that you have to enjoy every minute--that you have to take it all in and remember everything.

This is, of course, because it's not your moment. It's someone else's. And just knowing that was such a relief to me.

But there's another side to going to someone else's wedding. Not only was I a little relieved to not be the center of attention. I felt proud of being married. See I think a wedding (a good wedding, anyway) makes everyone not only celebrate the couple being married, but also makes you celebrate your relationship. (Or it makes you wish you were in a relationship like the one you're seeing formally solidified.) And this was a really good wedding.

There's something about watching people commit in a public way that makes you remember the good things about the wedding day. The first dance, awkward but sweet. How Dinah and I went to the reception hall before the ceremony, after the pictures were taken, and danced quickly then. Getting a drink with my friends at the gas station in town. The night before the wedding where I didn't drink too much (somehow). It was a great weekend.

Still. I could go for some more weddings some time soon.

*Note 1. I went to a couple weddings like this after college, when I was still single. Instead of feeling depressed about being single, I felt hope. Which was nice.