Suspended in Time
Aside from the Life news I haven't been posting much lately because NaNo is kicking my ass. I'm far below the word count because, well, admittedly, I did just think of joining the night before NaNo went live and I hadn't had much planning just flying off the seat off my pants but I am determined to finish it.
One thing about LJ you can always find what you need to help you and this is no different. Guys, meet Write or Die, fantastic web app that forces you to write or else meet the consequences!
...it's also a bit nerve wracking because it really does have consequences!
One thing is for sure, my characters are starting to distinguish itself from characters I built them from. Sam Harris is a little more talky than Dani Reese and a little more crazy. And very abrasive and did I mention, crazy?
Here, have a little Sam Harris:
---
Rick shifted the sheaf of paper and folder to another hand, leaning against a desk and tried to appear like he was watching his new partner and boss argue.
He moved his head slightly in time to read Captain Gage’s lips: ‘A Fed out of my house.’
Rick wasn’t surprised at that sentiment. He would be infinitely be more surprised if the Department took him in without any antagonism. Rick studied Harris. He’d been watching her on and off. Focusing on her because other wise he’d be forced to notice the venomous glares the other cops threw his way. No one had briefed him about Harris’s gender and it caught him off guard, briefly. It was the name, Sam Harris. She hardly came above his shoulder but to see her walk and talk you’d hardly realize it. Harris walked like she owned the space she moved in and damn anyone in her way.
Rick also couldn’t help but notice she wore an antique holster, the ones that held guns in a leather holster rather than the magnetized holsters law enforcement officers were encouraged to wear. Magnetized holsters were used for quicker response time without impediment of pulling a service weapon from a closed container. But one thing he was absolutely certain was this: Detective Sam Harris didn’t suffer fools gladly. She also didn’t like surprises.
He crossed his arms and studied Harris, her shoulders were pulled tight and her right hand stayed on her side, thumb rubbing a spot on her thigh. Suddenly Harris turned on her heel and the Captain’s door slid open. He stood up and decided not to bother pretending he wasn’t watching.
There was a storm cloud gathering over Harris’ head.
“Everything sorted?” He asked, cheerful.
Harris didn’t slow, her eyes narrowed. “With me.” And she was off again, Rick followed until they walked side by side. “How the hell were you in the military and work for the Bureau and not get within spitting distance of a crime board?”
“With practice.”He looked at her, “Gage let you read my file?”
“No.” She paused at a room and touched the sensor, it buzzed and remained close. She moved again, Rick followed but had to back a step when Harris suddenly veered left. “How’d you catch the dirty Agents?”
“I saw a pattern,” He answered, “I followed it.”
Harris glanced at him, “As easy as that?”
“As easy as that.” He affirmed. It wasn’t a lie but Harris didn’t seem to care either way.
“And that makes you think that’d make you a good detective?”
“The classes helped.”
She stopped abruptly and Rick almost walked right into her. She slapped her hand on the sensor and the door slid open. Two uniforms looked at them in surprise. The third sat on the table and seemed in the middle of regaling them some outlandish story. Rookies, down to the spit shining regulation shoes.
“I’m taking this room.” She announced. “Out.” The third guy scrambled off the table and seemed ready to stand at attention. “Now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Came the reply as they fled out of the room.
Harris entered the room. Owned space, Rick thought. Harris moved to the board and placed the transparent data set card on the boards’ drive. It came alive instantly flashing once, twice until images settled. The casefile number materialized on the upper left hand corner and the picture of the victim’s body appeared. Harris reached out and dragged the photos until they were settled in a neat group. He looked at the board and at the papers in his hands.
“Why do we need these if you have that on the data set already?”
“I like paper. And I didn’t ask you to bring that, did I?”
“You have a point.”
“Thank you.” She said, drily and Rick blinked. “You’ll fine I often do.”
“So, you don’t need these?”
“Didn’t say that either.” She held her hand out and Rick turned the file over to her.
She took the sheaf of paper, spread them on the table and then took out an adhesive from her pocket and started sticking the paper next to the crime scene photos. It was the victim’s photo together with some of his identity records. He studied the board and turned to look at Harris only to find her studying him.
“I’m going to make one thing clear: I don’t care what the hell you’re game is, you could dress like Nana the Cow and I wouldn’t care as long as you keep that stuff off the job. Specifically my cases. Got it?”
Rick nodded wordlessly.
“Good.”
“I have a question.” Rick said.
She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Why do you think I’d be the type to dress like Nana the Cow?”
Harris stared at him, he smiled. Harris faced the crime board, “The victim’s name is Jake Ronson. Lawyer. No wife or family living in The City.”
“No defensive wounds.” He noted, magnifying one of the photos.
“Yeah.”
“He was surprised?”
“Or he knew his killer.” She touched the board and another photo came on. A closer look at the wound. “ME’s still doing the autopsy but I’m betting it’s the shot to the heart that got him killed.”
“Personal effects?”
“Taken.”
“You think it’s a mugging?”
Harris looked at him. “Too early to tell.”
“You don’t think it’s a mugging.” Harris continued to look at him. “What?”
“Give me your theory.”
Rick frowned. “Why?”
“Because I like hearing the sound of your voice.” She said, completely deadpan. “You’re the new kid fresh off Detective school, you’re the junior detective and because I said so.”
“The simplest solution is sometimes the right answer,” Rick said, “Judging from the lost wallet, the number of reports from that park I think the obvious answer is this is a simple mugging gone wrong.”
She continued to wait.
“But it’s not, is it?”
“It’s too early to say.”
Rick looked at the crime board, at the victim. “Yeah.”
---
So, that's them... As soon as I reach my target word count for the day I really would want to start posting and answering emails again. I miss doing that. *sigh* NaNo, why so hard?
One thing about LJ you can always find what you need to help you and this is no different. Guys, meet Write or Die, fantastic web app that forces you to write or else meet the consequences!
...it's also a bit nerve wracking because it really does have consequences!
One thing is for sure, my characters are starting to distinguish itself from characters I built them from. Sam Harris is a little more talky than Dani Reese and a little more crazy. And very abrasive and did I mention, crazy?
Here, have a little Sam Harris:
---
Rick shifted the sheaf of paper and folder to another hand, leaning against a desk and tried to appear like he was watching his new partner and boss argue.
He moved his head slightly in time to read Captain Gage’s lips: ‘A Fed out of my house.’
Rick wasn’t surprised at that sentiment. He would be infinitely be more surprised if the Department took him in without any antagonism. Rick studied Harris. He’d been watching her on and off. Focusing on her because other wise he’d be forced to notice the venomous glares the other cops threw his way. No one had briefed him about Harris’s gender and it caught him off guard, briefly. It was the name, Sam Harris. She hardly came above his shoulder but to see her walk and talk you’d hardly realize it. Harris walked like she owned the space she moved in and damn anyone in her way.
Rick also couldn’t help but notice she wore an antique holster, the ones that held guns in a leather holster rather than the magnetized holsters law enforcement officers were encouraged to wear. Magnetized holsters were used for quicker response time without impediment of pulling a service weapon from a closed container. But one thing he was absolutely certain was this: Detective Sam Harris didn’t suffer fools gladly. She also didn’t like surprises.
He crossed his arms and studied Harris, her shoulders were pulled tight and her right hand stayed on her side, thumb rubbing a spot on her thigh. Suddenly Harris turned on her heel and the Captain’s door slid open. He stood up and decided not to bother pretending he wasn’t watching.
There was a storm cloud gathering over Harris’ head.
“Everything sorted?” He asked, cheerful.
Harris didn’t slow, her eyes narrowed. “With me.” And she was off again, Rick followed until they walked side by side. “How the hell were you in the military and work for the Bureau and not get within spitting distance of a crime board?”
“With practice.”He looked at her, “Gage let you read my file?”
“No.” She paused at a room and touched the sensor, it buzzed and remained close. She moved again, Rick followed but had to back a step when Harris suddenly veered left. “How’d you catch the dirty Agents?”
“I saw a pattern,” He answered, “I followed it.”
Harris glanced at him, “As easy as that?”
“As easy as that.” He affirmed. It wasn’t a lie but Harris didn’t seem to care either way.
“And that makes you think that’d make you a good detective?”
“The classes helped.”
She stopped abruptly and Rick almost walked right into her. She slapped her hand on the sensor and the door slid open. Two uniforms looked at them in surprise. The third sat on the table and seemed in the middle of regaling them some outlandish story. Rookies, down to the spit shining regulation shoes.
“I’m taking this room.” She announced. “Out.” The third guy scrambled off the table and seemed ready to stand at attention. “Now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Came the reply as they fled out of the room.
Harris entered the room. Owned space, Rick thought. Harris moved to the board and placed the transparent data set card on the boards’ drive. It came alive instantly flashing once, twice until images settled. The casefile number materialized on the upper left hand corner and the picture of the victim’s body appeared. Harris reached out and dragged the photos until they were settled in a neat group. He looked at the board and at the papers in his hands.
“Why do we need these if you have that on the data set already?”
“I like paper. And I didn’t ask you to bring that, did I?”
“You have a point.”
“Thank you.” She said, drily and Rick blinked. “You’ll fine I often do.”
“So, you don’t need these?”
“Didn’t say that either.” She held her hand out and Rick turned the file over to her.
She took the sheaf of paper, spread them on the table and then took out an adhesive from her pocket and started sticking the paper next to the crime scene photos. It was the victim’s photo together with some of his identity records. He studied the board and turned to look at Harris only to find her studying him.
“I’m going to make one thing clear: I don’t care what the hell you’re game is, you could dress like Nana the Cow and I wouldn’t care as long as you keep that stuff off the job. Specifically my cases. Got it?”
Rick nodded wordlessly.
“Good.”
“I have a question.” Rick said.
She raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Why do you think I’d be the type to dress like Nana the Cow?”
Harris stared at him, he smiled. Harris faced the crime board, “The victim’s name is Jake Ronson. Lawyer. No wife or family living in The City.”
“No defensive wounds.” He noted, magnifying one of the photos.
“Yeah.”
“He was surprised?”
“Or he knew his killer.” She touched the board and another photo came on. A closer look at the wound. “ME’s still doing the autopsy but I’m betting it’s the shot to the heart that got him killed.”
“Personal effects?”
“Taken.”
“You think it’s a mugging?”
Harris looked at him. “Too early to tell.”
“You don’t think it’s a mugging.” Harris continued to look at him. “What?”
“Give me your theory.”
Rick frowned. “Why?”
“Because I like hearing the sound of your voice.” She said, completely deadpan. “You’re the new kid fresh off Detective school, you’re the junior detective and because I said so.”
“The simplest solution is sometimes the right answer,” Rick said, “Judging from the lost wallet, the number of reports from that park I think the obvious answer is this is a simple mugging gone wrong.”
She continued to wait.
“But it’s not, is it?”
“It’s too early to say.”
Rick looked at the crime board, at the victim. “Yeah.”
---
So, that's them... As soon as I reach my target word count for the day I really would want to start posting and answering emails again. I miss doing that. *sigh* NaNo, why so hard?