Today is voting day! The poll on the right will be open until Saturday morning at 10:00 (PST). Make sure you cast your vote to let me know what you think.
Chapter 5 (Thursday)
Colt tried to make sure that his lunch at Aldo’s with Samantha’s parents was as brief as possible, although he was not very successful. No matter what he did to change the subject, Ron and Debbie Woods could not be stopped from telling stories about their wonderful daughter. Colt got the feeling that they wanted him to know that he had saved an extraordinary life.
Samantha had been her high school valedictorian and went on to study at Stanford where she received a degree in finance. She then went to law school back east and eventually became a tax attorney. Now, as an accomplished professional, she was on the fast track to the top at her L.A. Law firm. She had everything going for her: good looks, smarts, an outgoing personality. She was even an avid runner and, to top things off, she taught Sunday School for the five-year-olds at her church. Colt took it all in with a grain of salt, after all her parents had to have been a little biased. Nonetheless, there was a small part of himself that was intrigued by what she might be.
It was close to 2:00 by the time Colt got out out of the restaurant and walked the block and a half back to the BMW. He would need well over two hours to make the drive to L.A on a good day, but given his timing, he was going to hit traffic. He considered leaving anyway, but the dislike that he harbored for crowded freeways won out and he decided to head south later that night after the traffic had cleared. With a slight lull in his day, he called up Detective Malone to see if she had made any progress at the hospital.
“The only person she could think of who might have wanted to hurt her was one of her clients who got stuck with a nasty fine from the IRS for skipping out on his taxes,” Krissy Malone said as she filled Colt in on the details of her discussion with Samantha. “When I get back to the PD, I’ll run him and see what pops up. Why don’t you meet me there and we can go chat with him this afternoon,” she added.
Although Colt’s day had been very busy, he found himself using his brief spare minutes pondering life. He had left everything behind less than 24 hours earlier in hopes of finding a new meaning, yet here he was doing the same thing he had always done, just in a different town. Was this his meaning? Was he meant to solve crimes? Colt thought about these questions and more as his sharp mind analyzed each aspect of the last day and a half. Despite the fact that he was doing what he had been trained to do, there had to be more.
He glanced over at the passenger seat of his expensive luxury car. When it came to fine taste, Colt was a picky as anyone. His desire for the best permeated every aspect of his being. His business was well-known for doing top quality work and Colt would not have it any other way. His car, his clothes, his house; it was all exquisite, at least in his mind. So what was wrong with him?
The empty seat looked back at Colt as if to give him the unspoken answer. “You are alone.” No words had to be spoken, but the message was clear. The passenger seat in Colt’s car had not been used in the nine months that he had owned the car. He was alone and had been alone his whole adult life.
He thought more as he made the quiet drive to the police station. Could Krissy Malone be the reason fate had sent him on that late night run? He parked the car and headed back to Krissy’s office. When he got there, she was sitting in front of her computer clicking through some information.
“Here’s what I have on the disgruntled tax evader,” she began as if Colt had been by her side the whole time. “Other than a history of tax problems, he’s clean.”
“Tax problems could drive someone to do things they might not otherwise do,” Colt said. “Debt is a powerful force.”
“Let’s go talk to him,” Krissy said as she stood by the printer waiting for the rap sheet to work its way through the machine and into her hand. “He’s a yacht broker down at the harbor.”
Without even thinking, Colt said, “I’ll drive.”
--
Results -
In the next chapter Colt and Krissy are going to drive down to L.A. To talk to Creighton. How eventful should this drive be? Use the voting buttons to the right to let me know.
A) Their car is run off the freeway in an attempt to keep them from reaching Creighton. - 14%
B) They get stuck in traffic and have to spend hours talking. (Please don’t make me write that!) -14%
C) The drive is uneventful, but drama unfolds at the hospital as they try to talk to Creighton. - 71%
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Colt Crawford - Chapter 5 (Wednesday)
The security tape showed a relatively empty section of the parking garage with a silver Mercedes C300 sedan parked in the lower left corner of the screen. The images were grainy at best, and given the limited screen size, it was difficult to make out the details, but the events caught on tape corroborated Samantha’s earlier statements. She could be seen approaching the car just after 5:00. Given the season, the sun was nearly set but the lights in the garage had not yet taken their full effect. It was the worst possible lighting for capturing usable video footage.
“I hate watching these kind of videos,” Malone said. “Especially when I know something creepy is about to happen. At least in the movies, you know it’s fake, but this is a real person we are about to see getting hurt.”
“I know how you feel. It can be creepy, but it just might help us catch a creep,” Colt responded.
“That’s what keeps me going everyday,” Malone said, her eyes riveted on the iPhone. The two sat side by side watching the crime occur, doing their best to notice the smallest of details. It was the nuances of the situation that would solve the crime. The attacker’s face was shielded from the cameras by the poor lighting, sunglasses, and a dark blue hoodie.
Given the subtle disguise, the crime was probably planned ahead of time. Most criminals who look for a crime of opportunity don’t take the time to hide their faces. This guy had a plan. Colt watched as he approached the car and then walked on by, seemingly pacing the floor of the parking garage. Was he actually waiting for Samantha ? Did he know her schedule? It was a holiday, she wasn’t working a normal schedule. If someone knew she was coming, they had to have been tipped off in advance.
“Is he waiting for Samantha or just any victim that walks by?” Detective Malone wondered aloud.
“Could be either, but he is definitely waiting,” Colt said, still watching to see what would happen. A few minutes later, Samantha approached from the top right corner of the screen. She was dressed in the same jeans and sweatshirt she had been wearing when Colt found her on the side of the road. As she neared the car, the man in the hoodie circled a neighboring car and came up from behind her. He grabbed the keys out of her hand as he unlocked the car in one swift motion. Seconds later, still wrestling with her he seemed to force something into her mouth. Colt and Malone watched as he held his hand over her mouth until she collapsed into the back seat.
“He had to be targeting her,” Malone said. “What was that he put in her mouth?”
“Something that knocked her out and didn’t leave any evidence,” Colt replied then added after a short pause, "I suspect that she blacked out from a lack of oxygen before the drug kicked in."
“Roofies?” Malone asked, though she knew the answer. The medicinal value o served to treat insomniacs, but to the underworld, the ability to get a victim to fall asleep was a powerful weapon.
“Had to be,” Colt responded. “This wasn’t a random car jacking. I’m meeting Samantha’s parents for lunch today. I’ll see if there was anyone that might be upset with her for any reason.”
“I need to talk to her anyway, so I’ll head over to the hospital from here,” Malone said.
“Where’s a good place for lunch?” Colt asked. “I need to let Mr. and Mrs. Woods know where to meet.”
“Try Aldo’s. That fancy phone of yours should tell you how to get there,” Krissy said with a slight smile that almost hinted at flirtatious. Rising to her feet, scooped her keys off the table and added, “Call me with any new info.”
Colt found himself momentary alone in the crowded coffee shop. Sipping his coffee, he rehashed what he knew. Samantha assumed she had been a victim of a car jacking, however, she had clearly been targeted. What was buried in her past, or maybe even her present, that would cause someone to violently attack her, drug her, then dump her from a moving car? As usual, there were more questions than answers at this point in the investigation.
There had been something in his gut that had not reacted well to what he knew of Creighton Ford. It was time for a drive back to L.A.
“I hate watching these kind of videos,” Malone said. “Especially when I know something creepy is about to happen. At least in the movies, you know it’s fake, but this is a real person we are about to see getting hurt.”
“I know how you feel. It can be creepy, but it just might help us catch a creep,” Colt responded.
“That’s what keeps me going everyday,” Malone said, her eyes riveted on the iPhone. The two sat side by side watching the crime occur, doing their best to notice the smallest of details. It was the nuances of the situation that would solve the crime. The attacker’s face was shielded from the cameras by the poor lighting, sunglasses, and a dark blue hoodie.
Given the subtle disguise, the crime was probably planned ahead of time. Most criminals who look for a crime of opportunity don’t take the time to hide their faces. This guy had a plan. Colt watched as he approached the car and then walked on by, seemingly pacing the floor of the parking garage. Was he actually waiting for Samantha ? Did he know her schedule? It was a holiday, she wasn’t working a normal schedule. If someone knew she was coming, they had to have been tipped off in advance.
“Is he waiting for Samantha or just any victim that walks by?” Detective Malone wondered aloud.
“Could be either, but he is definitely waiting,” Colt said, still watching to see what would happen. A few minutes later, Samantha approached from the top right corner of the screen. She was dressed in the same jeans and sweatshirt she had been wearing when Colt found her on the side of the road. As she neared the car, the man in the hoodie circled a neighboring car and came up from behind her. He grabbed the keys out of her hand as he unlocked the car in one swift motion. Seconds later, still wrestling with her he seemed to force something into her mouth. Colt and Malone watched as he held his hand over her mouth until she collapsed into the back seat.
“He had to be targeting her,” Malone said. “What was that he put in her mouth?”
“Something that knocked her out and didn’t leave any evidence,” Colt replied then added after a short pause, "I suspect that she blacked out from a lack of oxygen before the drug kicked in."
“Roofies?” Malone asked, though she knew the answer. The medicinal value o served to treat insomniacs, but to the underworld, the ability to get a victim to fall asleep was a powerful weapon.
“Had to be,” Colt responded. “This wasn’t a random car jacking. I’m meeting Samantha’s parents for lunch today. I’ll see if there was anyone that might be upset with her for any reason.”
“I need to talk to her anyway, so I’ll head over to the hospital from here,” Malone said.
“Where’s a good place for lunch?” Colt asked. “I need to let Mr. and Mrs. Woods know where to meet.”
“Try Aldo’s. That fancy phone of yours should tell you how to get there,” Krissy said with a slight smile that almost hinted at flirtatious. Rising to her feet, scooped her keys off the table and added, “Call me with any new info.”
Colt found himself momentary alone in the crowded coffee shop. Sipping his coffee, he rehashed what he knew. Samantha assumed she had been a victim of a car jacking, however, she had clearly been targeted. What was buried in her past, or maybe even her present, that would cause someone to violently attack her, drug her, then dump her from a moving car? As usual, there were more questions than answers at this point in the investigation.
There had been something in his gut that had not reacted well to what he knew of Creighton Ford. It was time for a drive back to L.A.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Colt Crawford - Chapter 5 (Tuesday)
--If you haven't read Monday's post yet, do that before reading this one. I have made a few changes.--
She chuckled before responding. “My angle? My angle is simple. You’re from L.A. The detectives down there are just glad that this loser dropped the girl in a different county so they wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that some guy car-jacked a lady in broad daylight in their town. Now that it’s my problem, they aren’t willing to put a lot of time into it. Your connections just might come in handy, Mr. Colt Crawford, CEO of Crawford Investigations. You or one of your associates just might know which strings to pull at the LAPD.”
“You googled me?” Colt asked feigning shock.
“I google every guy I meet at coffee shops.”
“Well, I do have something that might be of interest to you,” Colt began. “It seems the lady’s boyfriend took a few too many sleeping pills this morning. They’ve got him at Cedars-Sinai right now. Looks like he’s going to make it.”
“That is interesting,” Krissy Malone said with a hint of intrigue. The day was bright and sunny, but cool so her hands were wrapped snugly around the coffee cup to help fight off the brisk air that entered the building each time the door opened. Colt noticed her interlaced fingers, but there was no ring. Not on either hand.
“And, yes, I do have a few connections with LAPD,” Colt continued, his eyes casually moving up from her hands and staring innocuously over her left shoulder. He was playing it cool, not even realizing that he had a need to play it cool. Then it hit him. He had just checked to see if Malone was wearing a ring. He had been so busy building his business and focusing on his career over the past several years that he had almost given up on women. Now that he had a little time on his hands, the old game started coming back to him rather quickly.
In his mind, he rehashed some of his old dating experiences, quickly sorting out the successful from the unsuccessful. It surprised him at how much information filtered through his head in the matter of two or three seconds. It was like a flood of memories had overflowed the banks of a river and swamped his mind with thoughts of his past. During that momentary flashback, his subconscious pulled out the top ten stupidest things he had ever said or done when a woman was present. His mind scanned this list and he silently vowed never to repeat any of them with Krissy Malone.
Colt was startled out of his reverie by the ringing of his cell phone. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out. When he glanced down at the screen he had intended to ignore the call, but he noticed that it was from Lieutenant Crosby, his buddy at the LAPD. “I’d better take this,” Colt said with resigned anticipation. “It’s my contact in L.A.”
“I found that surveillance video you wanted,” Crosby began. “The security company at the high-rise e-mailed it to me. I haven’t had a chance to review it yet, but you are welcome to it. I’ll forward it to you.”
“Thanks. I owe you one,” Colt said as he clicked off the phone. A few minutes later, the e-mail came through and Colt was able to access the video right there on his phone. “You want to watch this with me?” he asked sliding around the table so that he was sitting next to Malone. The screen was small, so there was no avoiding a cozy moment. Colt skimmed through the images of on one of the files until he got to just before 5:00 on New Year’s day. Since the attack had happened on a holiday, the security officers had made the assumption that Samantha must have parked on the first floor of the parking garage and thus only sent Crosby the tape from that area. There were six different files attached to the e-mail, each containing about 20 minutes of footage taken from different cameras in the garage.
It wasn’t until they viewed the fourth file that they found anything worth watching.
She chuckled before responding. “My angle? My angle is simple. You’re from L.A. The detectives down there are just glad that this loser dropped the girl in a different county so they wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that some guy car-jacked a lady in broad daylight in their town. Now that it’s my problem, they aren’t willing to put a lot of time into it. Your connections just might come in handy, Mr. Colt Crawford, CEO of Crawford Investigations. You or one of your associates just might know which strings to pull at the LAPD.”
“You googled me?” Colt asked feigning shock.
“I google every guy I meet at coffee shops.”
“Well, I do have something that might be of interest to you,” Colt began. “It seems the lady’s boyfriend took a few too many sleeping pills this morning. They’ve got him at Cedars-Sinai right now. Looks like he’s going to make it.”
“That is interesting,” Krissy Malone said with a hint of intrigue. The day was bright and sunny, but cool so her hands were wrapped snugly around the coffee cup to help fight off the brisk air that entered the building each time the door opened. Colt noticed her interlaced fingers, but there was no ring. Not on either hand.
“And, yes, I do have a few connections with LAPD,” Colt continued, his eyes casually moving up from her hands and staring innocuously over her left shoulder. He was playing it cool, not even realizing that he had a need to play it cool. Then it hit him. He had just checked to see if Malone was wearing a ring. He had been so busy building his business and focusing on his career over the past several years that he had almost given up on women. Now that he had a little time on his hands, the old game started coming back to him rather quickly.
In his mind, he rehashed some of his old dating experiences, quickly sorting out the successful from the unsuccessful. It surprised him at how much information filtered through his head in the matter of two or three seconds. It was like a flood of memories had overflowed the banks of a river and swamped his mind with thoughts of his past. During that momentary flashback, his subconscious pulled out the top ten stupidest things he had ever said or done when a woman was present. His mind scanned this list and he silently vowed never to repeat any of them with Krissy Malone.
Colt was startled out of his reverie by the ringing of his cell phone. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out. When he glanced down at the screen he had intended to ignore the call, but he noticed that it was from Lieutenant Crosby, his buddy at the LAPD. “I’d better take this,” Colt said with resigned anticipation. “It’s my contact in L.A.”
“I found that surveillance video you wanted,” Crosby began. “The security company at the high-rise e-mailed it to me. I haven’t had a chance to review it yet, but you are welcome to it. I’ll forward it to you.”
“Thanks. I owe you one,” Colt said as he clicked off the phone. A few minutes later, the e-mail came through and Colt was able to access the video right there on his phone. “You want to watch this with me?” he asked sliding around the table so that he was sitting next to Malone. The screen was small, so there was no avoiding a cozy moment. Colt skimmed through the images of on one of the files until he got to just before 5:00 on New Year’s day. Since the attack had happened on a holiday, the security officers had made the assumption that Samantha must have parked on the first floor of the parking garage and thus only sent Crosby the tape from that area. There were six different files attached to the e-mail, each containing about 20 minutes of footage taken from different cameras in the garage.
It wasn’t until they viewed the fourth file that they found anything worth watching.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Colt Crawford - Chapter 5 (Monday)
-- Last week the voting was way down. OK, so my wife and 7 year old son were the only ones who even voted. I am taking that to mean that you all might prefer a little different format, so I am here to help. This week I am going to post Monday through Thursday with shorter segments. There will be one vote at the end of the week from Thursday night through Saturday morning. This way you can read it all at once at the end of the week or follow in small bites throughout the week. Of course, you can still leave comments any time.
Let me know in the comments below what you think of this new idea. Enjoy! --
Chapter 5
Colt sat in the car and listened as Charlie relayed him the news. After Colt’s last call regarding Creighton Ford, Charlie had taken it upon himself to find out what he could about the guy. Using a combination of phone calls and database searches, Charlie had found out that Creighton was currently employed as the service manager at a Ford dealer in the valley. “He usually arrives well before 7:00 in the morning, but this morning he didn’t show,” Charlie said from the comfort of his own office as he sipped a latte and put his feet up on the desk. “They tried calling him, but no one answered the phone, so one of his guys decides to head over to his place to see what’s going on.”
“And…,” Colt prodded. “Get to the point. I haven’t had any coffee yet.”
“When this dude shows up, he finds Creighton on the floor unconscious and there’s a bottle of sleeping pills and Tylenol P.M. on the floor next to him.
“So he tried to kill himself with over the counter drugs?” Colt asked somewhat rhetorically.
“Glad to see this little crisis of yours hasn’t killed off your intuition,” Charlie retorted.
“Was he successful?”
“The guy from work called 911 and they got him to the hospital. They say he’s gonna be fine, but he’s gonna need some therapy.”
Colt sat silently in his car for several minutes trying to digest what had just happened. First Samantha gets kidnapped in an attempted car jacking gone bad. Then she gets dumped out of a moving car in the middle of the night 200 miles from where she had started. Then her boyfriend tries to kill himself the next morning. Was the guy heartbroken that she hadn’t called the night before or was he feeling guilty for something? Or did his despair have nothing at all to do with Samantha?
Whatever was going on, Colt was determines to figure it out. He glanced down at his watch and realized that he had to get going to meet Detective Malone. Besides, he was ready for a little mid-morning pick-me-up.He threw the car into reverse and cautiously, yet quickly, made his way out of the parking lot and down the crowded streets toward the Starbucks.
As promised, a dark blue unmarked Crown Victoria was sitting in the parking lot when Colt pulled in. He could see a woman in the driver's seat open the door and step out. He parked the Beemer two spots down from Malone’s car and popped out, anxious to find out what she did and didn’t know.
“Detective Malone,” Colt said as he approached the slender woman with a rugged, yet attractive build that didn’t go unnoticed by the P.I.
“You must be Crawford,” she replied. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“No. Thank you,” Colt said confidently although he felt sheepish on the inside.
“Please call me Krissy,” she said as the two sat down with a couple of stong black coffees and began discussing the case. As he had suspected, Krissy Malone had not progressed very far on her end of things. She had reviewed the notes from Detective Sanchez and placed one very unproductive call to the LAPD.
“It looks like our D.A. is going to want to keep this case here in Santa Barbara,” she said. “L.A. jumped at the chance to move a case out of their jurisdiction.”
“That would be par for the course down there,” Colt commented. “They’re always swamped.” Colt paused, then continued, changing the subject slightly. “Most cops wouldn’t give a P.I. the time of day, let alone meet for coffee. What’s your angle?”
Let me know in the comments below what you think of this new idea. Enjoy! --
Chapter 5
Colt sat in the car and listened as Charlie relayed him the news. After Colt’s last call regarding Creighton Ford, Charlie had taken it upon himself to find out what he could about the guy. Using a combination of phone calls and database searches, Charlie had found out that Creighton was currently employed as the service manager at a Ford dealer in the valley. “He usually arrives well before 7:00 in the morning, but this morning he didn’t show,” Charlie said from the comfort of his own office as he sipped a latte and put his feet up on the desk. “They tried calling him, but no one answered the phone, so one of his guys decides to head over to his place to see what’s going on.”
“And…,” Colt prodded. “Get to the point. I haven’t had any coffee yet.”
“When this dude shows up, he finds Creighton on the floor unconscious and there’s a bottle of sleeping pills and Tylenol P.M. on the floor next to him.
“So he tried to kill himself with over the counter drugs?” Colt asked somewhat rhetorically.
“Glad to see this little crisis of yours hasn’t killed off your intuition,” Charlie retorted.
“Was he successful?”
“The guy from work called 911 and they got him to the hospital. They say he’s gonna be fine, but he’s gonna need some therapy.”
Colt sat silently in his car for several minutes trying to digest what had just happened. First Samantha gets kidnapped in an attempted car jacking gone bad. Then she gets dumped out of a moving car in the middle of the night 200 miles from where she had started. Then her boyfriend tries to kill himself the next morning. Was the guy heartbroken that she hadn’t called the night before or was he feeling guilty for something? Or did his despair have nothing at all to do with Samantha?
Whatever was going on, Colt was determines to figure it out. He glanced down at his watch and realized that he had to get going to meet Detective Malone. Besides, he was ready for a little mid-morning pick-me-up.He threw the car into reverse and cautiously, yet quickly, made his way out of the parking lot and down the crowded streets toward the Starbucks.
As promised, a dark blue unmarked Crown Victoria was sitting in the parking lot when Colt pulled in. He could see a woman in the driver's seat open the door and step out. He parked the Beemer two spots down from Malone’s car and popped out, anxious to find out what she did and didn’t know.
“Detective Malone,” Colt said as he approached the slender woman with a rugged, yet attractive build that didn’t go unnoticed by the P.I.
“You must be Crawford,” she replied. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“No. Thank you,” Colt said confidently although he felt sheepish on the inside.
“Please call me Krissy,” she said as the two sat down with a couple of stong black coffees and began discussing the case. As he had suspected, Krissy Malone had not progressed very far on her end of things. She had reviewed the notes from Detective Sanchez and placed one very unproductive call to the LAPD.
“It looks like our D.A. is going to want to keep this case here in Santa Barbara,” she said. “L.A. jumped at the chance to move a case out of their jurisdiction.”
“That would be par for the course down there,” Colt commented. “They’re always swamped.” Colt paused, then continued, changing the subject slightly. “Most cops wouldn’t give a P.I. the time of day, let alone meet for coffee. What’s your angle?”
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Let's Play Another Game
I noticed that a lot of the ads on the side are related to police, fire, and homeland security jobs. I'd imagine that most of you are not looking at a career change right now, so lets try again to come up with some ads that are more relevant. Leave some suggestions in the comments for things that Samantha or Detective Malone are interested in. I'll mention your ideas in the next chapter and we'll see if we can influence Google again.
Colt Crawford - Chapter 4
As he stood up to leave Samantha’s room, Colt glanced though the partially open door and saw a middle aged couple making their way down the long, sterile hallway. “Are those your parents?” Colt asked, nodding toward the them.
Craning her neck to see through the doorway, Samantha replied, “Yeah. I expect they will try to stay all day, but I think they need to get out some. I know I do.”
“Did anyone ever get a hold of your boyfriend?” Colt asked changing the subject.
“They only place I had his number was in my phone and I haven’t really tried very hard to track him down. We haven’t been together that long. I’ll worry about it later.”
Always the detective, Colt told her that he would try to find a phone number using some of the online search tools to which he subscribed. “What’s his last name?”
“Ford,” Samantha replied. “Creighton Ford.”
“And he lives in L.A?”
“Yeah. Eagle rock area,” Samantha said.
As Mr. And Mrs. Woods entered the room, Colt extended his hand and introduced himself. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.
After enduring their gushing gratitude for several minutes, Colt, finding no way out, finally relented and agreed to let them take him out to lunch that afternoon. “You need some time with Samantha, and I have some work to do, so why don’t I meet you back here around noon?” Colt suggested.
Once he got back out to his car, he silently chastised himself for not bringing his laptop with him on this trip. Of course, he had purposely left it behind so he couldn’t work, but now he wanted it more than anything. That machine was his connection to the world and without it, he was at a severe disadvantage. His iPhone was a handy device, but it couldn’t access the databases or search sites that were available online. Fortunately, there was something useful that the iPhone could do for him at the moment and, within seconds, he was connected to the trusty 411 operator. Unfortunately, there was no listing for a Creighton Ford in L.A. so Colt was forced to resort to Plan B. As a wildly successful detective, he had learned to always have a second option for tracking down every lead because no one was perfectly predictable. With the phone once again pressed against his ear, he dialed a familiar number. Seconds later an equally familiar voice answered.
“Charlie,” Colt said as the new boss of Crawford Investigations joined the conversation.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” Charlie Marshall replied as he settled his large frame into what had once been Colt’s inviting leather desk chair in the corner office Colt had once occupied.
“I just can’t leave it all behind that easily,” Colt said. “I need a favor.” After explaining the laptop situation to Charlie, he asked him to find a number for Creighton Ford of Los Angeles. It was a somewhat unusual name, so Colt felt confident that finding the right man wouldn’t take long and he was right.
“I’ve got one in Eagle Rock,” Charlie said after a short wait.
“That’s the one,” Colt replied. Charlie rattled off the number as Colt committed it to memory. Memorizing lists and phone numbers was a trick he had mastered years before by creating mnemonic devices that attached various images to numbers. It was a trick that had bailed Colt out of more than one tricky situation in the past, and he was confident it would help again in the future.
After hanging up with Charlie, Colt dialed Creighton’s number. It was a home number though he was more likely to be at work at 10:30 on a Tuesday morning, but it was worth a shot. He’d leave a message and move on. To Colt’s surprise, Crieghton answered on the third ring. Colt quickly introduced himself and told the boyfriend that Samantha had been beat up and kidnapped.
“Did they catch the guy?” Creighton asked.
The question threw Colt off guard. He had expected something about Samantha’s well-being or where he could visit her, but not this. It seemed strange to Colt that Creighton was more focused on justice than on Samantha’s health. Regardless, he filled him in on a few of the lesser details, but his gut told him to proceed with caution. Before he hung up, Colt had made an appointment to meet Creighton at the hospital later that evening.
His next move was to call a friend at the LAPD and find out if there had been any reported car thefts in the area of Figueroa and Ninth the night before. After the necessary small talk, he finally posed his question and waited for a reply. “I think I did hear about something down there yesterday, but that’s off my beat. Let me ask around,” Lieutenant Teddy Crosby said. “Hey, Glover!” He yelled with the phone pressed against his slightly enlarged stomach in an effort to muffle the sound and simulate an “on-hold” feature that Crosby refused to actually use. “You hear about a car jacking at Fig and Nine yesterday?” Colt could hear voices but with the blue uniform blocking the receiver, words were hard to follow. Besides, the rumbling of Crosby’s stomach juices was enough to paint a very vivid picture in Colt’s mind of what the scene on the other end must have looked like.
A few minutes later, Crosby was back on the line with the phone once again returned to the appropriate part of his body. “There was a car jacking reported, but someone else called in two minutes later and canceled the call. Normally we would follow up anyway, but with it being a holiday, we were swamped with drunks.”
“Any info on the suspects?”
“We didn’t get any. Like I said, the call was cancelled.”
Colt explained the situation he was dealing with regarding Samantha and asked Crosby if he could get some surveillance tapes from the buildings in the area. Given the information Colt had conveyed to Crosby, he was confident that a crime had indeed been committed in the city, so he promised that he would assign a detective to track down any video footage of the area that might exist. “I’ll get you copies of whatever we find,” Crosby assured Colt.
Colt’s next call was to the Santa Barbara County Sheriff’s office. He wanted to get in touch with the detective handling this end of the case and offer to help. Mostly he just wanted to find out what they knew so he could do his own investigation, but he figured he would have to have something to offer up in exchange. The L.A. video tapes should give him some leverage.
After navigating the automated answering system for a few minutes, Colt finally got put in touch with someone who could tell him which detective was following up on the Samantha Woods case. Seven and a half minutes after he first dialed the number, a woman’s voice answered. “Malone,” was all she said.
“Detective Malone,” Colt began. “My name is Colt Crawford. I’m the guy who found Samantha Woods on the side of the road last night.”
“Oh yes. I believe Sanchez spoke with you last night,” she responded. “He handed the case to me this morning. I’m taking it from here.”
Since there had obviously been a changing of the guard, Colt spent a few minutes filling her in on his side of the story before telling her his own profession. “Is there any information you could share with me?” Colt asked.
“I haven’t really had much time to work the case yet, but if you can meet me this morning I’d be happy to trade notes. I’ve never been one to turn down free help.”
Colt glanced at his watch. It was 10:45 a.m. He was supposed to meet Samantha’s parents at noon. “I’m at the hospital. Can you meet me at the Starbucks down the street in ten minutes.
“Ill be there,” Detective Malone said. “I’ll be the one in the dark blue undercover cop car,” she joked.
There was something about her laid back demeanor that intrigued Colt. A lot of cops were hot shots who were out to prove something to the world, but Malone seemed different. The only thing she seemed interested in proving was who hurt Samantha Woods. Colt briefly tried to imagine what Detective Malone must look like, but instead, the face that came to mind was that of Samantha, bandages and all. For a man on an open-ended vacation, he was suddenly very busy.
Colt started the car and was just getting ready to pull out of the parking lot when his phone rang. Glancing down at the caller I.D., he picked it up and said, “What’s up, Charlie?”
“Man, you are never going to believe what I just found out,” Charlie Marshall said.
Results -
What did Charlie just find out?
Creighton Ford was one of many aliases for a con man with a rap sheet. - 50%
Creighton Ford had just attempted suicide and was in the hospital. - 50%
Crawford Investigations had investigated Creighton several years earlier. - 0%
Craning her neck to see through the doorway, Samantha replied, “Yeah. I expect they will try to stay all day, but I think they need to get out some. I know I do.”
“Did anyone ever get a hold of your boyfriend?” Colt asked changing the subject.
“They only place I had his number was in my phone and I haven’t really tried very hard to track him down. We haven’t been together that long. I’ll worry about it later.”
Always the detective, Colt told her that he would try to find a phone number using some of the online search tools to which he subscribed. “What’s his last name?”
“Ford,” Samantha replied. “Creighton Ford.”
“And he lives in L.A?”
“Yeah. Eagle rock area,” Samantha said.
As Mr. And Mrs. Woods entered the room, Colt extended his hand and introduced himself. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.
After enduring their gushing gratitude for several minutes, Colt, finding no way out, finally relented and agreed to let them take him out to lunch that afternoon. “You need some time with Samantha, and I have some work to do, so why don’t I meet you back here around noon?” Colt suggested.
Once he got back out to his car, he silently chastised himself for not bringing his laptop with him on this trip. Of course, he had purposely left it behind so he couldn’t work, but now he wanted it more than anything. That machine was his connection to the world and without it, he was at a severe disadvantage. His iPhone was a handy device, but it couldn’t access the databases or search sites that were available online. Fortunately, there was something useful that the iPhone could do for him at the moment and, within seconds, he was connected to the trusty 411 operator. Unfortunately, there was no listing for a Creighton Ford in L.A. so Colt was forced to resort to Plan B. As a wildly successful detective, he had learned to always have a second option for tracking down every lead because no one was perfectly predictable. With the phone once again pressed against his ear, he dialed a familiar number. Seconds later an equally familiar voice answered.
“Charlie,” Colt said as the new boss of Crawford Investigations joined the conversation.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon,” Charlie Marshall replied as he settled his large frame into what had once been Colt’s inviting leather desk chair in the corner office Colt had once occupied.
“I just can’t leave it all behind that easily,” Colt said. “I need a favor.” After explaining the laptop situation to Charlie, he asked him to find a number for Creighton Ford of Los Angeles. It was a somewhat unusual name, so Colt felt confident that finding the right man wouldn’t take long and he was right.
“I’ve got one in Eagle Rock,” Charlie said after a short wait.
“That’s the one,” Colt replied. Charlie rattled off the number as Colt committed it to memory. Memorizing lists and phone numbers was a trick he had mastered years before by creating mnemonic devices that attached various images to numbers. It was a trick that had bailed Colt out of more than one tricky situation in the past, and he was confident it would help again in the future.
After hanging up with Charlie, Colt dialed Creighton’s number. It was a home number though he was more likely to be at work at 10:30 on a Tuesday morning, but it was worth a shot. He’d leave a message and move on. To Colt’s surprise, Crieghton answered on the third ring. Colt quickly introduced himself and told the boyfriend that Samantha had been beat up and kidnapped.
“Did they catch the guy?” Creighton asked.
The question threw Colt off guard. He had expected something about Samantha’s well-being or where he could visit her, but not this. It seemed strange to Colt that Creighton was more focused on justice than on Samantha’s health. Regardless, he filled him in on a few of the lesser details, but his gut told him to proceed with caution. Before he hung up, Colt had made an appointment to meet Creighton at the hospital later that evening.
His next move was to call a friend at the LAPD and find out if there had been any reported car thefts in the area of Figueroa and Ninth the night before. After the necessary small talk, he finally posed his question and waited for a reply. “I think I did hear about something down there yesterday, but that’s off my beat. Let me ask around,” Lieutenant Teddy Crosby said. “Hey, Glover!” He yelled with the phone pressed against his slightly enlarged stomach in an effort to muffle the sound and simulate an “on-hold” feature that Crosby refused to actually use. “You hear about a car jacking at Fig and Nine yesterday?” Colt could hear voices but with the blue uniform blocking the receiver, words were hard to follow. Besides, the rumbling of Crosby’s stomach juices was enough to paint a very vivid picture in Colt’s mind of what the scene on the other end must have looked like.
A few minutes later, Crosby was back on the line with the phone once again returned to the appropriate part of his body. “There was a car jacking reported, but someone else called in two minutes later and canceled the call. Normally we would follow up anyway, but with it being a holiday, we were swamped with drunks.”
“Any info on the suspects?”
“We didn’t get any. Like I said, the call was cancelled.”
Colt explained the situation he was dealing with regarding Samantha and asked Crosby if he could get some surveillance tapes from the buildings in the area. Given the information Colt had conveyed to Crosby, he was confident that a crime had indeed been committed in the city, so he promised that he would assign a detective to track down any video footage of the area that might exist. “I’ll get you copies of whatever we find,” Crosby assured Colt.
Colt’s next call was to the Santa Barbara County Sheriff’s office. He wanted to get in touch with the detective handling this end of the case and offer to help. Mostly he just wanted to find out what they knew so he could do his own investigation, but he figured he would have to have something to offer up in exchange. The L.A. video tapes should give him some leverage.
After navigating the automated answering system for a few minutes, Colt finally got put in touch with someone who could tell him which detective was following up on the Samantha Woods case. Seven and a half minutes after he first dialed the number, a woman’s voice answered. “Malone,” was all she said.
“Detective Malone,” Colt began. “My name is Colt Crawford. I’m the guy who found Samantha Woods on the side of the road last night.”
“Oh yes. I believe Sanchez spoke with you last night,” she responded. “He handed the case to me this morning. I’m taking it from here.”
Since there had obviously been a changing of the guard, Colt spent a few minutes filling her in on his side of the story before telling her his own profession. “Is there any information you could share with me?” Colt asked.
“I haven’t really had much time to work the case yet, but if you can meet me this morning I’d be happy to trade notes. I’ve never been one to turn down free help.”
Colt glanced at his watch. It was 10:45 a.m. He was supposed to meet Samantha’s parents at noon. “I’m at the hospital. Can you meet me at the Starbucks down the street in ten minutes.
“Ill be there,” Detective Malone said. “I’ll be the one in the dark blue undercover cop car,” she joked.
There was something about her laid back demeanor that intrigued Colt. A lot of cops were hot shots who were out to prove something to the world, but Malone seemed different. The only thing she seemed interested in proving was who hurt Samantha Woods. Colt briefly tried to imagine what Detective Malone must look like, but instead, the face that came to mind was that of Samantha, bandages and all. For a man on an open-ended vacation, he was suddenly very busy.
Colt started the car and was just getting ready to pull out of the parking lot when his phone rang. Glancing down at the caller I.D., he picked it up and said, “What’s up, Charlie?”
“Man, you are never going to believe what I just found out,” Charlie Marshall said.
Results -
What did Charlie just find out?
Creighton Ford was one of many aliases for a con man with a rap sheet. - 50%
Creighton Ford had just attempted suicide and was in the hospital. - 50%
Crawford Investigations had investigated Creighton several years earlier. - 0%
Monday, January 18, 2010
Colt Crawford - Chapter 3
Given their semi-remote location, the ambulance took about 10 minutes to arrive. Colt stayed on the phone while asking the injured woman questions and relating her answers to the 911 operator. Not wanting to upset her or cause undue anxiety, Colt resisted asking about what had happened. Instead, he focused in on her personal information. After several minutes he was able to determine that her name was Samantha Woods and that she lived in Glendale and made the 10 mile drive to her job in downtown Los Angles.
“Do you have any family nearby? Anyone I should contact?” he asked.
“My parents are in Orange County,” she said. “Anaheim.” Colt patiently waited while Samantha recited their names as he made a mental note to contact them as soon as he could.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters? Or a husband?” Colt asked. “Anyone else I should contact?”
“Boyfriend, Creighton,” she replied. “His number is in my phone.” Based on the looks of Samantha Woods at that moment, Colt doubted that he would find her phone anywhere nearby. Had she had access to it earlier, she would have used it.
“I’ll do what I can,” Colt said. He wanted to ask what Creighton’s last name was, but he could tell she was beginning to drift out of consciousness again so instead he said, “Stay with me. I hear the ambulance coming now.”
The wail if the siren was still in the distance, but it provided a sense of relief for Colt. “I can see the ambulance now,” he said to the 911 operator. “Thanks,” he added before ending the call.
When Colt turned to look at the coming lights, he realized that it was actually a police car approaching, no doubt a Santa Barbara County Sheriff. The deputy parked the car on the street with his search lights illuminating Samantha and Colt, stepped out and made a quick assessment of the situation. Colt briefed him as he was pulling an emergency blanket out of the trunk of his Crown Victoria police cruiser.
Moments later the red lights of the ambulance were flashing on the pavement, mixing their crimson glow with the bright spotlights from the police car. “Where will you take her?” Colt asked the senior EMT.
“The nearest trauma center is in Santa Barbara. Let me assess her and we’ll decide if we need to head there or if we can go to Santa Maria.”
Within minutes, the EMT had stabilized Samantha’s dislocated shoulder, started an IV and was preparing to strap her to a backboard. She had several lacerations on her face, arms, and legs and deep bruising around her eyes. “It looks as if she was dumped from a moving car,” the EMT said. “We’re going to have to go to Santa Barbara, just to be on the safe side.”
Colt glanced at his watch. Santa Barbara was about 60 miles to the south. The ambulance could probably make the trip in just under an hour. He stepped back from the scene and let the professionals do their work. The EMT was talking to a paramedic from the fire department who made the decision to call in a helicopter.
Samantha’s condition was not good. She had complained of nausea and her breathing was quick and shallow. A brief exam revealed that her blood pressure was falling. Fear of internal bleeding was a growing concern, thus the need for an airlift to the hospital.
The helicopter would come from the airport in Santa Maria, so the wait time was minimal. Within minutes the thumping of the rotors shook the still air to life and sent a shiver down Colt’s spine. This woman whom he had never met was lying on the side of the road dying. Had he not made the decision to leave his own life that same afternoon, she would have likely lost hers. Had he not eaten a so-called burger at McDonalds, he would not have felt the need for a late night run. Had he not been a runner at all, she would be dead. The chain of events that had been unfolding throughout the day consumed Colt’s thoughts.
His mind drifted back to the stakeout of Mandy Miles at the bar in L.A. He relived the moment when he realized that she was secretly meeting with her brother and not a mystery lover. Then after that, his mind went back to his office and the conversation he had had with Charlie Marshall as handed off his business. The e-mails to various staff members flooded back to his mind. Was this fate? Why was he on this dark road in the middle of nowhere at ten o’clock at night? Why was she on the same road? Had all of this been orchestrated by some sort of divine presence?
“Do you need a ride?” Colt was startled out of his moment of somber reflection by the voice of a detective who had arrived on the scene. “They are ready to transport her to the hospital. I can give you a ride back to your car. I need to ask you a few questions anyway.”
“Thanks,” Colt replied with distracted glance upward. He was more than willing to accept the offer, even if his face didn’t reflect that feeling. It had been nearly forty minutes since he first spotted the woman. His muscles were tightening up in the cool night air and Colt knew he would be hurting in the morning if he jumped right back into his run where he had left off.
The ride back to the motel only took about 5 minutes, but it was long enough for Colt relay most of his version of the events. He sat in the detective’s car another few minutes once they reached the motel and finished up the last few details. As Colt reached up to open the car door, the detective handed him a card and said, “Give me a call if you think of anything else.”
“I’ll do that,” Colt said stepping out into the cool January night air. “Happy New Year.” With that, he trudged toward the room he had rented for the night, ready to get some much needed sleep, but one more task loomed in his mind. The phone call to Samantha’s parents was harder than he had anticipated. He reassured them that she was in good hands and that she would be okay. While talking to them, he asked about her boyfriend, Creighton. Of course they knew of him, but had no contact information. The two had been together only a couple of months. Colt hung up the phone exhausted.
The long day combined with the emotional exhaustion of what he had just been through had gotten the best of him. As he entered his room he flopped onto the bed, never even bothering to brush the burger off his teeth or change out of his running clothes. Colt figured he’d have a clean bed at a new hotel the next night anyway.
On the second day of January, the morning sky dawned bright blue and the cool crisp air was a welcome treat for the big city investigator. The taste in his mouth as he rolled out of bed was something Colt would prefer to forget. Making his way to the sink, he began his morning with a scouring of his mouth followed by a long shower. As a man on the road, he had no agenda. No meetings were scheduled and no clients would be calling. Despite this newfound freedom, Colt caught himself planning a drive to the hospital in Santa Barbara for a quick chat with Samantha Woods. The detective in him just wouldn’t quit. He had to know why she had been kidnapped and dumped on the side of the road. Besides, at their insisting, he had promised Samantha’s parents that he would stop by and introduce himself.
The nav system in the BMW gave him flawless directions to the hospital. Finding a parking spot was the tricky part. He circled the lot a few times before finding a place to park his car. Using his charming personality, he found out where Samantha’s room was and made his way down the sterile hallways until he found it.
She was awake when Colt entered the room just after 10:00 a.m. Despite her beaten and bruised face, Samantha had a radiance about her that Colt found intriguing. “Do you remember me?” he asked with a gentle tap on the opened door.
“Not really, but I assume you are the guy who helped me last night,” she said. “My parents said you might stop by.”
“Guilty as charged,” Colt replied. “I’m Colt Crawford.” He extended his hand and shook hers gently, careful not to cause her any additional pain. “So your parents made it, then?”
“They got here early this morning,” Samantha replied. “Thanks for calling them. I think they are searching for coffee right now.”
“So what’s the prognosis?” Colt inquired.
“I got beat up,” Samantha began. Colt just silently nodded as she gave him the update. Besides the cuts and bruises, she had a dislocated shoulder and internal bleeding which required an emergency operation. Despite all that, she managed to avoid the ICU and was in a regular room recovering from all that had happened. “They plan to keep me a few days to make sure everything is on the right track and to run a few more tests,” she continued. “I should be home by the weekend.”
“If this is too soon, feel free to stop me, but do you mind telling me what happened?” Colt inquired “I am a private investigator and I’d like to help on this case as much as I can. It won’t cost you a thing. I’d be doing it on my dime.”
“You saved my life,” Samantha replied. “The least I can do is not pay you for figuring out what happened,” she said with small hint of what Colt could only assume was her normal radiant smile. “All I can remember is that I came out of my office and went to my car. When I got there, someone came up behind me and tried to grab my keys. I stabbed his hand with one of the keys and he started fighting me for them. Next thing I know my head is throbbing and I am in the trunk of my own car.”
“Do you remember anything after that?” Colt asked.
“After a what must have been an hour or two, another guy pulled me out of the trunk and tied my hands up. The first guy was still in the driver’s seat.” Her eyes seemed to fade away to another time as Colt sat quietly, not wanting to force her into anything. Finally she spoke again. “They put me in the back seat and pushed me out while the car was moving. That’s all I can remember until this morning.”
Colt asked a few more questions and got some information about what the two men had looked like. Her descriptions were hazy at best, but it was a start. As soon as he had a chance, he wanted sit down with the lead detective and offer to share information. One way or another Colt Crawford was going to solve this case.
Results -
As Colt tries to solve the case should he:
A) Establish a cordial working relationship with the local police detective -0%
B) Encounter a hotshot detective who doesn’t want his help - 28%
C) Work with a female detective who helps to create a little competition with Samantha for Colt’s attention - 71%
“Do you have any family nearby? Anyone I should contact?” he asked.
“My parents are in Orange County,” she said. “Anaheim.” Colt patiently waited while Samantha recited their names as he made a mental note to contact them as soon as he could.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters? Or a husband?” Colt asked. “Anyone else I should contact?”
“Boyfriend, Creighton,” she replied. “His number is in my phone.” Based on the looks of Samantha Woods at that moment, Colt doubted that he would find her phone anywhere nearby. Had she had access to it earlier, she would have used it.
“I’ll do what I can,” Colt said. He wanted to ask what Creighton’s last name was, but he could tell she was beginning to drift out of consciousness again so instead he said, “Stay with me. I hear the ambulance coming now.”
The wail if the siren was still in the distance, but it provided a sense of relief for Colt. “I can see the ambulance now,” he said to the 911 operator. “Thanks,” he added before ending the call.
When Colt turned to look at the coming lights, he realized that it was actually a police car approaching, no doubt a Santa Barbara County Sheriff. The deputy parked the car on the street with his search lights illuminating Samantha and Colt, stepped out and made a quick assessment of the situation. Colt briefed him as he was pulling an emergency blanket out of the trunk of his Crown Victoria police cruiser.
Moments later the red lights of the ambulance were flashing on the pavement, mixing their crimson glow with the bright spotlights from the police car. “Where will you take her?” Colt asked the senior EMT.
“The nearest trauma center is in Santa Barbara. Let me assess her and we’ll decide if we need to head there or if we can go to Santa Maria.”
Within minutes, the EMT had stabilized Samantha’s dislocated shoulder, started an IV and was preparing to strap her to a backboard. She had several lacerations on her face, arms, and legs and deep bruising around her eyes. “It looks as if she was dumped from a moving car,” the EMT said. “We’re going to have to go to Santa Barbara, just to be on the safe side.”
Colt glanced at his watch. Santa Barbara was about 60 miles to the south. The ambulance could probably make the trip in just under an hour. He stepped back from the scene and let the professionals do their work. The EMT was talking to a paramedic from the fire department who made the decision to call in a helicopter.
Samantha’s condition was not good. She had complained of nausea and her breathing was quick and shallow. A brief exam revealed that her blood pressure was falling. Fear of internal bleeding was a growing concern, thus the need for an airlift to the hospital.
The helicopter would come from the airport in Santa Maria, so the wait time was minimal. Within minutes the thumping of the rotors shook the still air to life and sent a shiver down Colt’s spine. This woman whom he had never met was lying on the side of the road dying. Had he not made the decision to leave his own life that same afternoon, she would have likely lost hers. Had he not eaten a so-called burger at McDonalds, he would not have felt the need for a late night run. Had he not been a runner at all, she would be dead. The chain of events that had been unfolding throughout the day consumed Colt’s thoughts.
His mind drifted back to the stakeout of Mandy Miles at the bar in L.A. He relived the moment when he realized that she was secretly meeting with her brother and not a mystery lover. Then after that, his mind went back to his office and the conversation he had had with Charlie Marshall as handed off his business. The e-mails to various staff members flooded back to his mind. Was this fate? Why was he on this dark road in the middle of nowhere at ten o’clock at night? Why was she on the same road? Had all of this been orchestrated by some sort of divine presence?
“Do you need a ride?” Colt was startled out of his moment of somber reflection by the voice of a detective who had arrived on the scene. “They are ready to transport her to the hospital. I can give you a ride back to your car. I need to ask you a few questions anyway.”
“Thanks,” Colt replied with distracted glance upward. He was more than willing to accept the offer, even if his face didn’t reflect that feeling. It had been nearly forty minutes since he first spotted the woman. His muscles were tightening up in the cool night air and Colt knew he would be hurting in the morning if he jumped right back into his run where he had left off.
The ride back to the motel only took about 5 minutes, but it was long enough for Colt relay most of his version of the events. He sat in the detective’s car another few minutes once they reached the motel and finished up the last few details. As Colt reached up to open the car door, the detective handed him a card and said, “Give me a call if you think of anything else.”
“I’ll do that,” Colt said stepping out into the cool January night air. “Happy New Year.” With that, he trudged toward the room he had rented for the night, ready to get some much needed sleep, but one more task loomed in his mind. The phone call to Samantha’s parents was harder than he had anticipated. He reassured them that she was in good hands and that she would be okay. While talking to them, he asked about her boyfriend, Creighton. Of course they knew of him, but had no contact information. The two had been together only a couple of months. Colt hung up the phone exhausted.
The long day combined with the emotional exhaustion of what he had just been through had gotten the best of him. As he entered his room he flopped onto the bed, never even bothering to brush the burger off his teeth or change out of his running clothes. Colt figured he’d have a clean bed at a new hotel the next night anyway.
On the second day of January, the morning sky dawned bright blue and the cool crisp air was a welcome treat for the big city investigator. The taste in his mouth as he rolled out of bed was something Colt would prefer to forget. Making his way to the sink, he began his morning with a scouring of his mouth followed by a long shower. As a man on the road, he had no agenda. No meetings were scheduled and no clients would be calling. Despite this newfound freedom, Colt caught himself planning a drive to the hospital in Santa Barbara for a quick chat with Samantha Woods. The detective in him just wouldn’t quit. He had to know why she had been kidnapped and dumped on the side of the road. Besides, at their insisting, he had promised Samantha’s parents that he would stop by and introduce himself.
The nav system in the BMW gave him flawless directions to the hospital. Finding a parking spot was the tricky part. He circled the lot a few times before finding a place to park his car. Using his charming personality, he found out where Samantha’s room was and made his way down the sterile hallways until he found it.
She was awake when Colt entered the room just after 10:00 a.m. Despite her beaten and bruised face, Samantha had a radiance about her that Colt found intriguing. “Do you remember me?” he asked with a gentle tap on the opened door.
“Not really, but I assume you are the guy who helped me last night,” she said. “My parents said you might stop by.”
“Guilty as charged,” Colt replied. “I’m Colt Crawford.” He extended his hand and shook hers gently, careful not to cause her any additional pain. “So your parents made it, then?”
“They got here early this morning,” Samantha replied. “Thanks for calling them. I think they are searching for coffee right now.”
“So what’s the prognosis?” Colt inquired.
“I got beat up,” Samantha began. Colt just silently nodded as she gave him the update. Besides the cuts and bruises, she had a dislocated shoulder and internal bleeding which required an emergency operation. Despite all that, she managed to avoid the ICU and was in a regular room recovering from all that had happened. “They plan to keep me a few days to make sure everything is on the right track and to run a few more tests,” she continued. “I should be home by the weekend.”
“If this is too soon, feel free to stop me, but do you mind telling me what happened?” Colt inquired “I am a private investigator and I’d like to help on this case as much as I can. It won’t cost you a thing. I’d be doing it on my dime.”
“You saved my life,” Samantha replied. “The least I can do is not pay you for figuring out what happened,” she said with small hint of what Colt could only assume was her normal radiant smile. “All I can remember is that I came out of my office and went to my car. When I got there, someone came up behind me and tried to grab my keys. I stabbed his hand with one of the keys and he started fighting me for them. Next thing I know my head is throbbing and I am in the trunk of my own car.”
“Do you remember anything after that?” Colt asked.
“After a what must have been an hour or two, another guy pulled me out of the trunk and tied my hands up. The first guy was still in the driver’s seat.” Her eyes seemed to fade away to another time as Colt sat quietly, not wanting to force her into anything. Finally she spoke again. “They put me in the back seat and pushed me out while the car was moving. That’s all I can remember until this morning.”
Colt asked a few more questions and got some information about what the two men had looked like. Her descriptions were hazy at best, but it was a start. As soon as he had a chance, he wanted sit down with the lead detective and offer to share information. One way or another Colt Crawford was going to solve this case.
Results -
As Colt tries to solve the case should he:
A) Establish a cordial working relationship with the local police detective -0%
B) Encounter a hotshot detective who doesn’t want his help - 28%
C) Work with a female detective who helps to create a little competition with Samantha for Colt’s attention - 71%
Sunday, January 17, 2010
A Little Game
The ads you see on the side of this blog are generated by Google based on the content of the blog. I am playing a little game to see if I can get certain ads to generate. You will notice in the next post (coming Monday) that I mention Colt's interest in running. My goal is to see if I can get an ad for running apparel to generate. Let me know if you notice one. So far I have seen ads for office furniture (based on my mention of the word "cubicle") and ads for all sorts of private investigators. (Go figure.) If this works, we could turn it into a fun game by dropping hints in the text and seeing if Google can figure them out.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Random Crime...
According to the votes at the end of chapter 2, the woman Colt found while out jogging was the victim of a random crime that turns out to be not so random. I was really hoping one of the other choices would win, because I have no idea where I am going to take this from here, but, then again, that's half the fun. Feel free to post some of your ideas in the comments. I just might use them.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Colt Crawford - Chapter 2
With a newfound zeal for life, Colt applied a little more pressure to the accelerator and the car responded by picking up the pace. He carefully merged into the exit lane and pulled into the downtown parking garage adjacent to the high rise building where his office was located. He quickly caught an elevator to the fifth floor and hurried down the hall.
Since it was New Year’s Day the building was empty. When Colt opened the office door it came as no surprise that Jamaica, his attractive and fashionable receptionist, was not at her desk. She had been a valuable addition to the team a few years back. Her face was that of a model and it lent a lot of credibility to the image conscious clientele with which he worked.
Colt was proud of this office and his staff. The office was a status symbol that he had worked hard to achieve. He attributed his success to his work ethic and his passion for keeping his employees happy. His was a demanding career and Colt Crawford spared no expense when it came to retaining competent employees. It was this passion that drove him to take the lead on the holiday stakeout. He had instructed the others to take the day off and as his token of appreciation for their hard work, Colt would follow up on a few of their cases.
Strolling past the receptionist desk, a light in the back corner caught his eye. The detective made his way toward the Cubbie Zone as the team affectionately referred to the row of cubicles in the back of the suite and found Charlie Marshall sitting at his desk. “I thought I told you to take the day off,” Colt said as he approached the cubicle.
“I know, I just stopped by for a couple of hours to get caught up on paperwork. The S.C. game doesn’t start for another hour.” Charlie shared Colt’s work ethic and passion for success. He was just the man Colt needed to see.
“Charlie,” Colt began. “You’ve been here for a while now. I think you are ready for more.”
“What do you mean, Boss?” Charlie asked pausing from his feverish typing. He was a big man so it always impressed Colt when his thick fingers moved effortlessly across the keyboard. Weighing in around 250 and just a hair under six feet, Charlie Marshall was indeed imposing. Fortunately for Colt, Charlie also had the brains to match his braun. As a graduate of USC, Charlie could follow complex situations and piece together evidence in his head while all the other investigators relied on white boards and diagrams.
“I’m going to take an indefinite leave of absence and I am putting you in charge.” Charlie wasn’t sure what to say so he just listened as Colt laid out the plan. “I’ll type up a memo explaining it all to the staff. You get a 10% raise effective immediately.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Charlie said. “That would help my wife dig herself out of that Christmas spending spree she just had. Do you mind telling me why you are doing this?”
“I’m just ready for a change. I’m 33, single, rich, and bored. I need some time away to think things through. I’ll be back.”
“So is this raise just temporary, then?” Charlie asked as he leaned his broad body back in the comfortable office chair.
“I’ll tell you what. You keep the business steady while I’m gone and the raise is permanent. Deal?”
“You got it, Boss,” Charlie replied extending his hand toward Colt. The two men shook and Colt retreated to his office to tie up a few loose ends before heading out. Since he owned the company, his income would be relatively untouched in his absence, at least for the short-term. As long as the clients kept coming, money would not be an issue.
By seven o’clock that night, Colt had handed off his case files to his associates, tied up several other loose ends at the office, handed over the day-to-day operations to a new guy, packed up a week’s worth of clothes and hit the road. He cruised around L.A. with the top down for about a half hour enjoying the cool evening breeze. He eventually ended up at an on ramp for the 101. “Which way do we go?” Colt said half expecting the car to answer his rhetorical question. As he waited at a red light he pulled a quarter from his pocket. “Heads we go north, tails we go south,” he said. With a quick flip the quarter spun upwards and landed in his right hand. Colt glanced down and saw the face of a famous dead president staring up at him. “North it is,” he sighed as the light turned green and the BMW seemingly steered itself to the northbound 101.
The holiday traffic was light and Colt found his speed pushing 90 at times. The top was up by now so the wind no longer mattered. He tried to slow down on several occasions, but the car just couldn’t be tamed. As he made his way past the big city, he came to the town of Calabasas on the northern edge of Los Angeles County. On the left side of the freeway a McDonalds sign caught his attention. It wasn’t his favorite place to eat, but it did have the one thing Colt craved at that moment. Ever since he was young, he could remember mixing some of his dad’s Coke with his mom’s Diet Coke whenever the family went out to eat. There was just something about that combination that had stuck with him all these years. He also figured that McDonalds was likely to actually be open on a holiday, so it would have to do.
He parked the car under the lights in the parking lot and made his way inside. The line was short and the burger, if you can call it that, was ready in only a few minutes. Colt was in no hurry since he had no idea where he was even going. He selected a booth on the edge and sat down to sip his Coke/Diet soda while he ate the burger and gave each person in the restaurant made-up names. In the far corner were a couple he nicknamed Brad and Jen. They were both attractive and trendy. Clearly the typical L.A. yuppies. Then there was Harrison. He got the name because of the bushy tuft of hair that protruded from the back of the collar on his orange t-shirt. Sleepy was the college student who had a text book in front of him, but had no intention of actually reading it.
As a life-long bachelor Colt was used to eating alone. With the exception of his intentions, this night was not unlike any other night he had experienced in recent memory. He frequently worked late and ate alone, but for the first time, on this night, it bothered him. Colt didn’t linger in the restaurant any longer than necessary and was back in the car and on the road within fifteen minutes of his arrival.
Back on the 101, Colt continued northward still not knowing where he was actually headed. After several miles, he glanced to the left and out past the darkened beaches. The lights from the off shore oil rigs made for an impressive sight on a clear night such as this was. The wide open road and beautiful scenery were exactly what Colt needed.
It was close to 10:00 when he found himself approaching the small city of Santa Maria. To the east he spotted a little motel on a hill just off the freeway. That’s perfect, Colt thought as he steered the car up the hill.
After checking in at the front desk Colt wandered down the dimmed hallway and found the small room. The quasi-burger he had eaten for dinner was sitting heavy on his stomach and he really needed to stretch his legs. The time of day never really mattered to Colt, he just did what needed to be done when it needed to be done. Given that mentality, a ten o’clock run in an unfamiliar place was not something out of the ordinary for this private investigator. His bag was packed lightly, but the one thing Colt never left behind was a pair of running shoes. In a matter of minutes, Colt was dressed in a white long sleeved t-shirt, black shorts and his trusty Nikes.
The cool evening air of the Central Coast was refreshing. The temperatures were hovering in the low 40s and a thin layer of fog had rolled in from the beach. The yellow lights in the parking lot created a majestic glow as the cool moist air circled the warm bulbs. It was strangely beautiful yet eerie at the same time. There were no street lights on the roads in this area so Colt flicked on his head mounted LED running light. This didn’t provide a ton of light, but it would be enough to prevent him from tripping in the darkness. As a matter of habit, Colt always ran with his iPhone in one hand, not because he feared an emergency, but because he always wanted to be available in case the office needed him. On this night, he almost left the phone behind, but for some reason, he still felt more comfortable with it.
After about two miles he was ready to turn around and head back to the motel. Glancing off into the distance, he could just barely make out a stop sign. Setting that as his goal he eased up a bit in anticipation of a u-turn. Just as he was about to round the sign, a noise caught Colt’s attention. He glanced to his right and saw an empty field sparsely populated with low-lying bushes and shrubs. Shadows confused the image in front of him, but he stopped and studied the landscape. As he did, he heard it again. It was faint and sounded like a moan. Using his light, he scanned the roadside until the silhouette of a body was illuminated about ten feet beside him.
Colt immediately flew into action. He quickly made his way to the woman’s side and began assessing her situation. She was badly beaten and barely conscious. Thankful that he hadn’t left his phone behind, he called 911 and tried to talk to the battered woman to keep her awake.
Results
The woman is a fellow private investigator who was ambushed on a stakeout and dumped. - 14%
The woman is Mandy Miles (See chapter 1) - 14%
The woman was the victim of a seemingly random crime, which later turns out to be not so random. - 71%
Since it was New Year’s Day the building was empty. When Colt opened the office door it came as no surprise that Jamaica, his attractive and fashionable receptionist, was not at her desk. She had been a valuable addition to the team a few years back. Her face was that of a model and it lent a lot of credibility to the image conscious clientele with which he worked.
Colt was proud of this office and his staff. The office was a status symbol that he had worked hard to achieve. He attributed his success to his work ethic and his passion for keeping his employees happy. His was a demanding career and Colt Crawford spared no expense when it came to retaining competent employees. It was this passion that drove him to take the lead on the holiday stakeout. He had instructed the others to take the day off and as his token of appreciation for their hard work, Colt would follow up on a few of their cases.
Strolling past the receptionist desk, a light in the back corner caught his eye. The detective made his way toward the Cubbie Zone as the team affectionately referred to the row of cubicles in the back of the suite and found Charlie Marshall sitting at his desk. “I thought I told you to take the day off,” Colt said as he approached the cubicle.
“I know, I just stopped by for a couple of hours to get caught up on paperwork. The S.C. game doesn’t start for another hour.” Charlie shared Colt’s work ethic and passion for success. He was just the man Colt needed to see.
“Charlie,” Colt began. “You’ve been here for a while now. I think you are ready for more.”
“What do you mean, Boss?” Charlie asked pausing from his feverish typing. He was a big man so it always impressed Colt when his thick fingers moved effortlessly across the keyboard. Weighing in around 250 and just a hair under six feet, Charlie Marshall was indeed imposing. Fortunately for Colt, Charlie also had the brains to match his braun. As a graduate of USC, Charlie could follow complex situations and piece together evidence in his head while all the other investigators relied on white boards and diagrams.
“I’m going to take an indefinite leave of absence and I am putting you in charge.” Charlie wasn’t sure what to say so he just listened as Colt laid out the plan. “I’ll type up a memo explaining it all to the staff. You get a 10% raise effective immediately.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Charlie said. “That would help my wife dig herself out of that Christmas spending spree she just had. Do you mind telling me why you are doing this?”
“I’m just ready for a change. I’m 33, single, rich, and bored. I need some time away to think things through. I’ll be back.”
“So is this raise just temporary, then?” Charlie asked as he leaned his broad body back in the comfortable office chair.
“I’ll tell you what. You keep the business steady while I’m gone and the raise is permanent. Deal?”
“You got it, Boss,” Charlie replied extending his hand toward Colt. The two men shook and Colt retreated to his office to tie up a few loose ends before heading out. Since he owned the company, his income would be relatively untouched in his absence, at least for the short-term. As long as the clients kept coming, money would not be an issue.
By seven o’clock that night, Colt had handed off his case files to his associates, tied up several other loose ends at the office, handed over the day-to-day operations to a new guy, packed up a week’s worth of clothes and hit the road. He cruised around L.A. with the top down for about a half hour enjoying the cool evening breeze. He eventually ended up at an on ramp for the 101. “Which way do we go?” Colt said half expecting the car to answer his rhetorical question. As he waited at a red light he pulled a quarter from his pocket. “Heads we go north, tails we go south,” he said. With a quick flip the quarter spun upwards and landed in his right hand. Colt glanced down and saw the face of a famous dead president staring up at him. “North it is,” he sighed as the light turned green and the BMW seemingly steered itself to the northbound 101.
The holiday traffic was light and Colt found his speed pushing 90 at times. The top was up by now so the wind no longer mattered. He tried to slow down on several occasions, but the car just couldn’t be tamed. As he made his way past the big city, he came to the town of Calabasas on the northern edge of Los Angeles County. On the left side of the freeway a McDonalds sign caught his attention. It wasn’t his favorite place to eat, but it did have the one thing Colt craved at that moment. Ever since he was young, he could remember mixing some of his dad’s Coke with his mom’s Diet Coke whenever the family went out to eat. There was just something about that combination that had stuck with him all these years. He also figured that McDonalds was likely to actually be open on a holiday, so it would have to do.
He parked the car under the lights in the parking lot and made his way inside. The line was short and the burger, if you can call it that, was ready in only a few minutes. Colt was in no hurry since he had no idea where he was even going. He selected a booth on the edge and sat down to sip his Coke/Diet soda while he ate the burger and gave each person in the restaurant made-up names. In the far corner were a couple he nicknamed Brad and Jen. They were both attractive and trendy. Clearly the typical L.A. yuppies. Then there was Harrison. He got the name because of the bushy tuft of hair that protruded from the back of the collar on his orange t-shirt. Sleepy was the college student who had a text book in front of him, but had no intention of actually reading it.
As a life-long bachelor Colt was used to eating alone. With the exception of his intentions, this night was not unlike any other night he had experienced in recent memory. He frequently worked late and ate alone, but for the first time, on this night, it bothered him. Colt didn’t linger in the restaurant any longer than necessary and was back in the car and on the road within fifteen minutes of his arrival.
Back on the 101, Colt continued northward still not knowing where he was actually headed. After several miles, he glanced to the left and out past the darkened beaches. The lights from the off shore oil rigs made for an impressive sight on a clear night such as this was. The wide open road and beautiful scenery were exactly what Colt needed.
It was close to 10:00 when he found himself approaching the small city of Santa Maria. To the east he spotted a little motel on a hill just off the freeway. That’s perfect, Colt thought as he steered the car up the hill.
After checking in at the front desk Colt wandered down the dimmed hallway and found the small room. The quasi-burger he had eaten for dinner was sitting heavy on his stomach and he really needed to stretch his legs. The time of day never really mattered to Colt, he just did what needed to be done when it needed to be done. Given that mentality, a ten o’clock run in an unfamiliar place was not something out of the ordinary for this private investigator. His bag was packed lightly, but the one thing Colt never left behind was a pair of running shoes. In a matter of minutes, Colt was dressed in a white long sleeved t-shirt, black shorts and his trusty Nikes.
The cool evening air of the Central Coast was refreshing. The temperatures were hovering in the low 40s and a thin layer of fog had rolled in from the beach. The yellow lights in the parking lot created a majestic glow as the cool moist air circled the warm bulbs. It was strangely beautiful yet eerie at the same time. There were no street lights on the roads in this area so Colt flicked on his head mounted LED running light. This didn’t provide a ton of light, but it would be enough to prevent him from tripping in the darkness. As a matter of habit, Colt always ran with his iPhone in one hand, not because he feared an emergency, but because he always wanted to be available in case the office needed him. On this night, he almost left the phone behind, but for some reason, he still felt more comfortable with it.
After about two miles he was ready to turn around and head back to the motel. Glancing off into the distance, he could just barely make out a stop sign. Setting that as his goal he eased up a bit in anticipation of a u-turn. Just as he was about to round the sign, a noise caught Colt’s attention. He glanced to his right and saw an empty field sparsely populated with low-lying bushes and shrubs. Shadows confused the image in front of him, but he stopped and studied the landscape. As he did, he heard it again. It was faint and sounded like a moan. Using his light, he scanned the roadside until the silhouette of a body was illuminated about ten feet beside him.
Colt immediately flew into action. He quickly made his way to the woman’s side and began assessing her situation. She was badly beaten and barely conscious. Thankful that he hadn’t left his phone behind, he called 911 and tried to talk to the battered woman to keep her awake.
Results
The woman is a fellow private investigator who was ambushed on a stakeout and dumped. - 14%
The woman is Mandy Miles (See chapter 1) - 14%
The woman was the victim of a seemingly random crime, which later turns out to be not so random. - 71%
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Drink of Choice
Every good character has a favorite beverage. What do you suggest should be Colt's non-alcoholic drink of choice? Post some suggestions in the comments. As I write tonight he heading north on 101 out of LA. Somewhere around Santa Barbara he is looking to pull over for a late night snack and drink. Any suggestions?
Monday, January 11, 2010
The First 24 Hours - Read after you read Chapter 1
After almost 24 hours of The Novel Blogger, we have choice B (Colt taking a long road trip in the BMW) in the lead. I have to admit that this one is my first choice, but this blog is all about what the readers want. You are free to disagree with me and I will comply. I made a slight goof on the poll settings. It says that it is set to close in 6 days, however, I will have to shorten that in order to get the next chapter out by Thursday night which is my goal. If you want to vote, you will need to do so by tomorrow at 3 pm (PST). I'll fix that timeline for Chapter 2.
Take a look at the comments and feel free to contribute. I will consider your ideas and try to implement them.
Take a look at the comments and feel free to contribute. I will consider your ideas and try to implement them.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Colt Crawford - Chapter 1
It was New Year’s Day and Colt Crawford once again found himself alone in his car outside an upscale bar in a swanky L.A. neighborhood. The sky was enviably blue and the afternoon temperature hovered around 72 degress. It didn’t seem right for a January day. Within the solitude of his car, Colt pondered how his parents must be feeling at that moment as rain gently pounded the roof of their suburban Portland home. They were, no doubt, sitting in front of a warm fire watching the rain drops streak down the living room window as a college bowl game played out on the 52 inch plasma TV Colt had bought for them for Christmas last year. How many times had he sacrificed his holidays to camp outside a restaurant or flashy house waiting to catch somebody sneaking around with someone who was off limits?
For the first seven or eight yeas of his career as a private investigator, Colt had thrived on the job. He loved the thrill of the hunt, even when it involved countless hours of waiting and watching. But on this day, and on many others like it over the last few years, the magic was gone. People would always do dumb and selfish things and Colt was growing increasingly tired of interfering with the lives of idiot celebrities who were determined to screw up every last chance they might have at true happiness.
Life as a private investigator for the stars did have its perks and that detail was not lost on Colt Crawford. The seats of his BMW 650i were indeed comfortable. As Colt sipped his iced latte he inhaled the rich smell of leather that enveloped the car’s interior. Peering over the rim of the paper cup, he scanned the front door of the bar waiting for his latest target to emerge.
Most investigators would shun a car as flashy as a Beemer so Colt didn’t mind that in this neighborhood his car was as inconspicuous as a Honda or Toyota might have been in any other part of the the city. As he sat in the warm mid-afternoon sun, he was tempted to put down the convertible top, but that would only draw attention to himself so he decided against it.
As the minutes ticked by, Colt caught himself letting his mind wander from his task. Thoughts of a life free of the constraints of the big city brought him a momentary reprieve from the daily grind. He could almost feel the wind in his face as he imagined himself gliding down a wide open highway on top of a powerful motorcycle. Just as his thoughts were tempting him to throw in the towel and walk away from it all, a brief commotion in front of the bar shook him back to reality.
Glancing out the front window of the BMW, he saw a man and a woman engaged in a heated discussion. “That’s her,” Colt mumbled to himself. He pulled the camera from the passenger seat and zoomed the lengthy telephoto lens in on his target. Snapping the shutter four or five times in sequence, Colt was satisfied that he had the last piece of evidence he needed in order to prove to his client that his girlfriend was indeed cheating on him.
With the camera once again resting on the seat beside him, Colt Crawford started the ignition and the car hummed to life. With a quick flick of the wrist the gear shifter slid smoothly into drive. Just as he was about to move his foot from the brake pedal to the gas and pull away from the curb, he glanced back at his target. The discussion between the woman and her companion was heating up even more. He could now not only see their animated gestures, but he could also hear angry words. If he listened closely, he could even decipher some of them. “Time to put the top down,” the detective said to himself.
Even though he disliked his chosen profession at the moment, he couldn’t help but do the job he had been trained to do. Once the roof of the car was tucked neatly away, Colt could make out most of their conversation. The two were clearly involved in a disagreement. “Come on!” the man yelled. “I’m your brother and I care more about you than he ever will!”
At that, the tone of the discussion seemed to settle by several degrees. The woman’s eyes dropped and he confident demeanor vanished. Colt glanced down at the file he had created for this case. What was her name? he wondered. Flipping through a few pages, he quickly found what he was looking for. His finger rested on the name, Mandy Miles. Again peering through the powerful telephoto lens, Colt looked back at the pair and saw that Mandy had tears in her eyes. “I don’t know if I can do it,” he saw her lips mumble. And with that, the man put his arm around Mandy Miles and the two walked off toward the parking lot. With their backs to him and the argument over, Colt had no way of knowing what was going on so he pulled the Beemer away from the curb and pointed the car back toward his office.
As he merged the car onto the 405 and drove north, he pondered the mistake he had almost made. He mentally kicked himself for not picking up on the brother/sister angle earlier. It all started to make sense as he sorted out the scenario that had been unfolding in front of him for the past week - the secret meetings, the late night rendezvous. Mandy Miles had been trying to leave an abusive relationship and had turned to her brother for help. Colt shuddered at the thought that he had almost helped an abusive man trap a frightened woman in his grip. Then, right there in the number three lane with the wind blowing through his hair, Colt Crawford made a decision. He was thirty-three and single and it was time for a change.
What kind of change should Colt make? Use the voting buttons to the right to cast your vote. You can also leave comments with some of your ideas.
Results:
A) Close his office permanently and join his brother in his real estate business. - 0%
B) Close the office indefinitely and take an extended road trip in the BMW. - 75%
C) Close the LA office and start over with a new practice somewhere else. - 25%
For the first seven or eight yeas of his career as a private investigator, Colt had thrived on the job. He loved the thrill of the hunt, even when it involved countless hours of waiting and watching. But on this day, and on many others like it over the last few years, the magic was gone. People would always do dumb and selfish things and Colt was growing increasingly tired of interfering with the lives of idiot celebrities who were determined to screw up every last chance they might have at true happiness.
Life as a private investigator for the stars did have its perks and that detail was not lost on Colt Crawford. The seats of his BMW 650i were indeed comfortable. As Colt sipped his iced latte he inhaled the rich smell of leather that enveloped the car’s interior. Peering over the rim of the paper cup, he scanned the front door of the bar waiting for his latest target to emerge.
Most investigators would shun a car as flashy as a Beemer so Colt didn’t mind that in this neighborhood his car was as inconspicuous as a Honda or Toyota might have been in any other part of the the city. As he sat in the warm mid-afternoon sun, he was tempted to put down the convertible top, but that would only draw attention to himself so he decided against it.
As the minutes ticked by, Colt caught himself letting his mind wander from his task. Thoughts of a life free of the constraints of the big city brought him a momentary reprieve from the daily grind. He could almost feel the wind in his face as he imagined himself gliding down a wide open highway on top of a powerful motorcycle. Just as his thoughts were tempting him to throw in the towel and walk away from it all, a brief commotion in front of the bar shook him back to reality.
Glancing out the front window of the BMW, he saw a man and a woman engaged in a heated discussion. “That’s her,” Colt mumbled to himself. He pulled the camera from the passenger seat and zoomed the lengthy telephoto lens in on his target. Snapping the shutter four or five times in sequence, Colt was satisfied that he had the last piece of evidence he needed in order to prove to his client that his girlfriend was indeed cheating on him.
With the camera once again resting on the seat beside him, Colt Crawford started the ignition and the car hummed to life. With a quick flick of the wrist the gear shifter slid smoothly into drive. Just as he was about to move his foot from the brake pedal to the gas and pull away from the curb, he glanced back at his target. The discussion between the woman and her companion was heating up even more. He could now not only see their animated gestures, but he could also hear angry words. If he listened closely, he could even decipher some of them. “Time to put the top down,” the detective said to himself.
Even though he disliked his chosen profession at the moment, he couldn’t help but do the job he had been trained to do. Once the roof of the car was tucked neatly away, Colt could make out most of their conversation. The two were clearly involved in a disagreement. “Come on!” the man yelled. “I’m your brother and I care more about you than he ever will!”
At that, the tone of the discussion seemed to settle by several degrees. The woman’s eyes dropped and he confident demeanor vanished. Colt glanced down at the file he had created for this case. What was her name? he wondered. Flipping through a few pages, he quickly found what he was looking for. His finger rested on the name, Mandy Miles. Again peering through the powerful telephoto lens, Colt looked back at the pair and saw that Mandy had tears in her eyes. “I don’t know if I can do it,” he saw her lips mumble. And with that, the man put his arm around Mandy Miles and the two walked off toward the parking lot. With their backs to him and the argument over, Colt had no way of knowing what was going on so he pulled the Beemer away from the curb and pointed the car back toward his office.
As he merged the car onto the 405 and drove north, he pondered the mistake he had almost made. He mentally kicked himself for not picking up on the brother/sister angle earlier. It all started to make sense as he sorted out the scenario that had been unfolding in front of him for the past week - the secret meetings, the late night rendezvous. Mandy Miles had been trying to leave an abusive relationship and had turned to her brother for help. Colt shuddered at the thought that he had almost helped an abusive man trap a frightened woman in his grip. Then, right there in the number three lane with the wind blowing through his hair, Colt Crawford made a decision. He was thirty-three and single and it was time for a change.
What kind of change should Colt make? Use the voting buttons to the right to cast your vote. You can also leave comments with some of your ideas.
Results:
A) Close his office permanently and join his brother in his real estate business. - 0%
B) Close the office indefinitely and take an extended road trip in the BMW. - 75%
C) Close the LA office and start over with a new practice somewhere else. - 25%
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