Still failing at NaNo ’10.

As you can see, I’m way, way under the minimum mark for where I need to be for NaNoWriMo. According to the stats page, if I keep going at this rate, I will be finished by December 5. You’ll notice this is five days late.

Last time I posted an excerpt, someone suggested I just add ninjas. I may have to resort to such drastic measures.

Here’s a whatnot from this week’s additions:

It was pouring by the time Jocelyn reached the precinct. As she stepped through the door, dripping wet, the receptionist stood up in disbelief. “Geez, lady. Don’t you have an umbrella?” Jocelyn did, in fact, have an umbrella. It was perfectly dry at the moment, on account of it was sitting propped against the door frame back at her office.

Jocelyn clutched her arms to her chest, and tried to keep her teeth from chattering. “I’m h-here to meet with Detective C-Clark. Is h-he in?”

The receptionist shook her head. “Honey, you’ll catch your death. Here, take off that heavy coat.” Jocelyn shrugged her coat off into the receptionist’s arms, and was about deafened when she turned and shouted into the bustling office: “Hey you! Rookie! Make yourself useful, and give a lady your coat.”

From the door behind the receptionist’s desk emerged a handsome young officer holding his jacket. He was only slightly taller than Jocelyn, and his details included messy blonde hair and sparkling bluish-green eyes.

Jocelyn blinked. Sparkling? Is that really what she would have written, had she been holding her notebook? She convinced herself it was a trick of the light. She was suddenly very aware of how fast her heart was beating. She convinced herself that was a trick of the light, too.

I have a name, Betty Sue,” said the officer. He draped his jacket around Jocelyn’s shoulders.

Good for you, kid,” the receptionist replied. “If you’re here long enough, maybe I’ll take the time to learn it. Well, take her on back. I’ll get her a cup of something hot.”

The receptionist trundled off, and the officer beckoned for Jocelyn to follow him. “Come on, we’ll go sit you over by Barrett’s desk. He’s right next to the radiator, not that he needs to be. He sweats like a pig without the help. I’m Ken, by the way.”

P-pleased to meet you. I’m J-Jocelyn.” The officer set her down in front of Max Barrett’s desk, which was stacked so high with paperwork they had to sit on the same side of the desk to see each other. Upon reaching the chair Jocelyn immediately began warming up.

Jocelyn. Right. You’re the girl who called in that scene yesterday. They had me out canvassing, but I sure saw you leave the place in a hurry. I guess Barrett scolded you pretty good, right?”

Yes, I guess that’s true,” said Jocelyn sheepishly.

This isn’t really his desk anymore, you know. They bumped Barrett down to walking beats and brought in that new guy, Clark. So now this is Clark’s desk.” He indicated the nameplate, buried under a slightly smaller amount of paperwork as the rest of the desk’s surface. The nameplate agreed the desk belonged to Nebediah Clark.

Of course, everyone knows it’s still Barrett’s desk. Clark’s only here on paper, you know? Real bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo. Makes the suits upstairs happy.”

By this point the receptionist had returned with a mug in one hand and a course-looking towel in the other. “Take this now,” she said, “and dry your hair. Lord above knows you have little enough of it. I don’t approve, you know. Young ladies with short hair. Not appropriate, if you ask me.”

Give her a break, Betty Sue,” said Ken, “that’s the fashion. Lots of girls do their hair like that.”

The hair in question had, at one point, been done up in a bob. The stylist had complimented Jocelyn on her unique chestnut color, but anytime Jocelyn looked in a mirror all she saw was brown. That had been weeks ago, though, and there had been neither time nor money for routine maintenance. Fortunately Jocelyn’s hair was naturally wavy, and she normally wore her hat when out and about, so she felt like she could maintain the reasonable facsimile of a bob as long as nobody looked too closely at it. Unfortunately her hat was presently in her lap, not on her head, and she was padding down her hair with a hand towel. With two people staring at, and in fact discussing, her hair, any pretense of a “reasonable facsimile” was shaky at best.

At some point, while processing these thoughts, Jocelyn was handed a hot mug of coffee. She was busy staring at it, contemplating whether or not she’d be able to choke it down, when something Ken said bolted her back to the room she was sitting in: “You don’t, you know.”

I’m sorry, I was somewhere else,” she mumbled, wishing she were holding a mug of hot cocoa instead.

A boy. You don’t look like one, like Betty Sue says,” Ken repeated. The receptionist had gone, leaving the two of them alone at Max Barrett’s desk next to the radiator.

Jocelyn wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment, so she just nodded weakly in reply. In order to keep from having to say anything more on the subject, she attempted to take a sip of coffee. If she’d been taking notes about the coffee, she would have described it as “bittter”, with three Ts. In her own unique version of shorthand, Jocelyn knew that to mean “extremely bitter, to the point of mild physical pain.”

Nonetheless, the coffee had the same pleasant warming effect on her insides that the radiator was having on her outsides. Within moments Jocelyn was feeling more composed, and suddenly remembered she had come here for a reason. “Detective Clark called me this morning. He’s got my notebook, see, and—“

Well, pleasant morning, chickadee!”

Before she could get the rest of the sentence out, Officer Max Barrett had burst into the office and immediately spotted her. Ken, who knew better than to stand in the senior officer’s way, took a step away from the desk. Jocelyn wished he hadn’t, since he was the only obstacle standing between her and Officer Barrett, who was only about half as sopping wet as she was.

It’s really coming down in sheets out there, isn’t it? Pretty tough to walk a beat in this kind of weather, wouldn’t you say?”

Jocelyn didn’t know how to answer that. If she agreed, she’d be drawing attention to the fact that Officer Barrett wouldn’t have to walk a beat, if not for her. But if she disagreed, she would simply make herself look foolish. Instead, she opted to make another attempt at a sip of coffee.

Thanks, kid. I got it from here,” said Officer Barrett to Ken, who glanced apologetically at Jocelyn before returning to whatever it was he was doing. The senior officer sat down in the chair Ken had just vacated.

So I took the long way around this morning, past your office. Couldn’t help but notice your illegal sign is still up. I take it you’re here to pony up the forty-four dollars in fines?”

No,” admitted Jocelyn, “I actually was hoping to propose a better solution. See, I’ve spoken with my neighbors – well, one of them. The other I was meaning to see later this morning. But, see, she signed a document stating that she really doesn’t mind the placement of my sign. I’m sure my other neighbor will do the same. And if neither of them minds, well, there can’t be any violation, can there?”

I see,” said Officer Barrett. “And… you have this document with you?”

Well, no, it’s at home. I wasn’t expecting—“

And I expect it’s a legally binding contract, right? Properly stamped and notarized?”

Notarized? Well, no, but—“

Doesn’t matter. Look. You could get everyone on your block to sign whatever you like, and have it stamped by the Queen of France for all the good it’ll do you. A violation is a violation. A breach of law is a breach of law. You wouldn’t let a thief walk free just because everyone agreed his victims deserved it, would you?”

I suppose not, but I’m no—“

Then my hands are tied. But hey, two signatures! That’s a start. Get another thousand and maybe you can get the ordinance changed!” The grin on Officer Barrett’s face made Jocelyn want to sink even further down into her chair, if it were at all possible.

Officer Barrett, listen. I’m sorry for having caused you any trouble… that was never my intent. I simply came by this morning because Detective Clark called me, and—“

Right, your little notebook,” interjected Officer Barrett. If interruptions were a virtue, Officer Barrett would be a saint. “Yeah, you can have that back. It’s worthless anyway. Of course, you knew that.” Up until this point he had been speaking in a rather loud voice, inviting other officers and passers-by to listen in on the conversation. Now, however, he leaned in close and spoke to Jocelyn directly. Previous encounters with Officer Barrett had taught Jocelyn this was his way of intensifying the interrogation. “We want the real one. Hand it over.”

Jocelyn turned up her nose. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied.

That’s fine. Play dumb. Was that your coat I saw hanging up in the lobby? I could snap my fingers and have it searched right here.”

Go ahead,” agreed Jocelyn, “I’ve got nothing to hide.” She was beginning to feel rather smug with herself.

You’ve got something to hide, all right, chickadee. Everyone does.”

Officer Barrett stood up, reached into his own coat pocket and produced the dummy notebook he had taken from Jocelyn the day before. “Clever trick. I enjoyed the kids playing jacks. Reminded me of my nephews.” He flung the notebook onto Jocelyn’s lap. “Enjoy your coffee, then clear out. I can’t have you loitering around my desk all the live-long day.” He began to walk away.

Jocelyn regretted saying it even as she was saying it, and wasn’t even sure what made her say it, but there it was: “Yours? I thought this desk belonged to Detective Clark.”

The slight not only stopped Officer Barrett in his tracks, but seemed to make the rest of the precinct come to a screeching halt. Officer Barrett turned around, and there was fire in his eyes. He asked, “What did you just say?”

Jocelyn began to stammer something about a nameplate, but Officer Barrett’s question had apparently been rhetorical. “This is my desk, you hear me? I don’t care what slack-jaw nobody they pulled in from Humpsville, I’m still the number one detective on this force. This getting through? Me.

Jocelyn looked around. She and Officer Barrett had the rest of the precinct’s full attention. Some were watching with great interest, others were agape with disbelief. Some had crossed arms and smug expressions. Ken, in particular, seemed to be watching very intently. Surprisingly, there only seemed to be one or two disapproving faces in the crowd, and for some reason this emboldened her.

So good, in fact, that you need my notebook to crack the case I handed you,” she shot back.

The stillness in the air was so thick Jocelyn felt like she could reach out and squish it between her toes. Even the pounding rain outside seemed to quiet down enough to see what would happen next.

Jocelyn expected Officer Barrett to fume, but instead he just sneered wryly. “I’ll bet you thought that was cute,” he said, practically spitting the word “cute” in her face. “That’s how you got through life, isn’t it? Bat your eyelashes, purse out your lips, the world is your oyster, right? Well you’re about to have a rude awakening, chickadee. Because I’m watching everything you do. I’ll find out what you’re connection to the Holdren case is, and when I do–”

WHAM!!

This time Officer Barrett managed to interrupt himself by hitting one of the few bare spots on his former desk with his open palm. The impact caused a stack of papers to tumble over onto the floor, and the sound caused Jocelyn and half of the men in the room to flinch backwards.

Officer Barrett didn’t finish his sentence. He apparently felt as though he’d gotten his point across. Instead he pulled out a match, struck it along the edge of the desk, and lit up a particularly repulsive-looking cigar. He puffed it contentedly, and Jocelyn tried to read his face. She wasn’t sure just how much further she could push his buttons without resulting in an explosion.

A pencil that had been knocked off the desk rolled against one of Jocelyn’s feet. She bent down and snatched it up, then began scrawling something in the notebook still sitting in her lap.

You’re wrong, you know,” Jocelyn said without looking up, “I’ve never really been one for ‘cute’. No, this is how I’ve gotten through life: documenting everything I see.” Cigar smoke began curling around her head with each of Officer Barrett’s loud puffs. Jocelyn made a concentrated effort not to choke on it. “That’s different from watching, you know. You can watch all day long, without really seeing anything. And you can see something that looks perfectly ordinary, without knowing it’s at all important, until it’s too late. That’s what I’m good at, Officer. Certainly you recall the time I saw you exiting that speakeasy last summer with a woman who wasn’t Mrs. Barrett.”

There were sharp intakes of breath to be heard around the room, and Officer Barrett shuffled his weight from foot to foot. When Jocelyn looked up from her notebook she saw his eyes were narrowed and fierce. Jocelyn knew if they had had triggers behind them she’d be riddled with bullets right now. “That’s why you need my notebook, isn’t it? You and your boys missed something, and you don’t know what, but you’re sure I saw it. And if I saw it, it’s in my book.”

Somewhere, deep inside, most everyone possesses a vindictive little gremlin that likes nothing more than to watch other people squirm. Jocelyn’s was a sickly, underdeveloped thing, with a skinny forked tongue and an atrophied, pathetic stub of a tail. It spent most of its time utterly inert, unable to muster the energy even for a sarcastic comment or mild verbal barb. Presently, though, it was wide awake and breathing fire. Jocelyn couldn’t have ignored it if she’d wanted to.

She stood up and looked Officer Barrett full in the face. The effect was somewhat diminished, considering she stood two full heads shorter than he did, but anyone watching would have given her credit for the gesture nonetheless. “If the city wants my help in solving your case, I’m sure you’ll find my rates are quite reasonable. You know where my office is. Just look for the yellow sign.”

Danny might have called that “twisting the knife” if he’d been around to witness it. Whatever it was, Jocelyn didn’t wait for a reply. She shouldered past Officer Barrett as daintily as possible, politely thanked the receptionist for the coffee, collected her coat, tucked the notebook into one of her inside pockets, stepped out the door, and left a precinct full of dumbfounded officers behind.

The rain had subsided somewhat, but not stopped entirely. Jocelyn enjoyed a deep breath of fresh, damp air, and then started walking down the street at an artificially brisk pace. She tried to hold her composure for as long as possible, but the moment she turned a corner and was out of eyeshot of the precinct her legs turned to gelatin and she collapsed into the support pole of a drug store awning. All at once her stomach began turning over.

What was I thinking!?” She coughed, expelling half of Officer Barrett’s cigar from her lungs, then immediately began scolding herself. “You’ve really made a botch of things now, haven’t you? You ninny. Golly, you’re lucky he didn’t clap irons on you right there in front of half the force!”

A few scant, nervous breaths later, Jocelyn decided she’d best be on her way. She hadn’t taken more than a couple steps, however, when a shrill beep! made her jump out of her shoes. Looking over, she saw Ken in one of the force’s shiny black-and-white roadsters, beckoning her inside. He had to shout over the rain and the car engine, “Miss Beauregard! Get in!”

Jocelyn was unsure. For a split second she tried to pretend like she hadn’t seen the car at all, immediately decided that would make her look foolish, then began to stutter out a grateful declination. Ken, however, was hearing none of it. “Come on, you’re already starting to shiver again. I’m doing a patrol up by Lily Heights this morning. Your office is up that way, right? Let me give you a lift.”

Th-thank you, but…” But what? “I’d rather walk” was a transparent lie, but Jocelyn couldn’t think of another good reason to turn him down. Whatever nerve she’d been granted by her vindictive little gremlin had long since fled, and if there was another one in there doling out courage he wasn’t making himself known.”

Well here, at least let me return your hat,” said Ken, reaching across the passenger seat with Jocelyn’s yellow cloche in his hand. “You left it inside when you were drying off. I’m glad I got my hands on it before Barrett did. He’s likely to have burned it. I tell you, I’ve never seen someone put that big palooka in his place like that.”

Jocelyn approached the car, accepted her hat, and affixed it back onto her head. This caused a few lingering rivulets of water to stream down over her brow, which she wiped away with her hand. “Thanks,” she said.

Come on, you don’t want to walk in this mess,” Ken insisted. Jocelyn had to admit that a walk across town in wet shoes didn’t sound very appealing, especially when there was nothing to look forward to at the end except a cold office. Apparently her legs had gotten tired of her mind trying to make itself up, because she found herself climbing into the roadster before making the conscious decision to do so.

I sure appreciate it,” said Jocelyn, closing the car door and settling into her seat.

Ken smiled at her. “My pleasure.”

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