Erotica Harem

Title:A CHIP 13.5

Chapter #:7-A

Author: Max Griffin



General:

Bill,

This is another good chapter with excellent dialogue. I could easily picture Charlie flirting with Sam and then squealing in horror when he sees the photo of the victim. Perfect.

Sam's exchange with Mark was filled with detail and info.

I think you gave just enough detail of the Pride center since it doesn't seem to be a huge location for future action.

And then, that kicker ending with Sam passing the blue van was just chilling! Loved it.

You've made me want to continue reading.

The only real issue (and maybe it’s nothing) is finding a why to separate and internalize Sam’s thoughts. Whether it’s adding a ‘he thought’ or ‘Sam thought’ … or italicizing them. It’s up to you. I find myself doing both. I indicated a couple of these sections in the line edits. I’ve seen authors I admire to it both ways as well.


Setting:

Sam’s car (briefly), the Lagrange Pride Center

Characters:

Sam, Charlie, Mark, Allen’s roommate (via phone)

Referencing:

All seems fine here.

Plot:

You’re keeping the plot nice and tight. This chapter moves the story along as Sam continues his investigation. I like the way you are building tension. Sam is just now realizing that something’s up with Allen since he hasn’t heard from him in a while.


Grammar:

Not much, as usual. All addressed in the line edits.


Line Edits:



Sam pulled into the decaying strip mall and eased his car to a stop. Dirty rainwater and trash from the fast food restaurant on the corner filled the chuckholes in the parking lot. Over half the stores were empty and boarded up. A tattoo parlor and an Asian takehyphenout restaurant flanked the storefront that held the Lagrange Pride Center; a sharp scent of garlic and ginger penetrated his car.

Bill, I’m concerned about that last sentence. How about this: The storefront holding the Lagrange Pride Center was flanked by a tattoo parlor and an Asian take-out restaurant, which filled his car with the sharp scent of garlic and ginger. OR The storefront holding the Lagrange Pride Center was flanked by a tattoo parlor and an Asian takehyphenout restaurant, the latter flooding his car with the sharp scent of garlic and ginger.


Sam trudged across the parking lot, evading the soggy leaves and other detritus that cluttered the pavement. A long crack snakeding across the Center's window and someone had been repaired the break with duct tape. Pride flags and a huge "Silence=Death" poster filled the front of the Center.

Inside the Pride Center, a young man wearing mascara sat behind the counter, leafing through a glossy magazine. A half dozen rings pierced his right ear, while a wire ran through his left eyebrow. A slivery bead protruded from the dimple in his chin and his wrists bore barbed wire tattoos. Green highlights spiked his coal-black hair. Sam glanced at the open page of his magazine and saw pictures hairy men barely clad in leather. ABBA, singing Take a Chance on Me, I would italicize the song title wailed from the headphones of his IPod.

Sam cleared his throat.

"Can I help you?" The young man spoke with a Texas twang. He turned a page in his magazine and didn't look up.

Sam rolled his eyes and tapped his badge on the counter. "I'm Detective Sergeant Sam Sondergard with the Lagrange Police Department. I need to ask you some questions."

The young man sighed. "So you're a cop." He glanced up from his magazine and his eyes widened while he drawled, "Well, shut my mouth! Ain't you just the most butch thang I've seen in a month of Sundays!" He extended a limp hand to Sam. "I'm Charlie, dearie."

The hand drooped like a wet noodle in Sam's grasp. "Nice to meet you, Charlie."

"Charmed, I'm sure." He perched his hands on his hips while his eyes roved Sam from head to toe. "I declare, you're as pretty as two pigs in a poke."

Sam flipped open his notebook. "Can you tell me a little bit about what you do here, Charlie?"

Charlie grinned and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter and his chin in his upturned palms. One toe traced circles on the floor while he fluttered his eyelids. "Well, Sam, you know this is a gay pride center, right?"

"That's what the sign says."

"I knew you were a smart one, hon." He smiled. "You ever go the bars? I just know I've seen you someplace."

"This isn't about where I go." Sam frowned. "Isn't the gay helpline staffed here?"

"You lookin' for help, sugar? You just ask ol' Charlie and she'll give you mo' help than you ever imagined." His hips rotated and he leered.

Sam scowled at him and slapped a photograph of one of the decaying torsos from the crime scene on the counter. "I'm trying to find who did this."

Charlie shrieked and reeled back. "You get that nasty picture away from me, you hear?" He held his hands over his face and trembled. "I don't need to see no sick shit like that! Who you think you are, anyway?"

Sam replaced the photo in his notebook. "So are you ready to answer some questions?"

"What's going on out here?" A slim, balding man in khakis and a crisp, button-down shirt emerged from the back. He put an arm around Charile. "Shush, Charlie. It's all right." He glared at Sam. "What's going on here? Are you harassing him?"

Sam sighed. Why are things always so complicated, anyway? Perhaps condsider italicizing Sam’s thought "I'm Detective Sergeant Sam Sondergard, Lagrange PD." He flashed his badge. "I'm investigating a murder and I have reason to believe the victim may have been a gay youth. I'm hoping you can help me by answering some questions."

Baldy glanced up from comforting Charlie and frowned. "Let me see your badge again, please." He inspected it, and then handed it back. "Very well, officer. Come on back to my office."

Sam cringed at the "officer," but decided to let it pass. He followed him through a hallway cluttered with boxes of flyers to a small office in the back. The other pointed to a folding chair sitting next to a desk where file folders teetered in precarious piles. He plopped into a tattered executive chair and glared at Sam. "I won't tolerate any police harassment, officer. Let me make that clear, right off."

"I just need your help, sir. I don't want to harass anybody. I promise you." He stuck out his hand. "Can we start over?"

The other hesitated for a moment, and then shook his hand with a firm grip. "I'm Mark Haddock, officer. Can I ask what happened with Charlie?"

"Call me Sam. I showed him this." He pulled out the photo.

Mark examined it and handed it back. "Gruesome. I can see where it would throw poor Charlie in a tizzy. I'm afraid he's two sandwiches short of a picnic, if you catch my drift. Sitll, Still, he's cute as a bug in a rug." He peered at Sam's face. "You know, you look real familiar. Do you maybe know a guy named Allen?"

Sam nodded, a smile tickling his features at the mention of his lover's name.

"Yeah, you're Allen's squeeze, right? Sam. He said he was datin' a cop and he showed me your picture."

"Allen and I have been seeing each other, yes." A tinge of guilt washed through Sam at using his relationship with Allen as an entrée to this interview.

"Allen's great. We all love him here." He scowled at Sam. "You be good to him, y'hear? He deserves it!"

Sam smiled through his irritation. "Allen is terrific. I couldn't agree more. Now, I wonder if you could help me out with my investigation?"

"Sure, sure. " He leafed through some papers on his desk. "Say, you don't know where Allen's at, do you? Our regular volunteer couldn't make it last night, so we tried to get him to come in. He didn't answer his phone." He winked. "Or were you keepin' him busy?"

Sam frowned. "I was working last night. Allen might have been in his lab." Strange. He didn't answer his cell this morning either. I'll have to check in with him when I'm there to see that asshole Sarnok.

Bill, since this is another of Sam’s internal thoughts, I’m wondering if you might italicize or add a ‘Sam thought’ line.

"Could be." He shrugged. "Socomma what does that horrible picture have to do with the Center?"

"This victim was male, and about the age of a runaway the department investigated earlier this fall. A young man named Walt Sedgewick. The circumstances of his disappearance made us suspect he might have used the services available here."

"What circumstances were those?"

"His old man beat him up for being gay and kicked him out, put him on the street. Don't you help connect kids like that with youth services?"

"God, people can be such heartless bastards. Yeah, we do that. Allen is really good with these kids." He eyes narrowed. "Allen didn't talk to you about this, did he?"

"We never discuss business."

"That's good. I'd hate to think he violated the confidence of a client. Especially with a cop." He tapped his finger on his desk. "Socomma how do you think Walt is connected with that photo?" He paled. "Say, you don't think that’s Walt, do you?"

"I certainly hope not. I'd like nothing better than to learn he's safe in a foster home someplace. We're following up on all missing persons of the right gender and age. He's next on the list. It's all routine."

Mark snorted. "Not routine for whoever's in that photo." He shuddered. "As to Walt, I wish he were in a foster home. He's scared shitless he'll wind up back with that bastard that beat him up." He gazed at Sam in silence for a moment. "Maybe you can help us find him, officer. Walt hasn't been around here for weeks. He just disappeared."

"Maybe he took a bus to a bigger city?"

"I doubt it. He was livin' on the street, sellin' his body for food. Too proud to take help from us. Too afraid to let social services help him. But the poor kid didn't have a pot to piss in. No way he could afford a ticket to out of here."

"He might have hitched a ride."

"Could be. Are you going to look for him?"

" I'd like to rule him out as my victim. Can you tell me where I might find him?"

"He used to cruise in the old warehouse district. I think he was sleeping in Maple Ridge Cemetery for a while. At least I saw him when I was handing out condoms to the sex workers who hang out there."

Sam jotted notes and nodded his head. "That's helpful. I wonder, have any other of your clients, about the same age and size, disappeared recently?"

"Those poor kids appear and disappear all the time. Most of 'em do go off to the big city, like you said. We manage to place a few with youth services." He pursed his lips. "It does seem like a few more than usual might have gone missing this fall, though. Why?"

"Well, if this isn't Walt, it might be another of your clients."

"Tell you what, officer." He didn't seem to notice Sam flinch at the misnomer. "I'll work up a list for you. How's that?"

"That'd be great. I'll be in touch." They shook hands and Sam strode out.

Charlie whistled at him as he left. "Y'all come back any time, stud!"

Sam grinned and waved at him. Back in his car he pulled out his phone and called Allen's cell. Still no answer. He left a message on his voice mail, then called the land line at Allen's apartment.

"Hullo?"

He recognized Allen's roommate. "Is Allen there?"

"Nah. He didn't come home last night." A pause. "Is this Sam?"

"Yeah."

"I figured he spent the night with you."

"No." Sam frowned. "You say he didn't come home at all last night? You're sure?"

"He wasn't here when I went to bed at midnight. He wasn't here when I got up at eight. You figure it out."

Sam reflected that the roommate had the personality of a potato. An obnoxious potato. "He didn't get a call from his family or anything, did he?"

"Not that I know. You want I should me to take a message?"

"No. Wait, yes. Have him call me, okay?"

"Will do. I'll post a note on his door."

"Thanks. Bye." The roommate had already hung up. Sam stared at his phone. Where could he be? He doesn't own a car, so he can't have been in an accident. He thought about calling the emergency room, and then felt foolish. Maybe he just fell asleep in his office.

Sam glanced at his watch. Shit! I'm gonna be late! Another internal thought He sped away to his appointment with Dr. Sarnok. Allen's probably hard at work in his lab right now. God, I'm a ninny to worry like this. He stomped on the accelerator and water from a chuckhole sprayed across the windshield, momentarily blinding him. He swore, swerved and sped by a beat up blue van that crept down the street, trailing steamy exhaust.