Elster's World

Friday, February 17, 2006

Literary Elster, Part II

In early January, I wrote out the first chapter of a crime caper novel I had commenced and then, as with most of my works, set aside in the dust bin. Well, people seemed to really like it. So I decided to post the rest of what I had originally jotted down in my notebook here. To find the original story, go to my January archives and click on the Literary Elster post. And yes, I really need to learn how to link things. It's kinda sad that I am so not computer literate. Anyway, here's the rest of what I wrote:


The bar was smoky and dingy, a true dive in every sense. Thorson moved through a crowd of unsavory looking characters, ready to make a break for the door at a moment’s notice. “I’m a thief, not a fighter” was his unofficial motto. He believed in creeping empty abodes, not fisticuffs. If that made him somewhat of a pansy, Thorson was willing to live with that. Live being the key word.

He scanned the faces in the crowd (without making eye contact with anyone, heaven forbid) until he found the man who fit the description he had for The Pole.

The Pole was sitting alone at a small, round table. His face was ageless; he could have been fifty or one hundred and fifty. He was drinking an amber, fizzles beverage out of a huge beer mug. “Your beer’s flat,” Thorson said. He must have been nursing it for a long time.

“It’s tequila,” the man replied, taking a man-sized swallow.

Thorson was impressed. “You The Pole?” he asked.

The man nodded his head affirmative. “You the thief?” he asked right back.

Thorson gave a quick nod and looked around to make sure no one was listening in. “Don’t worry,” the Pole continued, “every man in this room is a criminal. Even the bartender.”

“Comforting,” Thorson said, pulling up a chair to The Pole’s table. As if on cue, the bartender brought over a mug. This liquid had bubbles and Thorson assumed it was beer. “I didn’t order anything,” he told the bartender.

“It would be advisable for you to take it Mr. Thorson,” The Pole said.

Thorson didn’t like his name being mentioned in public, but he let it go. “How much?” He asked.

“Seven bucks,” said the bartender.

“Seven dollars? Jesus.” He took the money out of his wallet and passed it over. This had better be worth it, he thought.

The beer was warm and flat. “Antonelli tells me you’ve got something I can use.” Thorson looked at The Pole, taking him in. He was average height and build. His craggy face and jutting chin had three days’ stubble growing on them. His hair was an out of control mop of gray.

The Pole took another gulp of tequila before answering. “Maybe,” he said.

“Maybe? Look Mr….?” Thorson trailed off the question.

“Call me The Pole,” The Pole replied.

Thorson sighed. He knew it was going to be one of those days even before he had rolled out of bed. Whenever he got up lying on his right side, the day always took a nosedive straight to Hell. “Ok Mr. Pole.”

“Just The Pole please.”

Thorson pinched the bridge of his nose to cut off the headache that was trying to take hold. “Ok Pole, Antonelli tells me that you have procured certain information that would be beneficial to a person of my, ah, skill set.”

“You talk funny,” The Pole replied.


  • Now I'm going to go find part one. I'm sure I'll love part two even more after I'm all caught up!

    By Blogger Sara, at 3:47 PM  

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