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The Fate of the Gotham Goth Girl, or Stan Goldman's First Case
- Thread starter windar
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That’s a great manip, MadiStan looked out the French doors in the living room at the sight of Barb,
Goldman is way to cheap to spring for a boss lawn mower like that! He prefers that I be forced to do sweaty manual labor while he watches. I think he must be descended from one of those whip wielding plantation owners. Someone ought to do some ancestry checking on him!And Barb dreaming for a gras-truck.
That would be good
windar
Teller of Tales
Thats right...OMG, Moore driving a lawn mower with sharp blades!!! Run for your lives!!!!
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Love the mower pic, excellent work.
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Another tale that I am late into. But all caught up now and looking forward to a little Goth-Noir-Sexpionage ... a very exciting combination!
The pace of and the humour in the story are devilishly compelling. Looking forward to reading 'Moore' ...
...
windar
Teller of Tales
5.
Barb came down, freshly showered, her hair still damp, dressed in a T shirt and a fresh pair of shorts. She filled a glass with ice cubes and poured the remains of the morning’s tea from the pot into the glass, then plunked her tight little down onto one of the barstools at their kitchen island.
“OK, Goldman, I cut the grass. You got to ogle me, you got to brandish your whip in a lousy imitation of Simon Legree. Now, you owe me more of the Goth Girl story. I assume you found the boyfriend, right?”
“Very perceptive of you, Moore. Yes, we did. In fact it was simple to find him. Even you could have done it.”
“Very funny, Stan. How did you do it?”
“You remember on our flights coming back from overseas, right before they landed, they pass out these cards for customs?”
“Sure.”
“For those coming as tourists, they ask for your address in the US-a hotel, a B&B, the relative you’re visiting. She put an address in Brooklyn. Brownsville, a part that was kind of borderline back then. Along with the name of the person she was staying with there.”
“The boyfriend?”
“Bingo, Moore. You see, I told you even you could have found him. A guy named Billy Bob Something-or-Other or was it Bobby Bill? He was from Arkansas and had moved up to the big city to experience the thrills and culture that are unavailable to the denizens of Bugtussle. He found a place in Brooklyn and a job as a barista. This was in the early days of the gourmet coffee phenomenon, so he was getting in on the ground floor of a booming industry.”
Barb stared at Stan. “Billy Bob? Billy Bob from Arkansas? This is getting ridiculous, Goldman. Do you honestly expect me to believe this crap?”
“Suit yourself. Shall I go on?”
“Well, for one thing, she put his address on the customs card, so she had to have known him before she arrived in New York. How did a girl from England hook up with a guy from Arkansas who had moved to the Big Apple?”
“You mean Gotham City, right? That’s what we’re calling it in this story.”
Barb rolled her eyes. “Whatever…”
“Even high schools in Arkansas do exchanges. His did one with the school in Nottingham that she attended. It was a private school, though they call them public schools over there for some odd reason. Very strange country.”
“Stan, it all has to do with the kings and their history…”
“Hey, I know all about that. Remember when I played Henry VIII? I was pretty good, don’t you think?”
Barb laughed. “You had some funny lines, I admit. Too bad you didn’t write them. And I was terrific as Anne Boleyn.”
“Yeah, your screams on the rack were very realistic.”
“That wasn’t funny, Stan. I still feel twinges in my shoulders every now and then.”
“That could be from all the crucifixions also.”
“Could be. So Billy Bob and Sheena met at her school in Nottingham?”
“Yeah, and they were naughty.”
For some hard to fathom reason, Barb rolled her eyes again.
“This is jumping ahead a bit, but eventually we got his computer and the British cops got hers. They had been carrying on a hot and heavy correspondence. She wasn’t keen on visiting him in Arkansas-hard to understand, I know- but ,when he moved to New York, she decided she’d try to come. In both senses of the word.”
Barb rolled her eyes yet again.
Stan continued. “So, Benny and I go to his apartment. It’s in the basement of a run-down four story walk up. A dingy one bedroom apartment. Not too clean, no doubt plenty of roaches and rats and the like. But it was their love nest I guess, and love is blind.”
“It must be, since I’m still with you, Goldman.”
“Very funny, Moore. Anyway, we knock at the door. Billy Bob answers; he’s wearing a grungy T shirt and jeans. A scrawny kid, around the same age as the deceased. Plenty of tattoos and piercings but no Goth makeup. I guess they only put it on for special occasions.“
Stan continued. “So, Benny says: ‘We’re looking for Sheena Rawlings, from England. We understand she was staying here.’ All the blood drains from the kid’s face, like he’s seen a ghost.”
“’She left a few days ago,’ he says. ‘She told me she was going back to London.’ The kid is a really lousy liar.”
“Most of the people we arrested were,” Barb said.
“True,” Stan replied. “But even in that league, he was a cellar-dweller. So, I said to him, ‘Unfortunately, she didn’t make it back to Jolly Old England. Her body was found in an alley in the Bronx.’ And our Billy Bob breaks down. Gallons of tears. ‘What a horrible shock! That’s impossible!”
“He didn’t have you fooled, I take it?” Barb asked.
“Not for a New York minute, which as you know is like 15 seconds. Benny says, ‘We believe you may have been the last person to see her alive, so we’d like you to come down to the station so we can go over a few details.”
“Nothing to worry about, kid, just a friendly little chat,” Barb says.
“You got it. At this point, he’s not under arrest, so we don’t even have to give him his Miranda warning. In case he feels chatty in the car.”
“I like that,” Barb says. “I don’t suppose he talked just yet, though.”
“No, not yet. Speaking of talking, I’m getting talked out. How about some lunch?”
Barb came down, freshly showered, her hair still damp, dressed in a T shirt and a fresh pair of shorts. She filled a glass with ice cubes and poured the remains of the morning’s tea from the pot into the glass, then plunked her tight little down onto one of the barstools at their kitchen island.
“OK, Goldman, I cut the grass. You got to ogle me, you got to brandish your whip in a lousy imitation of Simon Legree. Now, you owe me more of the Goth Girl story. I assume you found the boyfriend, right?”
“Very perceptive of you, Moore. Yes, we did. In fact it was simple to find him. Even you could have done it.”
“Very funny, Stan. How did you do it?”
“You remember on our flights coming back from overseas, right before they landed, they pass out these cards for customs?”
“Sure.”
“For those coming as tourists, they ask for your address in the US-a hotel, a B&B, the relative you’re visiting. She put an address in Brooklyn. Brownsville, a part that was kind of borderline back then. Along with the name of the person she was staying with there.”
“The boyfriend?”
“Bingo, Moore. You see, I told you even you could have found him. A guy named Billy Bob Something-or-Other or was it Bobby Bill? He was from Arkansas and had moved up to the big city to experience the thrills and culture that are unavailable to the denizens of Bugtussle. He found a place in Brooklyn and a job as a barista. This was in the early days of the gourmet coffee phenomenon, so he was getting in on the ground floor of a booming industry.”
Barb stared at Stan. “Billy Bob? Billy Bob from Arkansas? This is getting ridiculous, Goldman. Do you honestly expect me to believe this crap?”
“Suit yourself. Shall I go on?”
“Well, for one thing, she put his address on the customs card, so she had to have known him before she arrived in New York. How did a girl from England hook up with a guy from Arkansas who had moved to the Big Apple?”
“You mean Gotham City, right? That’s what we’re calling it in this story.”
Barb rolled her eyes. “Whatever…”
“Even high schools in Arkansas do exchanges. His did one with the school in Nottingham that she attended. It was a private school, though they call them public schools over there for some odd reason. Very strange country.”
“Stan, it all has to do with the kings and their history…”
“Hey, I know all about that. Remember when I played Henry VIII? I was pretty good, don’t you think?”
Barb laughed. “You had some funny lines, I admit. Too bad you didn’t write them. And I was terrific as Anne Boleyn.”
“Yeah, your screams on the rack were very realistic.”
“That wasn’t funny, Stan. I still feel twinges in my shoulders every now and then.”
“That could be from all the crucifixions also.”
“Could be. So Billy Bob and Sheena met at her school in Nottingham?”
“Yeah, and they were naughty.”
For some hard to fathom reason, Barb rolled her eyes again.
“This is jumping ahead a bit, but eventually we got his computer and the British cops got hers. They had been carrying on a hot and heavy correspondence. She wasn’t keen on visiting him in Arkansas-hard to understand, I know- but ,when he moved to New York, she decided she’d try to come. In both senses of the word.”
Barb rolled her eyes yet again.
Stan continued. “So, Benny and I go to his apartment. It’s in the basement of a run-down four story walk up. A dingy one bedroom apartment. Not too clean, no doubt plenty of roaches and rats and the like. But it was their love nest I guess, and love is blind.”
“It must be, since I’m still with you, Goldman.”
“Very funny, Moore. Anyway, we knock at the door. Billy Bob answers; he’s wearing a grungy T shirt and jeans. A scrawny kid, around the same age as the deceased. Plenty of tattoos and piercings but no Goth makeup. I guess they only put it on for special occasions.“
Stan continued. “So, Benny says: ‘We’re looking for Sheena Rawlings, from England. We understand she was staying here.’ All the blood drains from the kid’s face, like he’s seen a ghost.”
“’She left a few days ago,’ he says. ‘She told me she was going back to London.’ The kid is a really lousy liar.”
“Most of the people we arrested were,” Barb said.
“True,” Stan replied. “But even in that league, he was a cellar-dweller. So, I said to him, ‘Unfortunately, she didn’t make it back to Jolly Old England. Her body was found in an alley in the Bronx.’ And our Billy Bob breaks down. Gallons of tears. ‘What a horrible shock! That’s impossible!”
“He didn’t have you fooled, I take it?” Barb asked.
“Not for a New York minute, which as you know is like 15 seconds. Benny says, ‘We believe you may have been the last person to see her alive, so we’d like you to come down to the station so we can go over a few details.”
“Nothing to worry about, kid, just a friendly little chat,” Barb says.
“You got it. At this point, he’s not under arrest, so we don’t even have to give him his Miranda warning. In case he feels chatty in the car.”
“I like that,” Barb says. “I don’t suppose he talked just yet, though.”
“No, not yet. Speaking of talking, I’m getting talked out. How about some lunch?”
Last edited by a moderator:
twonines
LIMERICUS
For obvious reasons, the first one is Moore appealing, as for the whip, all workers need to be appropriately motivated if the y they are to achieve their full potential!That’s a great manip, Madi
Goldman is way to cheap to spring for a boss lawn mower like that! He prefers that I be forced to do sweaty manual labor while he watches. I think he must be descended from one of those whip wielding plantation owners. Someone ought to do some ancestry checking on him!
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
I don't! Does anyone besides me think that Stan/Windar is making this
Now that totally blows any credibility!
Despite all the problems I've cited, this story is strongly addictive. I wait with bated breath for the next glimpse of
That’s something Windar learned from me. Watching Seinfeld, on the other hand, is entirely his own idea.
It is funny, Stan. Why is it that I still hang around with you? Is it your sparkling personality, your sense of humor, your prowess between the sheets (including your nipple licking and sucking technique) ?
NAH! None of the above.
I think it’s just that you are a damn good writer and reading
windar
Teller of Tales
It is funny, Stan. Why is it that I still hang around with you? Is it your sparkling personality, your sense of humor, your prowess between the sheets (including your nipple licking and sucking technique) ?
NAH! None of the above.
I think it’s just that you are a damn good writer and readingcrapquality prose like this is so damn much fun.
Say what you will, PrPr, ay least this story will NOT occupy 250 pages in a pdf. I got the Goth Girl dead in the first few paragraphs.
Praefectus Praetorio
R.I.P. Brother of the Quill
Hey! That's not fair. You do know that CF pays me by the word!!
Say what you will, PrPr, ay least this story will NOT occupy 250 pages in a pdf. I got the Goth Girl dead in the first few paragraphs.
windar
Teller of Tales
$0 x 8,000,000 =?
twonines
LIMERICUS
Don`t forget those sessions bent over the sawhorse in the basement, they always make an impression.That’s something Windar learned from me. Watching Seinfeld, on the other hand, is entirely his own idea.
It is funny, Stan. Why is it that I still hang around with you? Is it your sparkling personality, your sense of humor, your prowess between the sheets (including your nipple licking and sucking technique) ?
NAH! None of the above.
I think it’s just that you are a damn good writer and readingcrapquality prose like this is so damn much fun.
As he came into the house, he heard their landline ringing. Cell reception was spotty where they were so they kept a landline. It was a number he didn’t recognize with a 718 area code, which covered Brooklyn, Queens and the Bronx.
Usually he didn’t answer those types of calls; they were generally scammers of one sort or another-extended car warranties of dubious value, fake IRS agents demanding he pay taxes he didn’t owe or face immediate arrest, though oddly they wanted to be paid in bitcoin or gift cards, rather than check or bank debit.
Usually he didn’t answer those types of calls; they were generally scammers of one sort or another-extended car warranties of dubious value, fake IRS agents demanding he pay taxes he didn’t owe or face immediate arrest, though oddly they wanted to be paid in bitcoin or gift cards, rather than check or bank debit.
