Christ, could someone turn on a fan?” Well, it
was
hot in there
.
From these modest beginnings he would build a life of unusual richness, traveling the globe and banging a lot of hot ladies. He knocked up some lady and had a son! Jerk. He became a scuba diver, invented the Langman valve using his knowledge of bagel making, and supposedly had a brief career as a bullfighter. Although here possibly the author is thinking of Ernest Hemingway. Pretty sure he smoked weed back then. That is, Francis. Possibly Hemingway too. Probably. How else would he justify that beard?
On one scuba trip, Francis discovered sunken treasure. Who does that? Francis Langman, that’s who. He sold most of the very valuable Spanish coins, but saved three in an old cigar box. He invested most of the earnings. Some schemes made him money and some lost him money. (“Never do business in a country where the national currency is goat,” he once said. Useful advice.) One smart move: he started buying property with some extra cash in North Jersey and NYC in the 1970s and it would make him a rich man
.
Later, he became a father a second time. This son, Guy, would also like to travel the globe and bang lots of hot ladies, or at least bang a lot of hot ladies. For the most part, he spends his timeplaying video games and arguing with nerds about murder
.
It’s clear that there are some holes in this book. And there is only one way to fill in the gaps. First I have to find my long-lost brother the possible psychopath. I have some serious research to do.
CHAPTER NINE
I ponder that mystery for a while, then another mystery presents itself. It begins like this: At the next session of Forensics Squad, Mr. Z writes on the board THE FORENSIC ART OF HANDWRITING . Woo-hoo. Who among us doesn’t love handwriting? I mean handwriting?! It’s like writing! With your hands! I’ll stop now. The Big Z begins with a few prepared remarks. “You can try, but you can’t really change your handwriting,” he says. “Once you learn how to form letters, it’s hardwired into your brain in a complicated process. Even people who lose both arms and end up writing with their mouths eventually develop a handwriting—or should I say mouth-writing—style that is very similar to the way they wrote when they had their hands …”
This
is
sort of interesting, and I look around the room to see everyone’s reactions. TK casts his eyes about suspiciously and then puts his pen in his mouth and starts writing something. He shrugs and seems pleased with the results of his experiment. Maureen has a very serious look on her face. Raquel is not paying much attention at all. As usual, she is flipping through her purse, as if it’s a magical container that somehow holds all the crap in the world in its minute interior. Maybe it does.
Something Mr. Zant says catches Raquel’s attention. She suddenly is very interested. In fact, she raises her hand. Mr. Zant seems a bit stunned to see her offering to participate. “Yes!” he sayswith too much enthusiasm, pointing at her with the double-gun hand gesture.
What she has to say is: “I don’t know if you know this about me, but I can totally write with my feet.”
Mr. Zant laughs. It is pretty funny to consider, and rather unexpected. He doesn’t know what to say. “My notes don’t mention foot-writing” is all he can come up with, turning his cards over in his hands as if some answers of his own might be hidden there somewhere. “But I assume it’s somewhat similar to handwriting. Or maybe you could fool forensics experts by writing a ransom note with your foot!” She giggles. “But let it be clear that I am not advocating kidnapping, class,” he adds with a honking laugh.
“I might kidnap
someone
,” she says, under her breath. And I sort of feel like she’s looking in my direction. But maybe not actually talking to me. Or about me. What is going on here? Who does she like? I can’t think about it for much longer,
was
hot in there
.
From these modest beginnings he would build a life of unusual richness, traveling the globe and banging a lot of hot ladies. He knocked up some lady and had a son! Jerk. He became a scuba diver, invented the Langman valve using his knowledge of bagel making, and supposedly had a brief career as a bullfighter. Although here possibly the author is thinking of Ernest Hemingway. Pretty sure he smoked weed back then. That is, Francis. Possibly Hemingway too. Probably. How else would he justify that beard?
On one scuba trip, Francis discovered sunken treasure. Who does that? Francis Langman, that’s who. He sold most of the very valuable Spanish coins, but saved three in an old cigar box. He invested most of the earnings. Some schemes made him money and some lost him money. (“Never do business in a country where the national currency is goat,” he once said. Useful advice.) One smart move: he started buying property with some extra cash in North Jersey and NYC in the 1970s and it would make him a rich man
.
Later, he became a father a second time. This son, Guy, would also like to travel the globe and bang lots of hot ladies, or at least bang a lot of hot ladies. For the most part, he spends his timeplaying video games and arguing with nerds about murder
.
It’s clear that there are some holes in this book. And there is only one way to fill in the gaps. First I have to find my long-lost brother the possible psychopath. I have some serious research to do.
CHAPTER NINE
I ponder that mystery for a while, then another mystery presents itself. It begins like this: At the next session of Forensics Squad, Mr. Z writes on the board THE FORENSIC ART OF HANDWRITING . Woo-hoo. Who among us doesn’t love handwriting? I mean handwriting?! It’s like writing! With your hands! I’ll stop now. The Big Z begins with a few prepared remarks. “You can try, but you can’t really change your handwriting,” he says. “Once you learn how to form letters, it’s hardwired into your brain in a complicated process. Even people who lose both arms and end up writing with their mouths eventually develop a handwriting—or should I say mouth-writing—style that is very similar to the way they wrote when they had their hands …”
This
is
sort of interesting, and I look around the room to see everyone’s reactions. TK casts his eyes about suspiciously and then puts his pen in his mouth and starts writing something. He shrugs and seems pleased with the results of his experiment. Maureen has a very serious look on her face. Raquel is not paying much attention at all. As usual, she is flipping through her purse, as if it’s a magical container that somehow holds all the crap in the world in its minute interior. Maybe it does.
Something Mr. Zant says catches Raquel’s attention. She suddenly is very interested. In fact, she raises her hand. Mr. Zant seems a bit stunned to see her offering to participate. “Yes!” he sayswith too much enthusiasm, pointing at her with the double-gun hand gesture.
What she has to say is: “I don’t know if you know this about me, but I can totally write with my feet.”
Mr. Zant laughs. It is pretty funny to consider, and rather unexpected. He doesn’t know what to say. “My notes don’t mention foot-writing” is all he can come up with, turning his cards over in his hands as if some answers of his own might be hidden there somewhere. “But I assume it’s somewhat similar to handwriting. Or maybe you could fool forensics experts by writing a ransom note with your foot!” She giggles. “But let it be clear that I am not advocating kidnapping, class,” he adds with a honking laugh.
“I might kidnap
someone
,” she says, under her breath. And I sort of feel like she’s looking in my direction. But maybe not actually talking to me. Or about me. What is going on here? Who does she like? I can’t think about it for much longer,
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