Read Online No Hope for Gomez! by Graham Parke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Graham Parke
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declaration rejections aficionados.” He shot me a stern look. “I’m afraid you won’t find much interest for your so called 1986 forms around these parts!”
“Okay, okay. Never mind. I was just asking.”
The guy waved it away without looking up from the form. I returned to the counter, leaving him to browsing my parents’ declaration on his own.
Blog entry: Booted my laptop. Checked Joseph Miller’s meatpacking blog. Wanted to know if any new entries had mysteriously appeared. None had. Called Detective Norton again and left a message asking him to check out the bruise found on Joseph’s neck. Was just about to start on a blog entry for my trial blog when the tax guy returned from the back. He carried two old forms. “I would like to procure these,” he said. “Perhaps in some kind of monetary transaction? They are… eh… to my liking.”
“No problem,” I said. We haggled a bit over the price, he paid up, then, as he turned to go, I said, “By the way, I know that moustache is fake.”
“What?” He pressed down on his giant fake moustache. “This? It’s not what you think,” he mumbled, “it’s… eh… medicinal.” He hurried to the door. As he opened it, he said, “I have a prescription!” And with that he was gone.
Blog entry: Hicks returned from the front where he’d been washing the inside of the windows. “What was that all about?” he asked.
“Guy with a fake moustache wanted to buy my administration,” I said. “Apparently some of the forms are quite valuable.”
Hicks shook his head. “That guy was a weirdo,” he said. “A major freak.”
I shrugged. “He was pretty weird, yeah.”
“What do you suppose was wrong with him?”
“No idea.”
“Must be something with his brain,” Hicks decided. “Maybe he had an accident or something. Got his head knocked around a bit…”
“Could be.”
We talked for another two seconds, ran out of things to say, so I asked him to wash the windows from the outside. He turned white, muttered something about having left his broom on, and disappeared to the back.
Blog entry: Went home. Created a new disguise. Went straight to Dr. Hargrove’s to hide in her bushes.
Apparently I’d arrived early, because Dr. Hargrove wasn’t home yet. I considered that fortunate; I’d get to do some pre-stalker-stalking. I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but had a feeling it was a good thing. I could observe Dr. Hargrove’s place before she got home. Who knew what I might discover?
Blog entry: Waited three hours. Discovered nothing.
Blog entry: Waited two more hours. Nothing still.
Blog entry: After another hour, Dr. Hargrove came home, looking tired and drained. Her hair was no longer pulled back neat and tight, and her lab coat looked ruffled under her open jacket. It had obviously been a trying day. It suddenly occurred to me that I never once considered how demanding the drug trial was on her. I just went in for my sessions every three to four days, enjoying my time with her. She, on the other hand, had to interview hundreds of test subjects a week, asking the same questions over and over again, then had to spend the remainder of her time cataloging the responses and charting out progress. Not to mention the other doctory duties she probably had to perform.
She was an amazing woman, without question.
I moved around the side of the house, through the bushes, following her as she went from room to room to close the blinds.
It couldn’t be easy, working so hard and then feeling watched when you got home.
I vowed to take my stalker-stalker task seriously. I wasn’t just going to win her heart; if this stalker existed, I was going to find him and bring him down!
Blog entry: Waited another hour for her to turn the lights out. Waited another hour to make sure nothing strange happened. Nothing did. Returned home none the wiser.
Either Dr. Hargrove was imagining her stalker or I was extremely
“Okay, okay. Never mind. I was just asking.”
The guy waved it away without looking up from the form. I returned to the counter, leaving him to browsing my parents’ declaration on his own.
Blog entry: Booted my laptop. Checked Joseph Miller’s meatpacking blog. Wanted to know if any new entries had mysteriously appeared. None had. Called Detective Norton again and left a message asking him to check out the bruise found on Joseph’s neck. Was just about to start on a blog entry for my trial blog when the tax guy returned from the back. He carried two old forms. “I would like to procure these,” he said. “Perhaps in some kind of monetary transaction? They are… eh… to my liking.”
“No problem,” I said. We haggled a bit over the price, he paid up, then, as he turned to go, I said, “By the way, I know that moustache is fake.”
“What?” He pressed down on his giant fake moustache. “This? It’s not what you think,” he mumbled, “it’s… eh… medicinal.” He hurried to the door. As he opened it, he said, “I have a prescription!” And with that he was gone.
Blog entry: Hicks returned from the front where he’d been washing the inside of the windows. “What was that all about?” he asked.
“Guy with a fake moustache wanted to buy my administration,” I said. “Apparently some of the forms are quite valuable.”
Hicks shook his head. “That guy was a weirdo,” he said. “A major freak.”
I shrugged. “He was pretty weird, yeah.”
“What do you suppose was wrong with him?”
“No idea.”
“Must be something with his brain,” Hicks decided. “Maybe he had an accident or something. Got his head knocked around a bit…”
“Could be.”
We talked for another two seconds, ran out of things to say, so I asked him to wash the windows from the outside. He turned white, muttered something about having left his broom on, and disappeared to the back.
Blog entry: Went home. Created a new disguise. Went straight to Dr. Hargrove’s to hide in her bushes.
Apparently I’d arrived early, because Dr. Hargrove wasn’t home yet. I considered that fortunate; I’d get to do some pre-stalker-stalking. I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but had a feeling it was a good thing. I could observe Dr. Hargrove’s place before she got home. Who knew what I might discover?
Blog entry: Waited three hours. Discovered nothing.
Blog entry: Waited two more hours. Nothing still.
Blog entry: After another hour, Dr. Hargrove came home, looking tired and drained. Her hair was no longer pulled back neat and tight, and her lab coat looked ruffled under her open jacket. It had obviously been a trying day. It suddenly occurred to me that I never once considered how demanding the drug trial was on her. I just went in for my sessions every three to four days, enjoying my time with her. She, on the other hand, had to interview hundreds of test subjects a week, asking the same questions over and over again, then had to spend the remainder of her time cataloging the responses and charting out progress. Not to mention the other doctory duties she probably had to perform.
She was an amazing woman, without question.
I moved around the side of the house, through the bushes, following her as she went from room to room to close the blinds.
It couldn’t be easy, working so hard and then feeling watched when you got home.
I vowed to take my stalker-stalker task seriously. I wasn’t just going to win her heart; if this stalker existed, I was going to find him and bring him down!
Blog entry: Waited another hour for her to turn the lights out. Waited another hour to make sure nothing strange happened. Nothing did. Returned home none the wiser.
Either Dr. Hargrove was imagining her stalker or I was extremely
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