Read Online The Ninth Step by Grant Jerkins - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Grant Jerkins
Ads: Link
turn. Helen stood up. “My name is Helen. And I drink. A lot. I enjoy it. I enjoy it so much, I thought I might have a problem. But coming here tonight, I think maybe that it’s allof you who have a problem. Honestly, and don’t take this the wrong way, but, uh, when you took that moral inventory, did you write down that you’re all just a bunch of pathetic assholes? I mean, for Christ’s sake, put yourselves out of your misery. Have a drink. That’s what I’m going to do.” With that, Helen turned and fought past the knees of the people sitting in her row.
The woman wearing the maroon jogging suit stood up and followed Helen out of the meeting. In the anteroom, Helen was opening the door to leave. The woman, Martha, caught up with her.
“Wait!”
Helen turned and arched an eyebrow in questioning annoyance.
“My name is Martha.”
“And you’re an alcoholic. I know. I get it.”
“No, you don’t get it. In fact, you got it completely wrong, my dear. We did put ourselves out of our misery. We stopped drinking.”
“Is that velour?”
“You’re goddamn right it’s velour. I dress for comfort, not style.”
Helen smiled.
“And you’re quite right about another thing. Quite right. We are a bunch of pathetic assholes. Welcome to the club.”
“Yes, I’m an asshole too, but I’m not quite ready to join up. To make it official. Thanks just the same.”
“Suit yourself, but really, isn’t it a little silly to not at least sit through one meeting? Are you scared you’ll catch sobrietythrough osmosis? I wish it were that easy. I’ll sit with you. Come on.”
“I can’t go back in there. I made a fool of myself in front of those people.”
“Dear, my first meeting, I stood up, said, ‘Hi, my name is Martha,’ and then I threw up all over myself. If I can come back after that, you can too.”
24
CHAOS AND CRIME
Detective Lydia Poole looked up at her partner, Detective Alvin Miller, and groaned. Miller had cocked his thumb over toward the detective bureau’s waiting area. When Poole looked in that direction, she saw Edgar Woolrich sitting on the long wooden bench, a stuffed manila envelope resting on his lap. She had gotten so used to seeing him with the neck brace that he looked somehow naked to her now that he no longer wore it. Woolrich looked up, and before Poole could look away, he had caught her eye.
Damn
. She faked a smile and waved him over.
“Mr. Woolrich, good afternoon. I’m sorry, but we don’t have any update for you. Your case is still active, but it’s cold. I’m sorry that’s all I have for you.”
Edgar thrust the bulging manila envelope into her hands.
“More charts?” Poole opened the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of papers containing graphs, charts, and equations.
“I’ve been looking into chaos theory. Are you familiar with it? Or maybe the theory of chaos and crime? In any given form of crime, chaos theory tells us that we look for small changes in ordinary variables. Perhaps external variables. Simple things such as car color likelihoods, or what individuals are attracted to what colors. We look for nonlinear transformations in the behavior of complex systems. You can’t find someone based on what colors they like. I mean that’s just nonsense, right? Unless you believe in chaos. Non. Linear. Transformations. That’s critical. Nonlinear. Do you realize—”
“Okay, wait a minute. Wait a minute. We’ve been down this road. Police work will solve this, okay? If it’s solvable, police work will solve it. That’s the way I see it. I’m sorry.”
“If you translate traffic patterns and automaker statistics into a three-dimensional binary grid—I mean, just the fact that the other car was red fills in over half the grid right off the bat.”
“Fine. You’re a math teacher, right? There are forty thousand paint samples on record at the National Automotive Paint File. This shade of red involved in your accident—”
“There are no
The woman wearing the maroon jogging suit stood up and followed Helen out of the meeting. In the anteroom, Helen was opening the door to leave. The woman, Martha, caught up with her.
“Wait!”
Helen turned and arched an eyebrow in questioning annoyance.
“My name is Martha.”
“And you’re an alcoholic. I know. I get it.”
“No, you don’t get it. In fact, you got it completely wrong, my dear. We did put ourselves out of our misery. We stopped drinking.”
“Is that velour?”
“You’re goddamn right it’s velour. I dress for comfort, not style.”
Helen smiled.
“And you’re quite right about another thing. Quite right. We are a bunch of pathetic assholes. Welcome to the club.”
“Yes, I’m an asshole too, but I’m not quite ready to join up. To make it official. Thanks just the same.”
“Suit yourself, but really, isn’t it a little silly to not at least sit through one meeting? Are you scared you’ll catch sobrietythrough osmosis? I wish it were that easy. I’ll sit with you. Come on.”
“I can’t go back in there. I made a fool of myself in front of those people.”
“Dear, my first meeting, I stood up, said, ‘Hi, my name is Martha,’ and then I threw up all over myself. If I can come back after that, you can too.”
24
CHAOS AND CRIME
Detective Lydia Poole looked up at her partner, Detective Alvin Miller, and groaned. Miller had cocked his thumb over toward the detective bureau’s waiting area. When Poole looked in that direction, she saw Edgar Woolrich sitting on the long wooden bench, a stuffed manila envelope resting on his lap. She had gotten so used to seeing him with the neck brace that he looked somehow naked to her now that he no longer wore it. Woolrich looked up, and before Poole could look away, he had caught her eye.
Damn
. She faked a smile and waved him over.
“Mr. Woolrich, good afternoon. I’m sorry, but we don’t have any update for you. Your case is still active, but it’s cold. I’m sorry that’s all I have for you.”
Edgar thrust the bulging manila envelope into her hands.
“More charts?” Poole opened the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of papers containing graphs, charts, and equations.
“I’ve been looking into chaos theory. Are you familiar with it? Or maybe the theory of chaos and crime? In any given form of crime, chaos theory tells us that we look for small changes in ordinary variables. Perhaps external variables. Simple things such as car color likelihoods, or what individuals are attracted to what colors. We look for nonlinear transformations in the behavior of complex systems. You can’t find someone based on what colors they like. I mean that’s just nonsense, right? Unless you believe in chaos. Non. Linear. Transformations. That’s critical. Nonlinear. Do you realize—”
“Okay, wait a minute. Wait a minute. We’ve been down this road. Police work will solve this, okay? If it’s solvable, police work will solve it. That’s the way I see it. I’m sorry.”
“If you translate traffic patterns and automaker statistics into a three-dimensional binary grid—I mean, just the fact that the other car was red fills in over half the grid right off the bat.”
“Fine. You’re a math teacher, right? There are forty thousand paint samples on record at the National Automotive Paint File. This shade of red involved in your accident—”
“There are no
Similar Books
