Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- [an Ian Devereaux Six] | the Wakefield Doctrine Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- [an Ian Devereaux Six] | the Wakefield Doctrine

Six Sentence Story -the Wakefield Doctrine- [an Ian Devereaux Six]

October 7, 2022 By

Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is our contribution Denise’s bloghop, the Six Sentence Story.

(…you know, to make up for the fit-of-lyric-ambition exhibited in yesterday’s post)

‘course, it, (that post), is an example of the sincerity of my embrace of the time-honored advice to beginning writers such as ourselfs: “Leave the fear of ridicule at the door and, no matter how small it is, step up on the stage.”

The week’s prompt word is:

CLUB

“Why’d I name this place the Bottom of the Sea Strip Club and Lounge?”

Lou Ceasare looked over the top of his reading glasses at me like a cigar-smoking Siddhartha Gautama answering the door on a family of Jehovah Witnesses; I prayed he was actually looking past me, towards the front entrance of the club where the hostess, Diane Tierney, was greeting an embolus of conventioneers with a level of professional detachment to make the head of the CDC turn green with envy.

“Whaddya think I am, Devereaux, the fuckin’ Hallmark Channel or are you back to takin’ on the little ole ladies at the Preservation Society as clients again,” Lou laughed, which meant everyone laughed; hell, even the conventioneers, currently jostling each other like a high school junior varsity football team for the front-facing chairs, turned towards us, high-fives cocked and ready.

I grinned without letting my teeth show too much and never took my eyes off his, at least until the flare of assessment died down enough and he released a cloud of cigar smoke like the sign from a College of Cardinals button man that the hit was successful.

“Yeah, that’d accept me as a member…” in response to my raised eye brow, Lou laughed again and, with a smile of  jovial menace, said, “I’m just bustin’ ya; that guy at the door of that hippie joint you dragged me down to a couple of months ago, what was it, the Sixth Sense Bistro, some fuckin thing, anyway, he liked cigars and reminded me of that old Groucho Marx joke.”

“Anyway, let him know, he’s welcome here at the Bottom of the Sea, tell him I’ll introduce him to the girl of his dreams,” a pause as his end of his Cuban cigar glowed, which was a relief, as I was no longer his primary focus, “or his nightmares!”

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clarkscottroger About clarkscottroger
Well, what exactly do you want to know? Whether I am a clark or a scott or roger? If you have to ask, then you need to keep reading the Posts for two reasons: a)to get a clear enough understanding to be able to make the determination of which type I am and 2) to realize that by definition I am all three.* *which is true for you as well, all three...but mostly one

Comments

  1. Spira says:
    October 7, 2022 at 11:10 am

    Intrigued…here are the keys of ” my car”…why don’t you take it for a drive, now that you know its idiosyncrasies?

    • clarkscottroger clarkscottroger says:
      October 7, 2022 at 11:20 am

      actually I had to pause on some of the ‘details’ of this Six, mostly the choice of cigars*

      I considered myself one of the privileged few who could walk up and sit opposite the owner of the club without an invitation.

      Of course, on this occasion, I did have an invitation. As I was waiting for Diane to tell what was on the note from my soon-to-be most-favorite-dancer, Lou Ceasare’s voice elbowed aside the conversational sound of diners and drinkers,

      “Hey, Tierney! If the consulting-fricken-detective can tear himself from his goddamn approach-avoidance conflict, I got some information worth more than getting you to set him up with Annchi.”

      Lou was wearing a white shirt with a collar I thought out-lawed at the end of the seventies. Sticking out from his shirt pocket were two gold Cross pens and the blond-plastic ends of a couple of Tiparillos. That was a good sign. When he thought he might need to make a point or indicate a preferred interpretation of his closing argument, Lou smoked Coronas. I’ve actually heard detectives with the Providence PD, discussing a beating case, say, “Nah, nothin to do with that crowd at the Bottom of the Sea. Those burn mark are way too small.”

      He wore half-lens reading glasses with a string of old-lady beads tying one earpiece to the other. I once asked him about it, when I first started having lunch at his place.

      “This thing? A gift from my grandmother Rosa, may she rest in peace. I got a sneaking suspicion these are rosary beads. She was a bit of the rebel for her day, and probably figured it was as close to being a good Catholic as she was gonna get me.” He rolled a length of the beads between his fingers and looked at me, “You can’t never have too much muscle, you know what I mean?

      *hey, Nick! Thanks for the excuse to go and look up a chapter of ‘the Case of the Missing Starr’ in which I mentioned Lou’s choice in cigars (see above)

  2. Frank Hubeny says:
    October 7, 2022 at 11:25 am

    Nice alternate name: “Sixth Sense Bistro”

  3. messymimi says:
    October 7, 2022 at 5:26 pm

    Always a pleasure to read how you dance with words

  4. imnobodywhoareyou says:
    October 7, 2022 at 11:02 pm

    Lou, doesn’t seem like such a bad guy after all. Didn’t he say he liked the Hallmark Channel, at least he mentioned it……and exactly what kind of cigars does he smoke.

    • clarkscottroger clarkscottroger says:
      October 9, 2022 at 8:36 am

      Lou is one of my favorite characters… the type that, once you picture the scene all ya gotta do is try an keep up