the Wakefield Doctrine

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

This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise, defined by a single number: 6 (the exact number of sentences in qualified stories)

Hey! This Six is a continuation of last week’s Serial Six Sentence Story. As the old TV shows used to say, “Previously on….” Read Me.

Prompt Word:

BLEND

‘That was Miles Davis’ ‘Kinda Blue’ and you’re listening to WBRU, 666 on your radio dial; from high on College Hill, the only station bringing you a smooth blend of jazz from the Roaring 40’s to the present anno domino; next up is a cut from a brand new group called the Mahavishnu Orchestra.‘

I sat up…well, more like trying to get my head in a position to establish where the hell I was, unfortunately this strategy was stymied by my head hitting something smooth, curved and unmovable; throwing caution to the wind, I opened my eyes and saw the crescent moon of the lower half of a car steering wheel.

First victory in hand, I knew I wasn’t blind and I could hear and move… sorta, but something wasn’t right… the steering wheel was of a hard and cool-to-the-touch material and, according to the pressure on my lower back when I pushed out with my feet, I was lying flat on my back; sitting upright, veering to avoid the steering wheel which was all of a circle and a hub, I found myself in the middle of a single front seat, I felt the same kind of stomach twinge that I had when I heard….

“My voice?”

To my credit, I didn’t scream and thought to look in the rearview mirror, which was a small, simple and empty oval suspended from the windshield; naturally that made me look at the mostly metal and glass dashboard as the thought began to form…

“Antique vintage Chevrolet?”

Knowing the car was empty and the sight of what looked like a movie set for all the people dressed funny, mostly short dresses on the girls and long hair on the guys, I figured the better part of valor would be facilitated by closing my eyes and focus on the disembodied voice.

“Unless I’m mistaken, which I rarely am in affairs involving chrono-intercessions such as the one I am currently privileged to conduct, you’re searching for the ideal interrogatory adverb, might I recommend going with ‘When’.“

*

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

This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise. defined by a single number: 6 (the exact number of sentences in qualified stories)

Hey! This is a continuation of the Serial Six (though not the narrative) from last week. Helps to know why Ian’s admin, Hazel  is asking so many people a single question, ‘When did you last see Ian? So, Ian Devereaux’s faithful admin is on the warpath. Hazel’s boss has been missing for three days and she means to get to the bottom of it. Read Me.

Prompt Word:

BLEND

“I’ll tell ya this, kid, and don’t take this the wrong way, your boss has a way of pissing people off and not in a good way, case-in-point, I gave him some work, nothin’ complicated, a blend of surveillance and skip-tracing on someone important to me and he goes and, wait a minute, why am I tellin’ you, you’re his fuckin’ secretary,” a dismissive wave of his left hand, a mea culpa for his temporary lapse as host, the owner of the Bottom of the Sea Strip Club and Lounge raised his eyebrows at something or someone behind the woman sitting opposite him in the booth, “I ain’t telling you nothin’ you don’t already know, Hazel, after all you’re here in my establishment giving me the fuckin’ third degree, ya got balls, I’ll give you that and when Devereaux shows back up, tell him I said he needs to give you a raise; now if you’ll excuse me I have to talk to a gentleman about his somewhat novel business model involving arbitrage and certain artwork,” his raised eyebrows brought an end to the interview.

“I’d say don’t let Lou upset you,” Diane Tierney’s frown of sympathy submitted it’s resignation, leaving the hostess’s face smoothed in a smile of admiration, “but that’s clearly nothing you need me to tell you, Hazel; the last time Ian was here was New Year’s Eve, I remember because he left in a hurry just after the arrival of Rosetta Storme and her date, didn’t catch his name; anyway, Rosetta shows up and Ian hightails it out through the kitchen.”

“Who’s this, yeah I’m Rosetta, how’d you get this number… listen, I don’t know no Hazel, oh, you’re Hazel, well, I’m happy for you, what do you want, I don’t know any Ian Devo… Devereaux, whatever, where was I on New Year’s Eve… wait, I got this one, I was on the corner of Fuck St and Off Ave that helpful enough, of course I know who the cook at the Bottom of the Sea is, it’s Gus Deljudice and yeah, now that you mention it, he was working New Years Eve… all chef hat and white smock…  do I sound like a 411 service, go ask Diane, that frosty bitch knows everything; you’re welcome and I don’t care.”

“Sure, New Year’s Eve he ran through my kitchen like the devil was chasing him, sorry ma’am I didn’t speak to him, New Year’s Eve is always a madhouse at Lou’s joint, but Rosetta showed up with a date, that’s about when Ian left, I always liked him, lunch almost every weekday… now, nothing out of the ordinary except I remember a man who lingered at the hostess station at the front of the house, after Miz Storme arrived, but he turned right around and left… I’ll be happy to call you if I, it’s Hazel, right?”

Hazel didn’t want to call her friend in the State Police, in no small part because Ian’s book of business was comprised of a small, but not insignificant number of clients engaged in hypo-legal business ventures; letting the neon shawl fall from her shoulders to the sidewalk, she walked away from the Bottom of the Sea; a child’s voice from the sodium vapor-striped parking lot drew her attention.

“That detective guy, always tipped me to keep an eye on his ride, yeah I saw him, he was walking up the street, in a hurry but then a car did a u-turn, one of those goofy lookin electric cars.. the big one, looks like a DeLorean designed by a coked-out high school kid, it never stopped, it just kept on going; jeez thanks lady, I’ll call you if I see either one of them.”