mapping them so that I can function somewhat like other people; and this unknown/disruption/newness is uncomfortable to me. I’m not a big fan of cruelty to animals, even to ugly birds, and would like to stop it. As far as that goes, I would also like to help you avoid a ‘Soprano’-like conclusion to this if/when you find the guy who has been shooting the birds; doing so would help protect Sophia and her new life, which was my original reason for getting involved with you and Nick and Helgafell at all.”
“Jeez, anything else?” He asked jokingly.
“Well, since you asked … I enjoyed the bacon, and wouldn’t mind getting some more of it in the future … it’s pretty expensive on the farm’s website.” I grinned at this last reason, but meant it at least as much as the other reasons I had given ( more, really ). I had one other reason for wanting to get involved, but there was no need to share it with John, as it likely ran counter to his role at the farm.
“Well, you came close enough with your story about Father and me for me to buy you a plate of the passable Chinese food; we can talk about whether or not I can trust you enough to let you help me stop the ‘Great Guinea Fowl Slaughter of Ought-Two’, and why I should.” With that said, he stood up, put my paring knife back in the drawer it belonged in by the sink, put the papers back in my safe ( giving the dial a twirl after closing the door, and muttering “cheap safe” under his breath, which it was ), unlocked the door ( even the chain and deadbolt, which I never use, and which gave me a nasty few seconds while I thought about why he might have wanted that level of privacy with me ), and then headed out/down/around and into the Chinese place, presumably assuming that I would follow … I did.
SmartPig Offices, 4:37pm, 6/5/2002
Being that it was between the usual hours for lunch and dinner, there wasn’t anyone else in the Chinese restaurant beside John and me, so we placed our order, paid, and went over to the table farthest away from the guy cooking to talk while we waited . It has been my experience that the smells of Chinese food cooking are nearly always the same, regardless of the way that the final product tastes, which was/is/will be a mystery to me, but not one that I had/have a burning desire to solve.
“So, if it’s not you…” John let his statement hang in the air for a moment, possibly hoping to see me squirm or try to prove myself innocent to him.
“Then we wouldn’t be here, waiting for our food to come, and trying to figure out how to work together for maximum benefit … so it must not be me.” I finished for him.
“I can make a list of people who might think that they have a reason to break into the farmhouse.” John offered, as an opening volley.
“That’s probably a waste of time. I bet that Nick or you paid cash with a big bill or four once too often, or someone doing work on the farm saw a safe or cash box, ( or Marsellus Wallace’s briefcase ?) back in Nick’s office. The trouble is that the list wouldn’t have to be restricted to whoever he/you spoke to … it could include anyone that they spoke to as well.”
“So should I start asking people on the street if they shot the birds, or will you?” he asked me, as the cook brought our plates over.
“I think that if we take motive off the table, and assume opportunity for the moment, then we can focus on the most interest ing and selective determinant … means. There can’t be many people in this part of the world who can confidently take a shot at a moving chicken-sized bird from 400 yards. If we can find/identify this subset of people, we should be able to eliminate the wheat from the chaff with motive and opportunity in short order.”
“Sounds good Tyler, but how do we get a list of people who can make that sort of shot. I know a guy in the State Police, and WE know some people in the armed forces.” ( I
“Jeez, anything else?” He asked jokingly.
“Well, since you asked … I enjoyed the bacon, and wouldn’t mind getting some more of it in the future … it’s pretty expensive on the farm’s website.” I grinned at this last reason, but meant it at least as much as the other reasons I had given ( more, really ). I had one other reason for wanting to get involved, but there was no need to share it with John, as it likely ran counter to his role at the farm.
“Well, you came close enough with your story about Father and me for me to buy you a plate of the passable Chinese food; we can talk about whether or not I can trust you enough to let you help me stop the ‘Great Guinea Fowl Slaughter of Ought-Two’, and why I should.” With that said, he stood up, put my paring knife back in the drawer it belonged in by the sink, put the papers back in my safe ( giving the dial a twirl after closing the door, and muttering “cheap safe” under his breath, which it was ), unlocked the door ( even the chain and deadbolt, which I never use, and which gave me a nasty few seconds while I thought about why he might have wanted that level of privacy with me ), and then headed out/down/around and into the Chinese place, presumably assuming that I would follow … I did.
SmartPig Offices, 4:37pm, 6/5/2002
Being that it was between the usual hours for lunch and dinner, there wasn’t anyone else in the Chinese restaurant beside John and me, so we placed our order, paid, and went over to the table farthest away from the guy cooking to talk while we waited . It has been my experience that the smells of Chinese food cooking are nearly always the same, regardless of the way that the final product tastes, which was/is/will be a mystery to me, but not one that I had/have a burning desire to solve.
“So, if it’s not you…” John let his statement hang in the air for a moment, possibly hoping to see me squirm or try to prove myself innocent to him.
“Then we wouldn’t be here, waiting for our food to come, and trying to figure out how to work together for maximum benefit … so it must not be me.” I finished for him.
“I can make a list of people who might think that they have a reason to break into the farmhouse.” John offered, as an opening volley.
“That’s probably a waste of time. I bet that Nick or you paid cash with a big bill or four once too often, or someone doing work on the farm saw a safe or cash box, ( or Marsellus Wallace’s briefcase ?) back in Nick’s office. The trouble is that the list wouldn’t have to be restricted to whoever he/you spoke to … it could include anyone that they spoke to as well.”
“So should I start asking people on the street if they shot the birds, or will you?” he asked me, as the cook brought our plates over.
“I think that if we take motive off the table, and assume opportunity for the moment, then we can focus on the most interest ing and selective determinant … means. There can’t be many people in this part of the world who can confidently take a shot at a moving chicken-sized bird from 400 yards. If we can find/identify this subset of people, we should be able to eliminate the wheat from the chaff with motive and opportunity in short order.”
“Sounds good Tyler, but how do we get a list of people who can make that sort of shot. I know a guy in the State Police, and WE know some people in the armed forces.” ( I
Similar Books
