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© Copyright 1999, Jim Loy
I entered the Vintage Books/USA WEEKEND "Finish the Mystery" Contest. Famous author James Ellroy wrote the opening paragraphs of a mystery story. And my job was to finish the story. Here is the story:
Click here to read the beginning.
My ending:
"Hey, that sounds pretty good, better than that time machine crap you usually write."
"Hey, watch it. I write good stories."
"Yeah right. If your detective doesn't know who the murderer is, he just goes back in the trusty old time machine and watches the crime being committed. Sounds clever to me."
"Anyway, I didn't write this. It's a contest. This guy James Ellroy wrote the beginning, and I'm supposed to finish it. By the way, what the hell is skank?"
"Beats me. This Ellroy dude sounds like a real writer. He's probably an alcoholic. He probably has a real typewriter, and he probably yanks the paper out the top without turning the knob. He probably..."
"I'm having some trouble with this Danny guy's language. Listen to this: Her chin was chillingly charming."
"Yuck, that really sucks."
"OK, how about this: She had those loose lips that are said to sink ships."
"Not bad. You may become an alcoholic yet."
"Thanks, how about this: She had enticingly enantiomorphic eyes."
"Whoa, enantio-what?"
"Enantiomorphic, it means that they were mirror images of each other. It's an organic chemistry term."
"Her eyes were mirror images of each other? You're saying they weren't akimbo or something? Thank God they were enantiomorphic. I don't think this Danny Whats-his-name knows any words like that."
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe he took organic chemistry in college."
"Yeah right. I think you oughta stick with your own language, unless you want this story to be humorous or something."
"Yeah maybe you're right. Well I gotta get to writing on this. This contest is going to get me published. I need a little privacy here."
"OK, you got it. I got better things to do anyway, like go pick my nose. See ya."
"Yeah, see ya... Hm, this shouldn't be too hard."
I edged toward the time machine. The lady's finger tightened on the trigger. She wasn't going to let me get away that easily. "Yeah, I'll help you, Lulu." Her real name was Loretta. But I liked to antagonize her, even when she was pointing a pistol at me. "Just give me a minute. I gotta think." About now would be a good time for a karate kick of some kind, if only she weren't clear across the room, if only I knew any karate kicks. I surveyed the scene of the disaster. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
She shook her head, "No." The gun never wavered.
"Hm. That complicates things. Maybe you can explain something that's been puzzling me. What the hell is skank?"
She said, "Skank. Verb, intransitive. Slang. To dance rhythmically in a loose-limbed manner."
That didn't seem to help. We probably couldn't get away with this. Whatever dirt Cal had on her would probably show up eventually. The bullet was probably traceable to her gun. Who knew how many finger prints she had left all over the place. If things kept going like this, the police would be breaking down the door any minute now. Think, I had to think of a way out of this. "Ah! I got a great idea!"
She was skeptical, "This had better be good."
"Well you see, I got my trusty old time machine over here..."
She shot him.