|I think I just saw James Patterson in the garden.|
Day 69, Chapter 69
Today’s chapter is literally on one sheet of paper. Both sides, but one sheet. I’m just sayin’.
I found this awesome photo with an article that ran in the Wall Street Journal on July 2 – “James Patterson Launches an International Franchise”. The article itself was about JPatt’s new series “Private,” the first part of which was released last Tuesday. Basically, he’s taking farming out a franchise to a new level – the main character runs some sort of international investigation firm, so after the US version of each book is published, an overseas author will write an alternate version of the book from the international perspective. So far this doesn’t make a lot of sense to me – as if one version of one of his crappy books wasn’t enough? On the spinoff docket so far, Private London, Private Amsterdam, Private Australia, and Private Rome. Who cares. His first foray into co-authoring a book with a successful European author was last year’s Postcard Killers (not yet released in the US) with Swedish author, Liza Marklund. From the WSJ: “‘Some critics hated it,’ says Ms. Marklund, noting that in Sweden, crime novels tend to be more literary than American crime writing. Ooh, snap! In your face.
I was really hoping Chapter 69 would be a little racier, you know? There is zero nudity and zero sex – false advertising if you ask me.
Lindsay, Conklin, and Jacobi spend the rest of the day interrogating Roger Bosco, Yacht Club maintenance man. It turns out that he really is just a maintenance man. Lindsay starts to feel a little bad about giving him a hard time.
I took Bosco out of a holding cell and put him back in the box, this time with a coffee, a ham sandwich, and a package of Oreos.
You keep the poor guy in a box? Jesus.
Bosco’s story is that a man claiming to be a Hollywood film producer approached him claiming to need a “real, live stunt guy” to boat over & pick up a package dropped from the bridge into the bay. He would receive $500 for his services and be in an action film.
Did Bosco seriously believe that this setup was for real? Was he dirty, or was he just dim?
C’mon Lindsay, I think you’re all a bit dim. Bosco struggles with the name of the producer, until he remembers that he has the guy’s business card in his soaking wet wallet. Lindsay criticizes the business card like she’s right out of American Psycho – “It wouldn’t have passed the credulity test of most people in this town” – but the punch line is the name on the card: “Anthony Tracchio, WCF Productions”. Hahahahaha! Tracchio’s the Chief of Police!
Wait, is the Chief the killer? Man, I’m confused again.
On a refreshing side note: it’s not just Sweden that seems to prefer the literary over JPatt’s pulpy garbage. After one week of being on the shelves, David Mitchell’s new book is outselling Private 2:1 at Warwick’s. A small victory for yours truly.
Go to Day 70.