(no subject)
May. 11th, 2007 02:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gone_byebyeFriday, May 11, 2007
JB Stouts Bar and Grill
Wakarusa Drive
Lawrence, KS
"Welcome back, Agent Frankel," said Meg, the woman behind the bar. "That was quick. What can I getcha this time?"
Frankel, a stout balding man of middle years, shook his head grimly and held up a sheaf of faxed pages. "Nothing big. I've got some dinner reading to do."
"Stuff from Washington?" Meg guessed as she signaled the kitchen to start putting together a chicken sandwich. "Don't they brief you folks before they send you out on these survey things?"
"This isn't really part of the national paranormal survey," said Agent Frankel. "Or it wasn't supposed to be. I don't know if it counts as a data point or not. This is from my colleague, Agent Fonstad. She ran across something in Stull and figured I should have a look before she got back."
"Honey, everything even remotely interesting in Stull's probably one of your data points," Meg said. "Nothing else around the place is worth mentioning but that graveyard of theirs."
Frankel glanced up from the paper. "This wasn't something that belonged in Stull," he said. "Agent Fonstad thinks she's found an escaped convict's diary."
Meg blinked a few times. "Huh," she said, straightening up. "Okay, that's different. What'd he do?"
"Kidnapping, conspiracy, illegal detention, accessory to involuntary servitude- you just don't get Thirteenth Amendment prosecutions these days, that must've been fun for the judge- and a bunch of other related crimes," says Frankel. "He broke out of Camp Yankton back in March."
"Call me crazy," said Meg slowly, "but I don't think that sounds like the kind of man who keeps a diary."
"You'd think that," said Frankel. "But this guy- oh, thanks-" She'd handed him a glass of pop. "-anyway, this guy ... he's different. Really different. As a matter of fact, it looks as if he's going to wind up in the paranormal survey himself."
"Huh," said Meg. "Do I wanna know how?"
Frankel blew out a tired sigh. "Turned himself invisible."
"Oh." Meg thought about that, then shook her head and went to get the man his sandwich. "So what brings a guy like that to a place like Stull?"
"Apparently," said Frankel as he thumbed through the faxed pages, "the invisibility wore off and the un-smellability he'd worked up to hide from the prison dogs went away. It looks like he figured he could take a couple of shortcuts to serious magic."
Meg shook her head. "He's in for a world of trouble," she said. "You don't fool around with the kind of stuff they've got in Stull."
JB Stouts Bar and Grill
Wakarusa Drive
Lawrence, KS
"Welcome back, Agent Frankel," said Meg, the woman behind the bar. "That was quick. What can I getcha this time?"
Frankel, a stout balding man of middle years, shook his head grimly and held up a sheaf of faxed pages. "Nothing big. I've got some dinner reading to do."
"Stuff from Washington?" Meg guessed as she signaled the kitchen to start putting together a chicken sandwich. "Don't they brief you folks before they send you out on these survey things?"
"This isn't really part of the national paranormal survey," said Agent Frankel. "Or it wasn't supposed to be. I don't know if it counts as a data point or not. This is from my colleague, Agent Fonstad. She ran across something in Stull and figured I should have a look before she got back."
"Honey, everything even remotely interesting in Stull's probably one of your data points," Meg said. "Nothing else around the place is worth mentioning but that graveyard of theirs."
Frankel glanced up from the paper. "This wasn't something that belonged in Stull," he said. "Agent Fonstad thinks she's found an escaped convict's diary."
Meg blinked a few times. "Huh," she said, straightening up. "Okay, that's different. What'd he do?"
"Kidnapping, conspiracy, illegal detention, accessory to involuntary servitude- you just don't get Thirteenth Amendment prosecutions these days, that must've been fun for the judge- and a bunch of other related crimes," says Frankel. "He broke out of Camp Yankton back in March."
"Call me crazy," said Meg slowly, "but I don't think that sounds like the kind of man who keeps a diary."
"You'd think that," said Frankel. "But this guy- oh, thanks-" She'd handed him a glass of pop. "-anyway, this guy ... he's different. Really different. As a matter of fact, it looks as if he's going to wind up in the paranormal survey himself."
"Huh," said Meg. "Do I wanna know how?"
Frankel blew out a tired sigh. "Turned himself invisible."
"Oh." Meg thought about that, then shook her head and went to get the man his sandwich. "So what brings a guy like that to a place like Stull?"
"Apparently," said Frankel as he thumbed through the faxed pages, "the invisibility wore off and the un-smellability he'd worked up to hide from the prison dogs went away. It looks like he figured he could take a couple of shortcuts to serious magic."
Meg shook her head. "He's in for a world of trouble," she said. "You don't fool around with the kind of stuff they've got in Stull."
