What follows are excerpts that introduce three characters from a work in progress with the working title of "True Frail."
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The first is the principle character "Big Swede," a retired LAPD cop turned private investigator for law firms that has developed some health problems. I picture a beefy version of the actor Jeff Bridges when writing about Swede
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“Ignorance is bliss,” damn right it is. That's what I should be doing, sorting through neighborhood trash looking for marketable items for a couple of hours in the morning, then go have lunch at some local place where they know me by name and start me off with some tortilla chips fried in lard, fry the damn thing in ambergris for all I care as long as it tastes good, with lots of salt pulverized from a cow lick, big bowl of salsa and a side of guacamole and of course a Negro Modelo in a frosty mug followed by a carnitas burrito dripping orange colored fat from the folds of the tortilla, a side of refried beans topped with that good cacique cheese and a second beer, why not, then wonder across to the park, burp, fart, visit with some buddies and then nap under a tree through the hot part of the day. As I'm sitting on the front porch, finishing my dry wheat toast and black coffee, trying to relax while taking my blood pressure, that's the life I envision for the friendly Araber with the bad skin, vitiligo maybe, going through the stuff a neighbor left on the sidewalk. I see him once a week or so, usually when I'm on my morning forced march, he always waves and sometimes yells “I like you dog” to which I answer, “He's yours” holding the leash toward him and we both grin like fools. It's nice though, our little exchange, I have to admit.

What's that quote my wife likes, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” Well I'm not so sure about that. Since my “incident,” my life is well examined and look at the consequences, no fats, no sugar, no meat, no dairy, no fish, thank god I can have a little wine to dull the senses, all because of the crime of having good insurance. I know I'm over weight, but I have big bones and I'm a big guy, big frame, the “Big Swede” is what my friends call me. Were I a regular working stiff I would go about my merry way without any of these changes to my life style and drift off in my sleep with a massive heart attack no worse for wear. Instead, I spend a good part of my day thinking about my mortality and how I owe it to my loved ones to take care of myself and live a long happy life. That's why might I ask, sitting in the back of a patrol car, being taken down to the morgue to identify my neighbor's body, the same neighbor that left the trash on the curb and me now wondering, is my junk collector friend somehow involved?

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Second; Camilla is loosely based on a friend of mine that is a "Criminalist" for the Los Angeles Police Dept. and is the real deal. She is more scientist than cop and doesn't talk about her work.
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The next stop was Camilla, my LAPD crime scene friend who could meet me Tuesday after work for a drink. We settled on Barbara's, a friendly bar in the Brewery Art Colony downtown that was a noisy after work hangout for the artsy residents who were mostly movie tech types, UPS drivers and County Medical Hospital interns who came from those nearby facilities and a perfect nondescript spot for my purposes. Camilla was always fun, usually with a story about how a stupid miscreant had been trying to cover up the crime in an unusual way only to incriminate himself further or how perverted the human sole could be. Today she started with a doozy. The employees of the South Pasadena Von's had nabbed a suspect red handed that LAPD had been looking for for two years. The guy had rubber stamps prepared, one that had a cartoon bubble with an arrow that would come from a women that said, “Honey, I want you so bad, take me from behind.” and a second one that would be for the man that said, “Why sure babe, I would like that too.” Apparently, what the guy did was find an ad, usually for insurance or financial advice in a magazine while browsing through the store. If he found a good one, he would take several copies of the magazine and stamps the captions on the ad, then replace the magazines on the shelf leaving the store to deal with the irate parents exclaiming “look what you have exposed my children to.” Camilla was familiar with the case because she had provided the testimony regarding the conformity of the stamps that were used in multiple stores and multiple locations. Turns out the guys defense was two fold, first he had not used any offensive language and second, if the companies were really selling insurance or financial advice, why didn't they depict a couple agonizing over a pile of portfolio brochures at the kitchen table, pencils poised, glasses on the bridge of their nose, calculators humming and with sweat dripping from their brow. But instead, they always show these attractive models giving each other sly suggestive come hither glances and they want us to think they are selling money market funds? The judge said he was not buying this line of reason, however, the guy did have a point and dismissed the pornography charges. He was convicted of misdemeanor defacement of private property, fined and set loose. We had a great time swapping stories and I gave her what I had on Mimi Moreno and Charlotte Sousa, address, phone number, e-mail, age and physical description. She got a kick out of the physical description; I may have exaggerated a tiny bit. I also included that it was an established fact that they were not above a little larceny, relating how they had deceived the Assessor’s Office on the value of the house.

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Fastidious Jones is entirely fictional, a professional researcher. Give him a computer and a fast internet connection and he can tell you your wife's bra size in five minutes.
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Nobody keeps an office anymore. Used to be you would go see business associates in small grungy offices downtown or in Hollywood, buildings with risky elevators and lousy parking, but now everybody works out of the house, sign of the times I guess. Instead of worn out chairs and steel desks you now meet at breakfast tables with kids getting ready for school while you dodge spilled cheerios. Often there's coffee served by housewives with curlers in cups clean from the dishwasher. Gone are the days of surly receptionist and Styrofoam cups. The real professionals worked out of converted garages and Fastidious was at the top of the heap. Sparkling clean ceramic floors, built-in bookcases lining the walls, wet bar area with coffee and cold bottled water and a large computer desk setup with every conceivable high tech gadget necessary to the modern snoop. Fast, as he calls himself is an ex PD friend that had been forced into early retirement, not because he did a bad job, but just the opposite. When they would sic him on a case, his need to follow every lead to the bitter end, always resulted in finding a connection that no one, including the DA's office, wanted connected. If there was an embarrassment out there, he would find it. He was just the guy I needed. While stuck on the freeway, I recalled his back story about his unusual name.

Around fifth grade, when the other kids started teasing him about his name his mother said “We named you after the famous Roman Emperor, Fastidious, you should be proud.” No Fastidious had ever existed. All through middle school he tried to get the other kids to accept “Fast” as his nickname, but kids being the mean little demons they are, picked Fester instead, which evolved into Sore. He explained about the emperor but “Emperor” was too foreign sounding and they eventually settled for “King,” the nickname he carried through high school and college until his lottery number came up for the Vietnam draft. When he produced his birth certificate he was surprised to learn his real name was Homer Fredrick Jones, after his grandfather's. When he confronted his dad he said, “Oh, your mother came up with that name.” When Fastidious pleaded, “Why didn't you stick up for me?” his dad tried to conceal his smile by turning to leave the room saying as he went, “My suggestion was Persnickety.” After the army he joined the Department and went by Fastidious, the name that had described him best since childhood. He proved to be a tireless researcher, an expert at finding secrets, true to his fastidious nature.   

Warren Crane 2013 ©     Used with Permission of the author.

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