titusnowl: (house classy)
This whole rambling mess began because I was thinking, and wrote down, one question:

What made Dan want to be a cop?

I then proceeded to never actually touch on the answer to that question.Read more... )
titusnowl: (dallas 1937)


It's very shortly after he began working the oil rigs; he hasn't developed his tan yet, and so you can still see his freckles. He is tired as all goddamn hell and he's got grease all over him, but Dan has come to visit and things are good.
titusnowl: (dallas 1937)
"Well, if this ain't just the snake's hips."  My sister's voice cut through the crowded air of the speakeasy and hit me in the ear as effectively as if she'd walked over and physically smacked me upside the head, which I reckoned she was fixing to do momentarily.  Me, I was caught like a deer in headlights, froze up on my way to the kitchens still hugging a crate full of bottles that claimed to be Crown Royal and tasted like legitimate grounds for abdication.

Beth worked her way through the mess of dancers, trailing a sallow, ferrety fellow behind her like one of those wooden ducks on a string.  "If our parents knew you were here," she was saying meanwhile, and if I'd had any sense I would've ducked out while she was still getting her toes stepped on by foxtrot agents.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded when she got in range.  So far as I knew, Beth didn't even drink.

"Stewart invited me," she said, drawing herself up - I hate it when she does that, because she's taller than me; and that helped me place the ferrety fellow.  Her fiancĂ©, the accountant.  I looked at him.

"Your name's Stewart?  I thought it was Stanley."

"It's Stewart," he said shortly.

"Are you sure?  Because I really, really thought it was Stanley."

"Jim, I can't believe you forgot his name!"  She was really setting up to fume.

"I know!  The only guy you've ever landed - I ought to remember it just on account of the novelty!"  She looked like she would smack me for that crack, so I switched tacks.  "What would Ma and Dad say if they knew you were in here?  And you!"  I rounded on Stanley.  "Leadin' my sister into this-here den of iniquity and vice - you got a goddamn nerve - "

Beth wasn't having any of it.  One finger shot out and pert-near poked me in the nose, so's I went cross-eyed trying to keep track of it while she wagged it and her jaw in eight-to-the-bar time.  "What are you doing here?  Pa'll tan your hide six shades of red when he finds out - "

Jerry, one of the boys in the kitchen, poked me in the arm on his way by just then and said something fussy under his breath.  I had to get moving - couldn't stand around on the job.

"I don't know what you think you're up to - " Beth was saying, and I cut her off.

"I'm - " a goddamn genius, that's what I was.  I looked 'em both straight in the eye for a second, then glanced real furtive-like at Jerry disappearing into the kitchen and said in a quick rushed whisper: "I'm undercover.  Don't throw up dust or I'll get busted like a Jersey mug!"

They didn't know what the hell I was saying - sure they didn't!  They couldn't, on account of I was making up lingo like a dining-car cook making leftovers hash.  But it sounded impressive, whatever it was, and they ate it up.  Beth put her finger away and Stanley put on a face that only an accountant could make and nodded real stiff.  "Sure, we won't tip your hand," he said.

"Make like a couple of eggs and scramble!" I hissed.  "You don't know me!"  And they ankled.

Not that I didn't half owe 'em one.  All the crates save the one I was hugging on were already inside, thanks to good old Jerry.  I carried my box into the kitchen and put it up and slumped against the wall to drink down an advance on my pay, and Jerry poked me again.  "Lazybones," he called me.  Hell, five minutes with Beth was enough to make me feel like I'd gone through the ringer.  "That your sister?"  He whistled, which I found kind of funny on account of she ain't nothing to whistle over.

"Yeah," I told him.  "A real damn Valkyrie.  You like her, I got a line on fifty more just like, down at the stockyards."

By the time them two figured out I was feeding 'em breadcrumbs, I had enough dirt of my own to keep 'em dumb.  That's my life with my family: a carefully-balanced pile of blackmail and bribery.  It'd be good practice if I wanted to join the mob. 

Hell, for that count, it was good practice for living in Dallas.
titusnowl: (dallas 1937)
Another boring Tuesday at the office, with lots of nothing to do and three hours before Happy Hour at the bar in the Adolphus, when in walks this absolute dream of a dame.  We're talking legs up to there, knockout green eyes peeping out from under one of those toy hats the dolls like to pin on the front of their heads, and she was wearing some sort of dress or something I guess; it had buttons down the front and how the buttons weren't busting open I don't care to imagine 'cause I'd rather imagine they were.  So I give her the old professional smile, and she walks on over and sits on top of the desk and leans over real sultry-like so's to make the most of that dress, and she says: "I heard you could help a girl out with her problems - "

And I say: "Uh-huh," or something just about as useful.

And she leans over a little further and starts toyin' with them buttons, and she says: "My fiancé - "

And I blink, and she's sitting in the clients' chair, the one with the high back to it, with her purse on her lap and her fingers fidgeting with the strap of the purse, and I take a hit of my coffee and say "Uh-huh" again.
titusnowl: (hugs and kisses)
You'd think after the time I lost the baby they wouldn't give me kids anymore.  Read more... )
titusnowl: (chick with typewriter)
[livejournal.com profile] cupiecake: I want to see a conversation between Dan and Jimbo's sister, the cool one.
like "NO SRSLY Y?" hahaha


Friends and Relations )
titusnowl: (hers is a tonic and mine is a gin)
So I wrote another Jim story that has nothing whatever to do with his novel, but I hope it's entertaining anyway.

If you read this in the other journal, you'll want to read it again - I completely redid the ending.

Defenestration )
titusnowl: (dallas 1937)
Just spent an hour in the library doing research for Jim's backstory.  Unfortunately as I am no longer located on or near the oil field there's not an awful lot of stuff to look through - I'll have to make a special trip down to Kilgore one of these days, go through the oil museum again, and hang out in the town library.  The local's genealogical research room had the entire run of the Texas Folklore Society's annual publication, so I went through the 1920s and '30s and photocopied anything related to the oil business I could find - it's better than nothing.  Maybe I should've kept going through the '40s and see if anything ever popped up about the winter of '31 - it certainly seems to have been the type of thing which would be told about years later, given that it rained for about four months straight and trucks, cars, pipelines and people got lost in the mud...  but there wasn't anything on it through '39, so I quit looking. 
titusnowl: (typewriter keys)
I make no claims as to this being any good as a story on its own.  It's just something I wrote for the sake of giving Jim some time to play, and because I lately have a hard-on for 1920s bootleggers.  But it's here, if you'd like to read it - about 3000 words.

the adventures of jim dalton, kid rum-runner )
titusnowl: (bond)
I'm no artist, but I try.  This is a picture of Jim Dalton (remember him?) at age 20, an illustration to accompany my little side-work story about his days as a bootlegger.  (Jim is a man who has done many things, not many of which he admits to in polite company.  Not that he finds himself in polite company too terribly often.)  (I haven't COMPLETELY abandoned his novel.  But I've been on a Roaring '20s craze lately, and I wanted him to get out and get some exericse.)

he has no eyes 'cause i can't draw faces to save my life )

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