“She Left On a Thursday,” it was rejected. That was the end of his writing career.
He retired from the force after he brought in the San Francisco Baby Mauler. He hit the late night talk show circuit pushing, “I Got ‘Em: How I Brought the Baby Mauler to Justice,”by Augustus T Nero.
Life was good.
He signed a three book deal, and pressure was on for a follow up. Augie knew just what case to solve next.
He flew to Italy. It was business meets pleasure. He hadn’t been to the “Old Country” since last visited his grandparents as a child.
He was now ready. He would find out who was abducting townsfolk and why.
The investigation him to a cave. Augie found the decomposing bodies of the missing people . There were no signs of struggle, and nothing was stolen. How were they killed? And why?
Augie sat, he was winded. The skinny kid from San Francisco was in great shape, why was he so tired? He would figure that out after a nap.
He woke up in the hospital. The news crew that was following the celebrity saved his life. The cave was emitting odorless, but lethal, vapors. Legend has it that the cave was a sight for the Sybil of Hecate in ancient times.
Once again, Augie solved the case.
However, the book he pushed to his publisher wasn’t about True Crime, it was a contradictory mess of jumbled stories about a woman, sometimes called Helen, sometimes Vivian who had children, or didn’t. I told you, the book was a mess.
It was a chore to read. It was like snippets of a hundred diaries all tossed up in the air and stapled in the order gathered. Of course it was rejected.
The advances on the book had to be returned.
Augie dropped out of the spotlight. He went back to San Francisco. He made a living off of finding lost things, and lottery scratch off tickets. His gut always told him which ones were good.
And speaking of his gut, the young good looking cop aged. He gained over a hundred pounds. His hairline pulled back. No one recognized him anymore. He just blended into the background.
He is still at it. Finding lost things, acquiring proof of infidelities. He knows all the best restaurants, and the names of all the waitresses ( and their kids). He knows how you like your coffee, he says his gut tells him. And you know what? He is never wrong.
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