Unanimous Descent --

"Bollocks!" Phil shouted. He released from the wall and dangled for a moment.

"What?" came the reply from a few meters up.

"You heard me, bollocks!"

The spotter lowered Phil down to the ground. The instructor came down soon after.

"You okay?"

"I think my jewels are turning blue. Help me get out of this rig." he said calmly.

As he got out of the climbing gear, the instructor asked, "You don't seem terribly disappointed that this didn't go well. Why?"

"I'm a Literary Assassin."

"Literary Assassin? What the hell is that?"

"I check various passages in an author's book for accuracy or for potential legal calamities if the advice offered in the passage could result in damages or if any part of the book is plagiarized. I'm known as the Literary Assassin at work. My job is to kill a story. Do you remember a show called Roots?"

"Yes."

"Well, Alex Halley plagiarized a portion of his famous book. Got sued for that in fact. Back then, the publisher wasn't liable. Today, they are. Last year, I had to tell an author to delete a part of his book because a portion of a chapter of his book ripped off a transgender story written by a Briana en Amour. It was about an eleven year old kid who helped his friend become a girl over the summer. The boy, dressed as a girl gets raped and mutilated at the end of the short story. The author brought us his novel thinking no one would notice that Briana took down her stories off the fan fiction site she had posted them on for personal reasons. From the same fan fiction website, I had to kill a whole book because the plot was straight out of a Maryanne Peters short story she wrote two years ago. It even used the same character names. The short story was awesome as is the author. The theft wasn't. I think my boss has asked her to write professionally for him."

"Do you kill a lot of stories?"

"Not many. If I find problems or potential theft, I help rewrite it for accuracy or to make sure they can't be tied to the original source. That way, the printing house avoids being party to a lawsuit."

"What did you learn about the story you are researching here?"

"Sounds like the author in this case does know what they are writing about. I made the same mistake at three different rock walls and the spotter did the same thing."

Phil left the building and went to his office. After clearing the passage for print, he looked up his next assignment. "What the hell is a cutter?" he found himself saying out loud. As he read the opening passage, he grimaced. Reaching for the land line phone, he called his boss. She was not amused by the question. Her retort was that it was gritty novel about the seedy side of San Francisco. A cutter is someone who will remove part or all of a man's genitals without them having to go to a doctor and get approval. The mystery surrounds finding a dead man's body and his genitals have been removed surgically. Something went wrong and the body was dumped.

"I'm not going that far. My ex might like it if I did. But, I want more kids than the ones I had with her, thank you very much."

His boss got the point. "I get it. No, what legal needs us to do is make sure the techniques he uses to find a cutter aren't valid ones. We don't want anyone to be able to find a cutter with this crime novel. The novel should be in your work folder now. It is called ‘Unanimous Descent.’" After he hung up, he grabbed a hold of the text file. Popping it into a text file, he began to execute searches for 'cutter' in the book. Phil, being the command line junkie that he was, skilled with regex and other sundry tools, had the book parsed and ready for him to list the techniques.

After spending a week, his list was complete. Two of the eight techniques were valid. They would have to be rewritten. The other six could be left alone. The last thing for him to do was to sit down with the author and fix the errors. Then, the story would go to press. Suitcase in hand, he jumped a flight out to San Francisco. He rented a car and did the long drive down to Paso Robles. When making the reservations, he thought about making a reservation at the infamous Madonna Inn, but settled for the quaint Paso Robles Inn. The more sedate location suited him nicely.

The author's name was Phyllis Lansing. He called her after checking in and invited her to meet with him the next day so they could discuss the sections of the book that needed to be changed. Settling in for the night, he left a wake up call for six. He liked sleeping late, but being on east coast time, six was really nine in the morning. After breakfast and a quick jog, he cleaned up. Then he sat down and read her novel. About fifteen til noon, his room phone rang.

"Hello. Ms. Lansing. I will be in the lobby in a few minutes. How will I know you? ... Lady in the blue and white skirt next to the fireplace. Got it."

The grounds of the Inn were classic. Old California as it once was. None of the modern crap he had come to loath. Opening the door to the lobby, it took him a moment to readjust from the bright sunlight. She was sitting in a slung back chair made out of cedar posts that had been sanded down and varnished. She was a slim woman in her mid to late thirties. Her hair was a light color somewhere between blonde and brown. The face was clean, but there appeared to be a faint scar about her right eye. Her eyes were a deep blue and pierced your soul when they looked at you. Her blouse was a rich navy with sleeves that billowed out. Her hands were folded on her lap hidden by a long white skirt that had lace around the hem. She wore sandals with a low heel. Her legs were long and slender too. She seemed preoccupied in thought when she suddenly realized that he was standing there.

"Hello, Ms. Lansing?"

"Yes. Are you Mr. Leonard?"

"Yes, I am. A pleasure to meet you. I must say, your book is very engaging. If I didn't know any better, I would have said it was written by a policeman rather than a refined lady." She blushed.

"It is very nice of you to say so. But, I am told that I am not going to get published until you and I work out some problems. Good observation by the way, I worked for SFPD for twenty years. I retired on full pension last month." He quickly reasoned she was about forty.

"Mind if I sit down?"

"Oh yes, please do."

He sat down across from her. "Well, the problem is that we want to make sure no one finds a cutter using your techniques." Pulling out a piece of paper, he handed her a list of the two he had found worked. "We don't want people to track down a cutter for real. We need to change these two."

She gave him a furrowed look. He added, "The reason is that some lunatic might actually track one down and get the procedure done. Then he might sue you saying you planted the idea in his head. Sometimes, particularly with crime stories, a deliberate method will be used that actually doesn't work."

"Really?!" she said.

"Yes. One of the most famous ones was a method used by Agatha Christie herself. A murder victim was killed by an air bubble in a syringe. That isn't a murder technique that actually works. But, it made for a riveting story."

She was suitably impressed with his knowledge. "You seem well educated on the subject."

He modestly responded, "Not particularly. I am just a critic who never has been able to write. However, I am a voracious reader and I have other talents that let me help correct these problems."

"Well, these two are crucial to solving the case. It will be hard to work around it."

"I already thought of that. I know we how we can." Pulling out a sheet of paper, he announced, "Here are some work arounds that I would recommend. And, I am at your disposal for working around them. It seems that a movie producer likes the synopsis of your story and wants to make a movie out of it."

She looked over his suggestions, "So I've heard. Nicely done. Some of these could work."

"I have a room with a side patio. We could work out there since the weather is nice, order room service, and get this fixed fairly quickly, if that is okay with you? I am open to anything you would like to do."

She looked him over and smiled. "Sounds like a good plan." She stood up as did he.

He found himself looking at her almost in the eye. "My name's Phil, by the way."

"Please, call me Phyllis." The two shook hands and went off to his room. He ordered a pitcher of iced tea and a veggie plate for the two of them and they went to work.

After some editing, Phil said, "You'll need to change the reference in chapter four’s third paragraph."

She responded with a giggle. "I see it. How do you do this so quickly?"

"I'm a geek. I guess I could get a real job in Silicon Valley, but I like reading more than I do coding." He caught himself admiring her ear rings. The silver and turquoise were definitely Navajo. "Where did you get those?"

"On a work related trip. I was out in northern Arizona following up on a murder case. I bought them for my ex." That somehow disappointed him. Still, it looked like she wasn't seeing someone. Maybe she swung both ways, he thought.

"My ex never appreciated the jewelry I got her. She said I had no taste. But that is the kind of ear rings I would have bought her."

"Sorry to hear that. There, I have made the change, what do you think?" She turned the screen to him.

"Oh, that is even better than before. Well done."

"Thank you. Looks like we are going to be done soon. Too bad, I was enjoying your company."

"Me too. The deal with the publisher has me here for three days. We could finish this and send it off. Then I can just say I am the beach for two days. Care to join me?"

"Sounds wonderful."

Clicking send, he suggested, "How about a nice dinner out some place? Any suggestions?"

"There's a really good steakhouse a mile down the road."

"I didn't think women liked steak. My ex never did."

She just grinned. "Okay, steak it is." He just grinned. Ever the gentleman, he opened the door for her, pulled out her chair, and asked what she would like for the two of them, suggesting Chateaubriand for two. She gladly accepted.

She related a few stories to him about her career in law enforcement and he told of his interesting cases as a Literary Assassin.

"Do you like your job?"

"Sometimes, like now. Sometimes, I hate it when I have to deliver the truth. Someone has stolen someone else’s work and called it their own. You would be surprised to find out how easy it is to catch them."

"But, the Briana en Amour story, how did you find that one if she took it off the net?"

"I run a script on my home server. It mirrors the original fan fiction sites and keeps server and makes long term snapshot of them. Not unlike what archives.org does. Except, I ignore the robots dot text file and sweep them anyway. So, in my closet, as it were, I have everything. When I checked this story, I checked with my server rack first and up popped the story by Briana."

After a sip of wine, he continued. "Then there are the Alt stories. These stories were largely written before 2000 when the internet was young. I captured these stories on another server in my closet. All and in all, I can catch most every act of plagiarism without having to resort to Google. An additional benefit is that my search text doesn't become a part the Google search engine's knowledge. My boss likes that since you it guards your work as an author too."

After dinner, the two took a brief stroll back at his hotel holding hands. He found himself yawning. "I'm so sorry. I am still on east coast time. Can we call it a night? I can swing by tomorrow, pick you up, and we can got check out the vineyards, if you would like?"

They hugged and kissed briefly. "That was nice. I'm sorry I am so tired, but with traveling and getting up so early. Please forgive me."

She giggled, "No problem. Here is my address." She slipped him a business card.

After saying goodbye, he hit the hay and was out like a light. He woke up about five the next morning, went for a jog, showered, and put on a fresh set of clothes. He then left yesterdays clothes in a laundry bag for the maids to take care of later on.

A few hours later, he showed up at her place with flowers. "I hope these aren't too forward. Found these at an Albertson’s. Not exactly Wegman's, but they'll do for telling a special lady that she is quite beautiful."

She smiled and smelled the flowers. "Thank you. A girl never tires of hearing of her beauty when a true gentleman calls." She then put the flowers in a vase. "They're quite lovely. Most of the vineyards aren't going to be open for tasting until much later. Is Wegman's a florist?"

"Nope, it’s an east coast grocery store chain. One of the best! About today, would you mind a slight change of plans? I was thinking today would be a good day to visit Hearst Castle."

"I like that idea. I haven't a chance to go there yet. Oh, the flowers at Wegman's more than likely comes from the fields of the central valley. Have to defend my west coast, you know."

On the drive over, the chit chat was about him. "I live near Port Jervis, New York, just over the border into Pennsylvania. I do that for tax reasons. Most of my work, I can do from home. I only go into the office to say hello on the odd occasion. Or to see the ex and my kids in Jersey."

"How old are they?"

"Alice is twelve and Hugh is fourteen. They're good kids. They stay with me during the summer. The Delaware Water Gap is a fantastic play area. We decided not to rotate holidays. They spend Christmas and Thanksgiving at their grandparents in Waterbury. They spend Thanksgiving weekend with me and New Years with me. My parents are dead, so it makes more sense for her folks to enjoy more time with them for the holidays. They're good people. Plus, it wasn't their fault we divorced."

"What happened, if you don't mind my asking?"

"She fooled around with her high school lover. I caught them in the act. New York is too expensive to live, so I live where I do to pay child support. Which is okay. She is a good mom otherwise. I just made it clear to her not to fool around in front of the kids. I don't want Alice getting pregnant because of her example. I think she realized I was right and has been doing what she can to honor that request."

The visit to the castle was beautiful. The fog rolled out in time for them to enjoy the view of the hills and the view of the ocean. On the ride up, in the van, they held hands. Through out the visit, they were more and physical with each other. Afterwards, they stopped in San Simeon to walk on the beach trails.

"I didn't imagine it it would be this cold here. This is sunny California. I should have brought my winter clothes." she giggled.

On the way back to Paso Robles, they had the heat on for a bit. Arriving back in the afternoon, they began their tour of the vineyards. At one point, she tasted a different kind of wine than he was tasting, "Oh, that's lovely." She took another sip.

"Here let me taste" He moved in for a kiss and she responded by letting him slip into her mouth. They shared the wine together. He commented, "You're right. That is a nice vintage. Or is it the fine looking wine glass it came in?" She blushed.

By dinner time, it was clear it was obvious that the two were falling in love. During dinner, she commented, "You've got maid service don't you?"

"Yes?" he answered with a wry smile.

"Can you stay up tonight?" she winked.

"In more ways than one, if you catch my drift."

The next morning, he hung out the do not disturb sign trying to avoid anyone seeing him in the all together. Coming back to bed, he sat down and turned to her and said, "That was awesome. But, I think we both need a shower."

In her expression, he caught that she was feeling awkward about something. "I'm sorry. Did I do or say something wrong?"

In a hushed voice she uttered, "No, I did."

He thought about what things they talked about. "What could that possibly be?"

She reached for her purse and eased over to his side of the bed. He didn't mind watching. She had a nice body. Sitting next to him, she reached into the purse. "I-i haven't been totally honest with you. I told you I was divorced, right?"

"Yes, I figured I just turned you on to men." he said proudly.

"Well, about that." She pulled out a photo and gave it to him. It was of a couple. It was a wedding photo. There was a young bride and her young groom. The bride didn't look like her. "That's my wedding photo." she said. It took him a moment to realize that the man in the photo was likely her. The scar above the right eye was there.

He looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. "I knew this was too good to be true." He said trying not to crack a smile. Not to torture her, he quickly added, "I find the woman of my dreams. And, we can't agree on whether we want to live on the east coast or the west coast when we shack up together."

Phil made the mistake of staring at the ceiling too long. The pillow that hit him pretty hard knocked him back onto the bed laughing. She then attacked the giggling jerk with a big smile on her face being sure to tickled him unmercifully. For the rest of the morning, they negotiated their positions on where they would live together. First one was on top and then the other.

Her book was published the next month. The dedication to ‘Unanimous Descent’ said, "To Phil, who makes me believe in true love again every day we are together."

Copyright © 2020 by AuP reviner