Gregson got himself one of those fast German cars—the kind, that pisses-off the Average American male because they think the dream belongs to them, and not a balding bachelor with fire in his eyes.

Gregson pulled-up to the red light, and looked at two teenage boys with two teenage girls in the backseat.

Their Firebird rumbled, and Gregson challenged them to a duel.

On green, they zipped between cars on the freeway.

Gregson went around a garbage truck, and really opened-her-up.

The cars sucked his exhaust and died like butterflies.

He laughed.

“It’s good to be alive!” Gregson said, as he down-shifted, staring at their dejected faces in his rearview mirror.

The marina was not what Gregson expected. Barnacles and green seaweed covered the big boats like warts and body hair.

There was Dan, drinking margaritas on his sundeck.

“Come aboard, Gregson!”

There was paper, everywhere. “I’m stuck.”

“What do you mean?” Gregson asked.

“I can’t finish my novel. It’s a cozy mystery where the guests get murdered, and nobody knows who done it. I’ve dropped three red herrings, but not even I, know who’s guilty.”

“Wrote yourself into a corner, eh?”

“Something like that. This book club might give me some ideas though. I’m told, the women love a good mystery.”

“Would you like to carpool?”

“In that?” Dan pointed at Gregson’s orange BWM. “No offense Gregson, but German cars are notoriously unreliable. Let’s take my car.”

Dan walked down the gang-plank to his Ford Pinto.

“Weren’t those cars the ones that randomly exploded?” Gregson asked.

“But mine never did.”

Dan fought traffic, until they wound-up in the country. There were rolling hills, set against a purple sky.

“Looks like rain,” Gregson said.

“That’s what happens in the winter-time, here. A good book is my only salvation,” Dan said.

He parked in a gravel driveway, leading to a Victorian mansion.

There were Bentleys, Ferraris, and Aston Martins lining the muddy lawn.

“Say, Dan—are we the only men at this book club?”

“I wanted to increase our odds of getting hot dates, and they’re positively loaded with money.”

He knocked on the door.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s