Why was I attracted to this man? He was filthy. Hairy. A genetic anomaly. Going by his Application Packet, he was functionally illiterate.
And yet…
I was drawn to him like a bucket to a well. I dropped down and down and down that dark wet shaft as I took him in—this cool drink of Cajun Jew water.
It’s true (as you well know) that I’ve always had a thing for pathetic, broken men, but there was something more to it than that. When Remmy took off his pants, the coarse burlap sliding over his wavy hips, the hair on his legs parting across thick muscle…
My God, my God. You would not believe this man.
Actually, I’ve attached a photo so you can see for yourself. Let me tell you there are women in here who have paid up to FIFTEEN CIGARETTES to see this image, so consider this my early Christmas gift. And a final explanation as to why I’ve finally moved on from that night we adjudicated Most Modeling Balloon Sculptures Made in One Minute.33 You told me to get over it, Robert. Well, here’s your proof that I have certainly gotten over—and under, and round and round like a merry-go-round.
Next thing I knew, Remmy scooped me up like a fireman rescuing a person who is in a burning building and needs to be rescued. My fingers dug into the fur on his back, got caught in the curly rings growing like Spanish AstroTurf on his ass. I would say the earth moved, but it was the Okefenokee; the earth always moves. I’ve never loved a man so wildly, so passionately, so… frenziedly. My fingers ran madly through his hair. All of his hair. And sometimes my hair. I don’t know where his started and mine began. It was like going to a different planet. A planet of love, or maybe this is what those furry34 people feel like, because my God, I rocked that hairy man. I loved every inch of him. And he loved me. He even said it—
“I love you, cher,” Remmy moaned—over and over. “I love you! I love you!” All the while pounding into me like an extended clip banging home into the butt of a nine-millimeter.
I tell you this with all my heart, Robert:
Remmy was fully loaded, but when he pulled that trigger, I was the one who exploded.
(attachment: Rothstein_GIGANTOR.jpg)
DISPATCH: Atlanta Penitentiary, Georgia
SUBJECT: Remmy Rothstein, “the Shitard”
DATE: August 21, 2012
ATTEMPTED RECORD: World’s Hairiest Liar (man)
WEATHER: Why would you think it changed?
ADJUDICATOR: Mindy Patel (inmate #4290-6632)
Sorry, Robert. Had to put the sheet up over the bars and take some me-time. By now you’ll have downloaded that picture and understand why. Oh, Remmy. You bastard. You machine. I keep going back and forth between hating him and loving him and hating him all over again. I can’t describe my mood, except to say I’m in the right place for it. Half of these bitches are on Prozac and the others stay doped up on lithium most of the time. Maybe I should be charging them more? I don’t know. Decision for another day. Anyway, I have a story to tell:
After making love (four times) Remmy and I emerged from the shack. I was surprised to find that it was still daylight. And that I could walk (you looked at the picture, right?). I knew I needed to get back to the hotel room to file my report (though, as I said, you were the last thing on my mind).
Buell was nowhere to be found and Rebekkah was sitting off in the woods with that small cherry box in her lap (the case is all over the Atlanta news, but I wonder if it’s made it to New York yet? If not, Google “ax” + “six toes” + “Mother”). I waved good-bye to Rebekkah, but I’m pretty sure she didn’t see me. She didn’t seem to see anything. You’d think she was a leprechaun with a pot of gold, the way she was clutching onto that box.
Remmy took me back to my truck in the airboat. He gently kissed my hand, then helped me up to the dock and then steadied me as I got used to firmer ground. He promised me that he would call. He promised me that we would see each other again. He made lots of promises, but I knew nothing would ever come of it. He wanted me for my Adjudication. I see that now. All the phone calls. All the letters. They’re always about that damn World Record.
Tongue! Of all things, why did he pick the tongue? He could walk into any World Hair Record, easy-peasy. His ears alone are riddled with pokey, curly strands like pubic hair. And as for his pubic hair—hello, New Category! Trust me, I’m still pulling long hairs from places you don’t even want to know about. That man is a shedder. And he could have ten World Records if he would just admit—
But no, it’ll never happen. The only record Remmy Rothstein’s tongue could break (at least one we could write about) is Most Lies Told in a Three-Hour Period. He lied about the length of his tongue. He lied about the width. He lied to get me out to the swamp and then he lied about loving me.
I tell you this with a heavy heart, Robert. The bastard isn’t even Jewish.
DISPATCH: Atlanta Penitentiary, Georgia
SUBJECT: Remmy Rothstein, “Fuckwad”
DATE: August 22, 2012
ATTEMPTED RECORD: Shittiest Asshole
WEATHER: Seriously? Are you an idiot?
ADJUDICATOR: Mindy Patel (inmate #4290-6632)
Dear Robert:
What a crazy day! I met with my lawyer all morning. He thinks the best route vis-à-vis the stabbing charge (it wasn’t me) is to get something on Rebekkah. She’s getting out of solitary today, so I have to be quick about it.
I feel really bad about this because I think of Rebekkah as a friend. Well, as friend-like as you can get on the inside. We all know that the two rules of prison are (1) Don’t run from the Po-Po and (2) Don’t tell anybody anything you wouldn’t tell the judge. I think being out of the swamp has made Rebekkah soften a bit. Not that she wouldn’t have my back in a knife fight (thank God!), but she’s so out of her element that she’s clinging to the familiar, and in this case, that familiar is me. Let’s face it—you don’t find many Indian or Jewish cliques in prison (mostly because we’re all in medical school. Haha).
But let’s go back to Rebekkah, who I really do feel sorry for. She’s been very depressed without Remmy (Buell—not so much). I finally got her to come clean about the whole World Record thing. It’s as I suspected. Rebekkah used her Veterans Benefits to help Remmy get the tongue picture professionally Photoshopped (she fought in the Korean War—that’s where she met Buell’s father, “a goyim with the right amount of toes”). She and Remmy never in a million years thought that you’d send an actual Adjudicator to the deep, dark swamplands.
Frankly, neither did I, but that’s a conversation for another day.
The thing is: remember I told you about that cherry box? The one that was on the mantel that Rebekkah was about to open in front of Buell? And then she had it in her lap after she (allegedly) chopped off his leg with an ax and (allegedly) drowned him?
Well, since I told the lawyer the same story as I’m telling you, he’s thinking that there must be something in that box that Buell didn’t want to see. If I can find out what’s in there, then I can testify against Rebekkah in exchange for a get-out-of-jail-free card. Because, let’s be honest, there are tons of snitches in jail—death row would be empty without them!—but if I could get that BOX and tell the judge and whoever would listen that Rebekkah showed it to me, that she trusted and confided in me… well, you see where this is going.
Your wife is a lawyer, right? She knows how these things work. Right?
The only thing is the box was returned to Remmy (Buell’s closest relative who didn’t [allegedly] kill him), and while Remmy loves his mama, there’s only one thing that is more important to him than she is.
We see this every day in the field, Robert—people so desperate to be something, to have One Thing that they are Certifiably Better At than anyone else on the entire planet. They need that accomplishment. And we need them to succeed. Adjudicators are people, too. We need to know that there are Record Holders out there enjoying life to the fullest each and every day—and who gives them that magic, that life-altering designation that makes them so
mebody?
We do.
And we love them for it. We take pride in giving it to them. We mourn the loss when they lose it. I know you felt the same pain as I did when we heard that Lee Redmond35 was in that accident. The loss wasn’t just hers—it belonged to all of us. Remember it was me who saw you crying in the bathroom. It was me who helped comfort you during that awful time of need. Remember how much you laughed when I put that balloon animal on you? Oh, the smile on your face was worthy of a photograph. Several photographs. And because of that time we had together, I know you understand what it’s like to want some poor soul who’s been a loser all of their life to be a Winner.
So here’s the thing, Robert: I need you to certify Remmy Rothstein as having the Longest Tongue in the World (man). As you know, my badge is suspended pending trial or I’d do it myself. I know this is a stretch to ask you, but I need to let you know, Robert, that I’ve been thinking about turning these correspondences into a book. My lawyer has already gotten me an agent (trust me, between the two of them, I’m not going to have that much money left) and she thinks she can get me a book deal in the mid–seven figures. And it can or cannot include the bit about our balloon animal sexcapades, and before you say no, please look at the attached picture, which I’ve also shared with my lawyer.
Peace,
Mindy
PS: We need to talk about Kaitlyn.
(attachment: Robert_BalloonOnPenis.jpg)
FROM THE NEW YORK HEADQUARTERS OF THE WORLD RECORD HOLDERS’ OFFICE OF ASSESSORS
Dear Mr. Rothstein:
Congratulations! You have been certified as having the Longest Tongue in the World (man)! From tip to top, your measurement of 3.9" has been Adjudicated as the World Record; thus, you may from here on out, or until the record is broken, call yourself a World Record Holder.
Holding a World Record is an Awesome Responsibility, Mr. Rothstein, and please be sure that your information, as well as supporting documentation, is contained in the World Record Holders’ Assessors’ Office vault in New York City. This information will be kept for your lifetime and will continue to stand so long as the Record is held.
Congratulations again, sir. You are literally One-Of-A-Kind!
Paolo Pergini
President
World Record Holders Association, Corp.
DISPATCH: Two Egg, Florida
SUBJECT: Carol McGubberson
DATE: July 6, 2013
ATTEMPTED RECORD: Largest Nostril Opening (female)
WEATHER: 103 degrees, 100% humidity
ADJUDICATOR: Kaitlyn Poole (badge #363941)
Hi, Robert—
Two Egg is really lovely this time of year. People keep saying it’s hot, but I say it’s a wet heat. Makes all the difference. Woke up to 98 degrees but it feels like 110 and it’s not even noon yet! No need to even take a shower! Saves lots of time!
As you know, I’m here to Adjudicate Mrs. McGubberson’s Nostril, but I wanted to let you know that I saw Mindy’s book at the airport bookstore. Not just the one in New York, but in Chicago, Fargo, Seattle, and finally Sarasota—every single airport where I had a layover on my flight to Florida. How crazy is that? Our Mindy a New York Times bestseller! Hello, Ms. Steel!36
I have to admit that I actually bought a copy. I just couldn’t resist. How many books has Elizabeth Gilbert37 said she wished she’d written? Everyone on every plane seemed to be reading it, and I have to admit Mindy has been really good in all those television interviews. Though I never realized she’s as short as Matt Lauer!
Seriously, though, I’m glad that she’s doing so well. And you were so heartbroken that night in Knoxville when you found out she was leaving the firm. I’m so glad I was there to comfort you. And to do with you all the other magical things we did. Oh, don’t worry, Robert, I’m not going to bring that up again! I’m moving on! Honest!
Anyhoo, long day tomorrow—Mrs. Gubberson lives six hours from the motel—so I should tuck myself into bed. Definitely the kind of place where you sleep with all your clothes on! I’m starting Mindy’s book tonight and will let you know how it goes.
I have to say the title has me a little puzzled—TWELVE TOES IN A BOX?
I don’t get it.
Kaitlyn
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Jan Burke’s bestselling books include Disturbance, The Messenger, and Bones, which won the Edgar for Best Novel. Her short stories have won the Agatha, the Macavity, and other awards.
She has a degree in history and loved doing the research for this story. She is currently at work on her next novel.
Laura Lippman is a New York Times bestseller who has published seventeen novels, a novella, and a collection of short stories. Her work, which includes the Tess Monaghan series and several stand-alone novels, has been published in more than twenty languages and has won multiple awards, including the Edgar. She lives in Baltimore and New Orleans.
Libby Fischer Hellmann, an award-winning Chicago crime fiction author, has published ten novels. Her most recent, A Bitter Veil, is set in revolutionary Iran, and was released in April 2012. “War Secrets” is a prequel to that novel.
Libby’s other stand-alone thriller, Set the Night on Fire (2010), goes back, in part, to the late sixties in Chicago. She also writes two crime fiction series: one featuring Chicago PI Georgia Davis (three novels) and the four-novel Ellie Foreman series, which Libby describes as a cross between Desperate Housewives and 24.
Libby has also published fifteen short stories in Nice Girl Does Noir and edited the acclaimed crime fiction anthology Chicago Blues. She has been nominated twice for the Anthony Award and once for the Agatha. All her work is available digitally.
Originally from Washington, DC, she has lived in Chicago for thirty years and claims they’ll take her out of there feet-first.
More at her website: www.libbyhellmann.com.
C. E. Lawrence is the byline of a New York–based suspense writer, performer, composer, and prizewinning playwright and poet whose previous books have been praised as “lively…” (Publishers Weekly); “constantly absorbing…” (starred, Kirkus Reviews); and “superbly crafted prose” (Boston Herald). Silent Screams, Silent Victim, and Silent Kills are the first three books in her Lee Campbell thriller series. Her other work is published under the name of Carole Buggé. Titan Press recently reissued her first Sherlock Holmes novel, The Star of India.
Visit her online at http://celawrence.com.
Joseph Finder is the New York Times bestselling author of ten novels, whom the Boston Globe has called a “master of the modern thriller.” His most recent book, Buried Secrets, the second to feature “private spy” Nick Heller, received the 2011 Strand Critics Award for Best Novel. His first novel, The Moscow Club, was named by Publishers Weekly one of the ten best spy novels of all time. Killer Instinct was named Best Novel of the Year by the International Thriller Writers, and Paranoia is in production as a major motion picture starring Liam Hemsworth, Harrison Ford, and Gary Oldman. His novel High Crimes became a hit movie starring Morgan Freeman and Ashley Judd. A summa cum laude graduate of Yale, Joe did graduate work at the Harvard Russian Research Center and is a member of the Council on Foreign Relations and the Association of Former Intelligence Officers. He lives in Boston and Cape Cod.
James O. Born is the award-winning author of five police thrillers and a number of short stories. He is a recipient of the Florida Book Award. In 2009 he won the Barry Award for a short story in the Mystery Writers of America anthology The Blue Religion. He was also named one of the twenty-one Most Intriguing Floridians by Florida Monthly.
Under the pen name James O’Neal, he has written two near-future thrillers that have received critical praise. The Human Disguise and The Double Human are published by Tor. They are a fusion of police procedural and urban fantasy.
S. W. Hubbard’s most recent novel is Another Man’s Treasure. She is also the author of three mystery novels set in the Adirondack Mountains: Take the Bait, Swallow the Hook, and Blood K
not. Her short stories have appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine and the anthologies Crimes by Moonlight and Adirondack Mysteries. She lives in Morristown, New Jersey, where she teaches creative writing to enthusiastic teens and adults, and expository writing to reluctant college freshmen.
Joseph Goodrich is an alumnus of New Dramatists and an active member of Mystery Writers of America. His short story “Murder in the Sixth” appeared in the 2011 MWA anthology The Rich and the Dead, edited by Nelson DeMille. His plays have been produced across the United States and in Australia and are published by Samuel French, Playscripts, and Applause Books, among others. Panic was awarded the 2008 Edgar Award for Best Play. Joseph is the editor of Blood Relations: The Selected Letters of Ellery Queen, 1947–1950 (Perfect Crime Books), and his nonfiction has appeared in Mystery Scene and Crimespree.
R. T. Lawton is a retired federal agent, a past member of the Mystery Writers of America board of directors, and a Derringer Award nominee for 2010 and 2011. He has published over eighty short stories, of which almost a third appeared in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, where he has four ongoing series. Other publications include the anthology Who Died in Here?, the e-anthology West Coast Crime Wave, Easyriders, Outlaw Biker, and several mini-mysteries in Woman’s World magazine. Four of his short story collections in e-book form are currently available at Amazon.com for the Kindle and at Smashwords.com for other e-book readers. You can also find him at http://tinyurl.com/rtlawton and blogging at www.sleuthsayers.org.
Tom Rob Smith was born in 1979 to a Swedish mother and an English father and was brought up in London, where he still lives. He graduated from Cambridge University in 2001 and spent a year in Italy on a creative writing scholarship. Tom has worked as a screenwriter for the past five years, including a six-month stint in Phnom Penh storylining Cambodia’s first-ever soap. His first novel, Child 44, was long-listed for the 2008 Man Booker Prize, was short-listed for the Costa First Novel Award and the inaugural Desmond Elliott Prize, and won the Crime Writers’ Association’s Ian Fleming Steel Dagger Award for best adventure/thriller novel of 2008, and the American edition won Best Debut at the International Thriller Awards and Best Debut at the Strand Magazine Critics Awards.
Mystery Writers of America Presents the Mystery Box Page 36