Parallelities Read Online Free Page A

versatile. If the spirit I’m contacting is female, he does a nice falsetto.” Her smile widened. “There are a lot of unemployed actors in this town. If George moves on to bigger and better things, I can always find a replacement.”
    “And the questions and answers are kept general enough to satisfy the suckers,” he said.
    “Please.” She eyed him distastefully. “The bereaved supplicants. That’s been standard operating procedure in the business for hundreds of years.” She disengaged the Mercedes’ alarm and opened the driver’s-side door. The thick, heady aroma of new-car leather drifted out.
    “And it doesn’t bother you that you’re preying on the susceptibilities of ordinary people who are drowning in their own misery?”
    She all but laughed out loud. “That’s pretty funny, coming from someone who works for the vampire rag you do. I’ve always felt that if they’re stupid enough to fall for this old-fashioned traditional hokum, then if I don’t take their money someone else will. Besides, I give great séance and my clients always feel better afterward. That’s more than you can say for anyone unfortunate enough to be the subject of one of your scabrous stories. I like to think of what I do as therapy.” She squeezed his hand. “Give me a call, Max. I owe you a session.”Favoring him with a last, appreciative smile, she turned and slipped behind the wheel.
    He nodded agreeably. “You bet I will. I’ve got one hell of a spirit you can call up.”
    Waving a final farewell, he followed the Mercedes with his eyes as it backed out of the driveway and turned south. A glance at the sky showed that it was getting late. Time to head back home. As for the story itself, there was plenty of time to do that. He could type it up after dinner. It wouldn’t take long, and he could add suitable embellishments in the morning, before heading out to follow up on Kryzewski’s tip.
    On the other hand, he mused as he walked back to his own car, if he could do the follow-up tonight it would save him a drive tomorrow. That would allow him to do both stories in the morning and then take the afternoon off. Not far beyond the front window of his apartment, the beach beckoned. The cool Pacific and the first scantily clad sand bunnies of the season were calling to him.
    The true nutcases were often the most accessible, the most eager to discuss their obsessions. From the notes Kryzewski had supplied, this Barrington Boles character certainly sounded as if he qualified. If he could get in to see him tonight, Max thought, and get enough notes to put together a story, then he would not have to deal with him tomorrow.
    He was already out in the Valley. If he could find a halfway quiet coffee shop he could rough out the Boy-Killed-in-Car-Crash-Speaks-to-Bereaved-Mom story while he was havingdinner. Then shoot out to Malibu after rush hour and do the Boles interview, polish both in the morning, and take the rest of the day off. Maybe two, if the Boles lead turned out to be really worthwhile.
    Feeling very good about himself, he slid into the Aurora, started the engine, and headed off in search of sustenance and silence.

H aving previously written several dozen stories of the medium-contacts-dead-loved-one variety, he had no difficulty embroidering the encounter he had just witnessed to the point where it was sufficiently florid and outrageous to fit the needs of the
Investigator.
The plebeians who purchased the paper as they waited in line for their groceries to be scanned and totaled lapped up this sort of saccharine pabulum like mother’s milk. It fed their need to believe in everything from maternal love to a kind and beneficent afterlife.
    Disdaining fast food, he settled on a neighborhood coffee shop where the fries arrived cold but the hamburger wasn’t half bad. He wolfed them down in between bites of the sprout-addled salad. Not everyone in Southern California, he reflected as he idly scanned the rest of the