Got more done today. You know what they say: when in doubt, murder a couple of your characters. Your audience will love it.
The city fathers of Red Beach closed all the… beaches… so fast, I didn’t wonder whether they were looking for an excuse. I wondered why they were looking for an excuse.
They meant it, too. All the lifeguard stations got manned by beat cops and militia. Anybody got too close to the water, someone ran out to tell them to go back. Anybody who tried to go in anyway got an involuntary escort off of the beach, and didn’t get to go back onto the sands. When they said “out of the water,” they meant it.
Normally I can ignore rules like that — well, maybe not ignore it, but I can definitely push it for a lot longer until somebody decides to push back. This time? I wasn’t so sure. The cops were acting more like prison guards, and I didn’t know which side of the wall I was on.
Besides, I didn’t know what I wanted to check out anyway. When a Shamus gets a hunch, we’re never just told why, or what, or anything too useful. Because I guess that would be too easy.
That’s why we let ourselves get slugged in the stomach so often, you know. It’s our little way of getting back at our guts for not being more forthcoming about their feelings. Serves it right.