Stumptown Chump
Sometime ago, okay, last May, your correspondent grabbed second place in the hard-boiled category of the Nevermores sponsored by Partners N Crime bookstore in Greenwich Village. Be strongly cautioned that the entry you are about to read was considered bad enough that only one other entry was considered worse. That entry claimed first prize.
Stumptown Chump
Jimmy Kurtz swaggered into the Starbucks on Hawthorne, placed his order, scoped the joint. Losers with laptops, a pair of Unis from Southeast Precinct. The cops eyeballed Jimmy. He knew them. They’d all worked together at Stumptown Security, before it all went wrong, before three hundred bucks worth of radial tires had vanished into the night along with his future, his girl, the keys to his Camaro. “Double chocolate no foam hazelnut latte.” The cops laughed. “That ain’t mine,” Jimmy said. He left three dollars on the counter, winked at the barrista, avoided the Multnomah County library guy…he owed seventy five cents…hit the streets hard like bad news hit his doorstep back at Stumptown. Circled the block, cops were gone, winked at the dame behind the counter, picked up his latte, dodged the library guy, said, “sucker,” loud enough for everyone to hear. Yeah, it was payback time.
Note the Bruenesque exchange between Jimmy and the library guy. Note the spelling of barrista. Maybe using the name Kurtz was over the top. Stuffing that many cliches into an opening paragraph is not as easy as it looks. I still haven’t spent my twenty five dollar gift certificate. I think SJ Rozan and George Pelicanos are past Nevermore winners. Look how they turned out.