Dear Judas,
This is the thanks I get for giving you my book. Okay, I understand. I should have known what to expect. You think you are SO SMART. Okay. I understand. You are really nothing but a dirty betraying bastard. How much have you stolen. Plenty, I would guess. You think you are SO SMART but you are nothing but a “Warped Plank” in “the GREAT FLOOR OF THE UNIVERSE.” There are ways to deal with GUYS LIKE YOU. You probably think I am going to come and get you. But I am not. I would not “dirty my hands with your dirt,” as Mr. Keen used to say. But I can fix you if I want. And I want! I WANT!!!!
Meantime you have spoiled everything here so I suppose you are satisfied. That doesn't matter. I have gone West. I would say “fuck you” but who would. Not me. I wouldn't even if I was a girl and you were Richard Gear. I wouldn't if you was some really neat girl with a good build.
Well I am going away but my material is copywright and I just hope you know what copywright is even if you don't know “shit” from “shoe-polish.” So you just put that in your pipe and smoke it all the day long Mr. Judas Kenton. Goodbye.
I hate you,
Carlos Detweiller
In Transit
U. S. of A.
February 7, 1981
Dear Ruth,
I had sort of expected a “fuck-you” letter from Carlos Detweiller-it was in the back of my mind, anyway-and I got a dilly just the other day. I employed Zenith House's creaky pre-World War I Xerox machine to make a copy, and have enclosed it with this letter. In his anger he is almost lyrical-I especially like the line about me being a warped plank in the floor of the universe... a phrase even Carlyle might admire. He misspelled Richard Gere's name, but maybe that was artistic license. On the whole, I'd say I feel relieved-it's over, at least. The guy has struck out for the Great American West, undoubtedly with his rose-cutting shears slung low on one hip (on one rose-hip? oh, forget it).
“Yeah, but is he really gone?” you ask. The answer is, yes he is.
I got the letter yesterday and rang up Barton Iverson of the Central Falls Police almost at once (after getting Roger's grudging approval for the long distance, I might add). I thought Iverson would go along with my request to check matters out, and he did. Seems he too thought the “sakrifice photos” were too real for comfort, and the latest Detweiller communication does have a rather threatening tone.
He sent a man named Riley-the same man who went before, I think-to check out Carlos, and he (Iverson, not Riley) called me back in ninety minutes. It seems that Detweiller served his notice almost right after being released from custody, and the Barfield woman has even advertised for a new florist's assistant in the local newspapers. One mildly interesting thing: Riley checked on the guy in the “sakrifice photos,” and came up with a name I know: It was Mr. Norville Keen, the same guy, I'm pretty sure, that Detweiller mentioned in his first two letters (“Why describe a guest when you can see that guest,” and other pearls of wisdom). The cop asked her a few questions about the staging of those photos, and the Barfield woman clammed up, ka-bang, just like that. Asked him if it was an official investigation, or what. It isn't, of course, so that was that... and in my mind, the whole subject is closed. Iverson told me that Riley can't “make” the Barfield woman from any of the photos, so there was no handle to question her further... not that anyone there in Central Falls really wants to, I think. Iverson was very frank with me. “Let sleeping weirdos lay,” was what he actually said, and I agree two hundred per cent.
If the new Anthony LaScorbia novel turns out to be Plants from Hell, though, I'm quitting.
I'll write you a more normal letter later in the week, I hope, but I thought you'd want to know how it all turned out. Meanwhile, I'm back to spending my nights on my novel and my days looking for a bestseller we can buy for $2500. As I believe President Lincoln once said, “Good fucking luck, turkey.”
Meantime, thanks for your phone call, and your last missive. And in answer to your question, yeah, I'm also H*O*R*N*Y.
My love,
John
February 19, 1981
Dear Mr. Kenton,
You don't know me, but I sort of know you. My name is Roberta Solrac, and I am an avid reader of Anthony LaScorbia's series of novels. Like Mr. LaScorbia, I feel that ecology is about to revolt!!! Anyway, I wrote Mr. LaScorbia a “fan letter” last month and he answered me! I was very excited and honored, so I sent him a dozen roses. He said he was excited and honored (to get the roses) as no one had ever sent him flowers before.
Anyway, in our correspondence, he mentioned your name and said you were responsible for his literary triumphs. I can't send you roses as I am “broke,” but I am sending you a small plant for your office, via UPS. It is supposed to bring good luck. Hope this finds you well, and keep up the good work!!!
Yours most sincerely,
Roberta Solrac
interoffice memo TO: Roger FROM: John RE: Ongoing insanity
Take a look at the enclosed letter, Roger. Then spell “Solrac” backwards. I think I really am going crazy. What did I do to deserve this guy?
from the office of the editor-in-chief TO: John Kenton DATE: 2/23/81
Maybe you're jumping at shadows. If not, what do you want to do about it? Re-open things with the Central Falls P. D.? Assuming this is Detweiller-and I admit the last name soars into the outer limits of the coincidental and the style bears a certain similarity, although it's obviously a different typewriter-it's just, if I may wax alliterative, a harmless helping of little-kid harassment. My advice is forget it. If “Roberta Solrac” sends you a plant in the mail, dump it down the incinerator chute. It's probably poison ivy. You're letting this get on your nerves, John. I tell you this seriously: Forget it.
Roger
interoffice memo TO: Roger FROM: John RE: “Roberta Solrac”
Poison ivy, my ass. The guy worked in a greenhouse. It's probably deadly nightshade, or belladonna, or something like that.
John
from the office of the editor-in-chief TO: John Kenton DATE: 2/23/81
I thought about shagging my butt down the hall to talk to you, but I'm expecting a call from Harlow “The Axeman Cometh” Enders in a few minutes, and don't want to be out of my office. But maybe it's better that I write this down anyway, because you don't seem to really believe anything unless it's in print.
John, let this go. The Detweiller thing is over. I know the whole business knocked you for a loop-hell, it did me, too-but you've got to let it go. We have got some serious problems here inhouse, just in case you didn't know it. There's going to be a reevaluation of what we're up to in June, and what were up to is not much. This means we could all be out on our asses in September. Our “year of grace” has begun to shrink. Quit worrying about Detweiller and for Christ's sake find something I can publish that will make money.
I can't make myself clearer. I love you, John, but let this go and get back to work, or I'm going to have to make some hard choices.
Roger
interoffice memo TO: Riddley FROM: John Kenton RE: Possible incoming package
I have an idea that I may be receiving a UPS package from somewhere in the midwest during the next week to ten days. The sender's name is Roberta Solrac. If you see such a package, make sure I don't. In other words, dump it immediately down the nearest incinerator chute. I suspect you know most of what there is to know about the Detweiller business. This may be associated with that, and the contents of the package could be dangerous. Unlikely, but in therealm of possibility. Thanking you,