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- It snowed over the weekend and it was quite lovely. It's melting today, a big mess. This evening, a heavy fog fell on the city. It's so foggy you can't see the stoplights until you're, like, right there. It's so foggy it's a good night to read the first two chapters of a detective novel written by ChatGPT. Can you figure out the prompt I gave it? Please enjoy - or, try to enjoy. It's hilariously awful.
CITY OF SHADOWS Chapter 1: Shadows of Betrayal The rain pounded against the windowpanes of Stella Cartwright's dimly lit office, a symphony of despair that matched the mood hanging in the air. The room smelled of stale cigarettes and spilled whiskey, the kind that lingers long after the smoke has cleared. Stella, with her sharp eyes and sharper tongue, sat behind a mahogany desk, the only island of order in a sea of chaos. Stella was a dame who could chew nails and spit out justice. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her gray eyes, like storm clouds on a distant horizon, could see through the fog of deception that clung to the streets of the city. She wore a fedora tilted low over her forehead, casting a shadow that accentuated the lines etched by years of navigating the murky waters of crime. The name on the door read "Stella Cartwright, Private Investigations," but to those who knew her, she was simply the dame you went to when the law couldn't get the job done. Frances Friday, Stella's loyal assistant, sat across from her at a cluttered desk, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the typewriter keys. Frances was a contrast to Stella—soft-spoken and unassuming, with a knack for organizing chaos and a talent for turning a blind eye to the unsavory nature of their work. The door creaked open, and a man shuffled into the room, his hat pulled low, and his trench coat dripping rain onto the worn-out carpet. He looked like trouble, the kind that clings to you like a bad hangover. "Ms. Cartwright?" the man mumbled, raindrops trailing down his face like tears. "Stella. And you are?" "Johnathan Drake," he replied, glancing nervously over his shoulder as if the shadows themselves were watching. Stella motioned for him to take a seat in front of her desk. "What brings you to my neck of the woods, Mr. Drake?" He fidgeted in his seat, hands shaking as he pulled out a crumpled photograph from his coat pocket. "I need you to find my ex-wife, Stella. She's gone missing, and I'm worried. Real worried." Stella took the photo, studying the woman's face—blonde curls, a Mona Lisa smile that hinted at a past full of secrets. "Missing wives ain't my usual gig, Drake. Why don't you take it to the cops?" Drake leaned in, his voice a desperate whisper. "Because, Cartwright, this ain't your average missing person case. My ex-wife, Lila, she's got a knack for trouble. She's mixed up in something dark, something dangerous." Before Stella could pry further, the office door burst open, and a gust of wind swept in, extinguishing the feeble light of the room's lone desk lamp. A shadowy figure stood in the doorway, hidden in the silhouette of the noir night. The intruder spoke, his voice low and gravelly. "You're meddling in things you shouldn't, Drake." Stella squinted through the darkness, trying to make out the face of the unwelcome visitor. But before she could react, a sickening thud echoed in the room. Drake slumped forward, a knife protruding from between his shoulder blades. Frances gasped, and Stella instinctively reached for the gun hidden in her desk drawer. The assailant melted back into the shadows, leaving the door swinging lazily in the wind. "Looks like your ex-wife's troubles caught up with him," Stella muttered, her eyes narrowing in on the lifeless body of Johnathan Drake. It was just another day in the city of shadows, where betrayal lingered like a bitter taste on the tip of Stella Cartwright's tongue. Chapter 2: A Twist in the Shadows The room felt heavy with the weight of betrayal as Stella and Frances stared at the lifeless body of Johnathan Drake. Rain continued its relentless assault on the windowpanes, each droplet echoing the solemnity of the moment. Stella's hand tightened around the grip of her gun as she rose from her chair, her eyes never leaving the shadows that now seemed to dance with malevolence. Frances, usually composed, clutched the edge of the desk, her eyes wide with shock. "Stella, what in the devil just happened?" Stella didn't answer immediately. Instead, she crossed the room in swift, purposeful strides, her gaze fixated on the open door. She peered into the corridor outside, but the intruder had vanished like smoke in the night. "Looks like Mr. Drake wasn't the only one with a score to settle," Stella said, her voice low and measured. Frances stood and moved to Stella's side, glancing at the lifeless form on the floor. "What do we do now?" Stella's mind was already racing, connecting invisible dots in the murk of the unknown. "We find Lila. Seems like our dear ex-Mr. Drake stumbled onto something darker than a lover's spat." As Stella spoke, she knelt beside the deceased, gently pulling the knife from Drake's back. She examined it briefly, noting the peculiar engraving on the hilt—a twisted serpent winding around the handle. The kind of blade a killer wouldn't mind getting dirty. "Keep your wits about you, Frances. This just turned into more than a missing person case," Stella warned, slipping the knife into her coat pocket. The office phone rang, startling both women. Stella answered, her voice a curt growl. "Cartwright." A gravelly voice on the other end spoke, the words dripping with a venomous calm. "Cartwright, you should stick to finding lost cats. This is bigger than you, and it's not your concern." Stella's eyes narrowed. "Who is this?" "A friendly piece of advice: forget about Lila Drake. Forget about this whole mess. Or next time, the knife won't miss." The line went dead, leaving an unsettling silence in its wake. Stella slammed the receiver down, her jaw clenched. "Frances, we're going to need some answers. Fast." Frances nodded, her resolve returning. "What's our move?" Stella grabbed her fedora from the desk, the brim casting a shadow over her determined expression. "We start with the usual places. Lila had friends, enemies, and secrets. We follow the trail and see where it leads. And keep that knife handy; we might just need it." Together, the two women stepped out into the rain-soaked streets of the city, where the secrets of the 1930s lurked in every shadow, and justice was a hard-boiled dame with a score to settle. Stella Cartwright wasn't one to back down from a fight, especially when the shadows themselves had something to hide. *** Book Club discussion 1. What were the secrets of the 1930s that were hiding in the shadows? 2. Metaphor hangs heavier than rusted chains in these chapters. If you were to add even more metaphors, where would you put them? 3. Why was Stella's office lit by one candle? 4. Whose pocket did Stella put the bloody knife in, hers or Frances's? And why? 5. Stella says, "Looks like your ex-wife's troubles caught up with him." What? 6. If this were a Perry Mason book, Perry and his pal Drake would go dancing and eat steaks in the next chapter. What do you think Stella Cartwright and Frances Friday will do?
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