Free No Hope for Gomez! by Graham Parke Page A

could be affecting my natural levels good luck. She laughed and told me it was always a pleasure to see me. Which was not the answer I was looking for but was a nicer answer than I’d hoped for. Then I asked her if she thought the drugs might be interfering with gravity in a highly localized manner.
    Dr. Hargrove’s laugh was cute and genuine. It didn’t offend me in the least. I laughed along as if I’d intended to be funny, then stopped as she quickly turned serious again.
    “Have you given any more thought to that thing we discussed the other day?” she asked.
    “I have,” I said. “Didn’t you notice?”
    Dr. Hargrove shook her head.
    “I’ve been stalking you for days.”
    “Really?” She seemed relieved. “You have? That’s great, thank you so much, Gomez!”
    “You didn’t think I’d forgotten, did you?”
    “No,” she said, “but sometimes people say they’ll do something and they intend to, at that moment, but then when it’s time to actually do it, they don’t.”
    “I’m not one of those people,” I told her. I chanced putting my hand across the desk to touch hers, lightly. I made sure to smile reassuringly and not to let my hand linger. It was a difficult move which I’d seen in movies, but which I wasn’t sure I could pull off. Lingering even half a second too long would make me seem creepy.
    “It’s amazing,” Dr. Hargrove said, not giving any sign she’d noticed my delicately timed hand movement. “I never saw you, Gomez, not once. Well done!”
    I shrugged modestly.
    “You must be very good at it.”
    I decided to take that as a compliment, and not an indication that she thought I was good at creeping around people’s backyards, at night, unseen.
    “Thank you,” I said. “It was my pleasure, really.”
    “So…”
    “So?”
    “So, did you see anybody? Did you catch my stalker?”  
    I toyed with the idea of lying to her, telling her I had, or that I’d spotted some sinister behavior on her street, but I decided against it. She deserved better. Also, I couldn’t risk this blowing up in my face later.
    “Not yet,” I said, “but don’t worry. I have a feeling I’m getting close. It probably won’t be much longer.”
    She dropped her shoulders but nodded that she understood.
    “Hey,” I said, trying to sound optimistic. “At least you don’t have to worry anymore. Now, when you feel watched, you’ll know it’s me.” I thought about that for a second, then added, “I mean, you’ll know you’re safe with me looking out for you.”
     
    Blog entry: Dr. Hargrove thanked me for my efforts once again. I waved it away. Then it was time for her next appointment.
     
    Blog entry: On my way home it occurred to me that bad luck is nothing more than the opposite happening of what you want to have happen. Which is a pretty useless observation unless you happen to suffer from constant, raging bad luck. Then it becomes a matter of proper timing and preparation.
    Theoretically, I should be able to turn my luck around. Become the luckiest man on the planet simply by identifying situations in which I was bound to be unlucky, then pretending to want the opposite.
    Another experiment was called for.
     
    Blog entry: Arrived home. Sat at the kitchen table. Took out the die.
    In 72 turns, I tried to throw low numbers while pretending to really want high numbers. Tallied the throws, calculated the averages, then lost sight of whether the total should be high, pretend high, low, or pretend low.
     
    Blog entry: Went to bed early. Had a slight headache. 

18.
     
     
     
    Blog entry: A serious looking guy came into the store the next day. Long overcoat (grey-brown), sizable stomach, scruffy hair (grey-brown). He came up to the counter and showed me a badge. “Detective Moran,” he said. “You Gomez?”
    I nodded.
    “Gomez Porter?”
    “That’s me. What can I do for you?”
    Detective Moran put his badge away and took a small black notebook from his coat. “Do you know