conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide a plot for a book about Pode, Decker, Dustin entitled Sacred and Profane.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Sacred and Profane: Decker had taken the boys on a camping vacation when Sammy wandered off and found two burned and buried skeletons.\nPeter finds himself assigned the case, in spite of his status in the Sex and juvie division, due to an unexpected lack in departmental manpower.\nWhen starting the case after Christmas, he is introduced to forensic dentist Annie Hennon, who helps identify the victims as Lindsey Bates and "Countess Dracula".\nTracking down where they might have been and who they may have been involved with leads to photographer Cecil Pode and his sons, Dustin and Earl Pode (Dustin being in business with Earl\'s friend, Cameron Smithson, and his father, Harrison Smithson).\nEarl Pode (aka Blade) is found dead in the same grave as the girls, and Decker finds that his best friend Cameron is the culprit.\nThe case takes a toll on his Talmud studies with Rav Schulman at the yeshiva and strains his relationship with Rina.\nBecause of the stress of their maybe/maybe not marital path, at the end of the book Rina moves to New York City with her former in-laws so that they can both concentrate on preparing themselves for the future, her to take a job in a relative\'s company to stop feeling like a charity case, he to continue his Talmudic studies and decide if he really can lead the religious life for himself and not just her.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Sacred and Profane
  You can keep your white Christmas, thought Decker dreamily, as sunlight blanketed his prone frame. Provide December in L.A. anytime. Currier and Ives snowscapes looked swell on wrapping paper, but as far as he was concerned, icy Christmas winters were best left to penguins and polar bears.
  Besides, he wasn't really sure what relevance Christmas—with or without snow—held for him any more. No tree adorned the picture window of his living room, no cards sat atop the mantle of the fireplace, no multicolored lights hung along the wood planked siding of his ranch. Hell, here it was the day of Christmas Eve and he was out camping in the foothills, isolated from civilization, playing big brother to two little boys with yarmulkes. Christmas had never been a big deal to him, but still it felt strange. Some habits were hard to shake.
  Using his knapsack for a pillow, he shifted onto his back. The air was sweet and tangy, the ground rich with mulch. Throwing an arm over his eyes, he noticed that it had been cooked a deep salmon and he cursed his coloring, typical for a redhead—all burn, no tan. He should have been more generous with the sunscreen. The arm, already dully throbbing, would blossom into full-fledged pain by tonight. He propped himself onto his elbows and called out to Ginger. The Irish setter trotted over to him, plopped down by his side, and went to sleep.
  Decker glanced at Sammy, who sat twenty feet away, reading while dipping his toes into an isolated pool of rainwater. Behind him, a narrow stream carried mountain run-off from last week's rains. Earlier in the day, Decker had offered to take the boys wading, but Sammy had complained that the water was too cold. Though he wasn't weak or timid, he just wasn't keen on the outdoors. The star-studded nighttime sky, the hikes, the cookouts had left him unmoved. Though he insisted he was having the time of his life, Decker knew the kid would have been just as happy holed up anywhere as long as he had Decker's undivided attention. The boy could talk. Often, after his younger brother, Jacob, had fallen asleep, Sammy would start to pour his heart out, engaging Decker in conversation that sometimes lasted until the early hours of the morning. He was an overly mature kid, not surprising for the first born who'd taken on the role of man of the house.
  Jacob was a different story. The eternal optimist, an enthusiastic youngster who could elicit a smile from a slab of marble. Great at amusing himself. Right now he was busy watching an ant hill, eyes glued to the nonstop action.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Decker stood up, buttoned his shirt, and tucked it into his pants. "You sit and dream of rum and coconuts. I'll see what's wrong with Jake."
  She shook her head. "If it's any consolation, I've become very tired, Peter. I'd probably be terrible."
  The alley was a tunnel of black and smelled liked a setup. Decker unhitched his gun and took out a penlight. Shining it on the lumpy asphalt, he inched his way toward the rear of the third building on his left, nostrils flaring at the odor of rotting garbage and excrement. He stopped. There was something wrong, and as much as he wanted a handle on this case, this wasn't the way to get one. Turning back, he froze suddenly at the sound of a hiss.
  Decker said, "I've got the cash, Clementine." He began to sweat. Killing the penlight, he backed up against a wall. The conversation was taking place in the dark. No sense being in the spotlight.
  They were at a standstill. No one so far had known the Countess's true identity, and all roads pointed to Clementine. This pow-wow had been arranged via the pimp's number one lady. Info for cash—$200 in twenties.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Provide the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: With every new accusation, out swarmed a new flock of vultures pestering him at the station house or, worse, at his ranch. The ubiquitous microphones shoved in his face. It made him weary, he told Rina. They spoke daily, mostly in the late hours of the evening when both households were quiet.
  The more attention he got, the more he retreated. He took to sneaking into the station through the back door. He avoided going home to the ranch at dinnertime, opting instead for long walks in the hills that surrounded the yeshiva. In the beginning Rabbi Schulman had joined him, but as the furor faded, Decker found himself hiking greater distances in solitude.
  Mrs. Bates greeted Decker warmly. It was late afternoon and the day had been gorgeous—spring temperatures that had begun to climb into summer heat. He suggested they take a walk. She thought that was a fine idea.
  Decker drank half his juice and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He said: "County Hospital called me this morning. Smithson's dead."
  He left the house and drove to his ranch. The sun was beginning to set—striations of pinks and rusts cutting into a darkening expanse of teal sky. Standing on his back porch, he faced east, peering into the advancing dimness. Feeling at peace, he took out a siddur and said his evening prayers.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Feeling at peace, he took out a siddur and said his evening prayers. The ubiquitous microphones shoved in his face. It made him weary, he told Rina. They spoke daily, mostly in the late hours of the evening when both households were quiet.
  The more attention he got, the more he retreated. He took to sneaking into the station through the back door. He avoided going home to the ranch at dinnertime, opting instead for long walks in the hills that surrounded the yeshiva. In the beginning Rabbi Schulman had joined him, but as the furor faded, Decker found himself hiking greater distances in solitude.
  Mrs. Bates greeted Decker warmly. It was late afternoon and the day had been gorgeous—spring temperatures that had begun to climb into summer heat. He suggested they take a walk. She thought that was a fine idea.
  Decker drank half his juice and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He said: "County Hospital called me this morning. Smithson's dead."
  He left the house and drove to his ranch. The sun was beginning to set—striations of pinks and rusts cutting into a darkening expanse of teal sky. Standing on his back porch, he faced east, peering into the advancing dimness.With every new accusation, out swarmed a new flock of vultures pestering him at the station house or, worse, at his ranch.