conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know a description for a book titled Don't Talk to Strangers about U.S, Postal, Service with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: About the author: Served in the U.S. Navy as an electronics specialist working with guided missiles. Twenty one years as a security specialist with the Postal Inspection Service doing covert installations, installing and maintaining access control, intrusion detection systems and video monitoring. Three years as the Area Security Coordinator for the U.S. Postal Service determining security needs of facilities in the twelve states in his area, by doing risk assessment and security surveys. Security Coordinator required being involved in creating budgets to cover the acquisition and installation of the security equipment needed. He currently is a consultant to mystery writers providing information on police procedures, weapons and surveillance techniques. He has assisted such great writers as: Michael Connelly, Jim Swain, M.J. Rose, and the late Barbara Seranella.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know a plot for a book titled Don't Talk to Strangers about U.S, Postal, Service with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Don't Talk to Strangers (film): The unhappy marriage of Jane (Shanna Reed) and her alcoholic policeman husband Bonner (Terry O'Quinn) leads to divorce and Jane get the custody for their son.\nSoon, she meets a gentleman in her workplace, after a few weeks they fall in love and get married.\nGentleman Douglas Patrick Brody (Pierce Brosnan) and his new wife Jane Brody attempt to build a new life, and move to a new state.\nHowever, the ex-husband follows them.\nThis is just a beginning of the story filled with suspense and surprises.\nAs it turns out, Patrick Brody (Pierce Brosnan) is the villain behind a number of crimes.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Don't Talk to Strangers (film): The unhappy marriage of Jane (Shanna Reed) and her alcoholic policeman husband Bonner (Terry O'Quinn) leads to divorce and Jane get the custody for their son.\nSoon, she meets a gentleman in her workplace, after a few weeks they fall in love and get married.\nGentleman Douglas Patrick Brody (Pierce Brosnan) and his new wife Jane Brody attempt to build a new life, and move to a new state.\nHowever, the ex-husband follows them.\nThis is just a beginning of the story filled with suspense and surprises.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first paragraph for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Don't Talk to Strangers
  There was a desk under the double windows, antique white like the bedroom suite. It was a simple writing desk with one center drawer. I pulled it open and exposed plastic heart-shaped paper clips, rubber bands, glue, scissors, pencils and erasers, a few pieces of copy paper, and a three-hole punch.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know five more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Meltzer's phone went off. He looked at the display, then switched to the Bluetooth device in the vehicle. "Go ahead, Sam. I'm here with Dr. Street. What do you have for us?"
  We pulled onto Logan Peele's road and passed deputies moving up it, through the field across from the houses, and through Peele's neighbors' yards. Peele had messed with them, and they were making sure his neighbors knew it. "Read us the letter," Meltzer told Sam.
  An officer with a German shepherd on a body harness stalked alongside the ditch. One of Peele's neighbors stood on her porch with a phone to her ear. Brolin and Raymond stood near Brolin's Crown Vic. They turned their heads and stared as we approached. Meltzer slowed, then braked in the middle of the road.
  I thought about Melinda's friends. "They were both the leaders in their packs. Confident, pretty, blond. Tracy fits the type physically. But she wasn't outgoing. She wasn't an alpha. She wasn't even allowed relationships outside of school." The differences in the offender's selection and behavior with the first victim bugged me. "He requires a stronger personality now. It makes his time with them more interesting. Until he strips away their confidence and makes them afraid and timid and ugly. Then they aren't what he wants anymore."
  Our phones went off, Meltzer's first, mine a heartbeat slower. I opened the first picture, a shot of the letter Sam had read to us. I saw Skylar's loopy handwriting, widened the screen and studied it. "Sam, it looks like there's a couple of punctures. That from the pen?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Meltzer's phone went off. He looked at the display, then switched to the Bluetooth device in the vehicle. "Go ahead, Sam. I'm here with Dr. Street. What do you have for us?"
  We pulled onto Logan Peele's road and passed deputies moving up it, through the field across from the houses, and through Peele's neighbors' yards. Peele had messed with them, and they were making sure his neighbors knew it. "Read us the letter," Meltzer told Sam.
  An officer with a German shepherd on a body harness stalked alongside the ditch. One of Peele's neighbors stood on her porch with a phone to her ear. Brolin and Raymond stood near Brolin's Crown Vic. They turned their heads and stared as we approached. Meltzer slowed, then braked in the middle of the road.
  I thought about Melinda's friends. "They were both the leaders in their packs. Confident, pretty, blond. Tracy fits the type physically. But she wasn't outgoing. She wasn't an alpha. She wasn't even allowed relationships outside of school." The differences in the offender's selection and behavior with the first victim bugged me. "He requires a stronger personality now. It makes his time with them more interesting. Until he strips away their confidence and makes them afraid and timid and ugly. Then they aren't what he wants anymore."
  Our phones went off, Meltzer's first, mine a heartbeat slower. I opened the first picture, a shot of the letter Sam had read to us. I saw Skylar's loopy handwriting, widened the screen and studied it. "Sam, it looks like there's a couple of punctures.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last four paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He grinned at me, pointed his finger. "You better be nice to me, Street. I'm probably the guy that's going to go through menopause with you. And we all know that ain't gonna be pretty."
  He ran a hand over his face. Bright morning light came through the long windows along Peachtree Street, and the lines around his gray eyes looked dug in like trenches. Snowy dark hair touched the tips of his ears. "There's no sign of molestation, though the autopsy isn't scheduled until later this morning. We're looking in the usual places." He looked at his watch. "Starting with the parents' interview in an hour. "Wow. Will the fun ever stop?" I said, and looked down at photographs from the crime scene that had kept him away most of the night, at a boy's lifeless body, facedown, shorts, athletic shoes, an arm at shoulder level, another over his head, one knee slightly higher than the other. He looked like he was trying to crawl away. There was a baseball cap on the ground next to his outstretched fingers. I studied the photographs of the scene around the body—cigarette butts, a piece of red plastic, fast-food wrappers, cups and straws. "What's with all the trash?"
  I studied another photograph of the body. "Another athlete might have motive. And the strength. Looks tall for his age, and sturdy. No other wounds on the body apart from the ligature marks?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Add another sentence about opened, bed.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He grinned at me, pointed his finger. "You better be nice to me, Street. I'm probably the guy that's going to go through menopause with you. And we all know that ain't gonna be pretty. "
  He ran a hand over his face. Bright morning light came through the long windows along Peachtree Street, and the lines around his gray eyes looked dug in like trenches. Snowy dark hair touched the tips of his ears. "There's no sign of molestation, though the autopsy isn't scheduled until later this morning. We're looking in the usual places. " He looked at his watch. "Starting with the parents' interview in an hour. "
  He sat down next to me, opened his folder, spread it out on the bed between us. "Wow. Will the fun ever stop?" I said, and looked down at photographs from the crime scene that had kept him away most of the night, at a boy's lifeless body, facedown, shorts, athletic shoes, an arm at shoulder level, another over his head, one knee slightly higher than the other. He looked like he was trying to crawl away. There was a baseball cap on the ground next to his outstretched fingers. I studied the photographs of the scene around the body—cigarette butts, a piece of red plastic, fast-food wrappers, cups and straws. "What's with all the trash?"
  I studied another photograph of the body. "Another athlete might have motive. And the strength. Looks tall for his age, and sturdy. No other wounds on the body apart from the ligature marks?"