conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a plot for a book about Crew, Chinese entitled The Night Crew
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Night Crew: The Night Crew centers on a group of hard up bounty hunters who must survive the night in a desert motel against a horde of savage border runners.\nThey soon realize that their fugitive, a mysterious Chinese woman, is much more than she lets on.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first five paragraphs for this book. End with the sentence ' Her face was a pale crescent in the headlights of passing cars, in the Los Angeles never-dark.'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Night Crew
  Frat boys cruised in their impeccably clean racing-green Miatas and cherry-red Camaro ragtops, with their impeccably blonde dates, all square shoulders, frothy dresses and big white teeth.
  Two skinny kids, one of each sex, smelling of three-day sweat and dressed all in black, unwrapped Ding-Dongs and talked loud about Jesus and the Joy to Come; celebrating Him—and vanilla-creme filling.
  At the Shell station, a tanker truck pumped Premium down a hole in the concrete pad, under the eye of a big-bellied driver.
  And above them all, a quarter-million miles out, a buttery new moon smiled down as it slid toward the Pacific.
  The Bee was impatient, checking her watch, bouncing on her toes. She was waiting at the corner, a JanSport backpack at her feet. Her face was a pale crescent in the headlights of passing cars, in the Los Angeles never-dark.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: three more paragraphs. Start with the sentence 'Not a sound, exactly, more of a feel; then a sound, muffled, anguished, and another impact'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Not a sound, exactly, more of a feel; then a sound, muffled, anguished, and another impact. Up ahead, somewhere... she hurried down the hall now, but as quietly as she could, listening. Where was it coming from...
  She passed a door. A possibility. Listened. Another impact, a groan: No. Somewhere ahead, the next room.
  Another impact, an animal sound, a wounded animal. Across the hall now. Another. She pressed her ear to the door: and with the next impact, she could feel it.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last five paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: They went down the street to a diner, and found another two dozen racers around the bar and in the dining room. Anna ordered a cheeseburger and a Diet Coke, Creek and Glass got beers. After a while, Creek and Anna began talking about the next night: they would be back on the street in twentyfour hours.
  Creek laughed, and looked so basically happy that Anna laughed with him and said, ''God, Creek, you're gonna start checking out strollers, next thing.''
  He took his Ford pickup out of the Marina, caught the San Diego for a couple of stops, exited on Wilshire, loafed down past UCLA.
  The apartment complex was just past Westwood, one of the glittering glass towers on the south side of the street. The night crew knew most of the bigger complexes—rich people died in them on a regular basis. But even if he hadn't known where it was through the night crew, he would have gone directly to it anyway: he'd cruised the place a dozen times in the past week, unable to make himself stop.
  Apartment 976. The place had double doors, and just inside, a row of brass mailboxes. He found 976. Looked at it for a long ten seconds, shook his head, pressed the buzzer.