conversations.from: human
conversations.value: What could be a title for a book about with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Mystery?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A title for this book could be 'Knife Music'
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first three paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Knife Music
  He actually had. But the same question applied. What did it gain him? More heat on the doc perhaps. Yet, at the same time, if his ruse were uncovered, it would totally jeopardize the case. The guy would have to be nuts. That wasn't totally out of the question, but still, it was a stretch.
  Lifting an eyebrow, Cogan looks at the name. If it weren't neatly typed, he would have thought it was misspelled. Diafongon Babdo is the name and he or she lived in Mali, Africa.
  He glances in her direction. The virtual teammate he only knows by the call handle Vas (short for Vaseline) is sitting in the flesh at a table on the other side of the café with Steve, who would be assisting her in her little extraction. The Star-bucks they're in is one of the largest in the area, and being a weekend afternoon, is more crowded than usual. Between the cherry-colored, wood-paneled columns and all the patrons, he's having a hard time getting a good look at her. Petite, with a wide face, dark-rimmed glasses and brown, medium-length hair that's pulled back in a ponytail, she reminds him of the actress Janeane Garofalo—from a distance anyway. She's older than the boys, but only by a year; she's a junior at their high school.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know three more paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Leaning back, he manages, after a brief struggle, to pull the envelope—Cogan's envelope—out of his front pants pocket and hand it to Pastorini. It's still folded in three, and unfurling it, Pastorini reads what he sees written.
  Pastorini takes out the copies and looks them over. While he pursues them, Madden drinks the rest of the Coke.
  He stares down at the table, running his finger over one of the grooves of a carved letter. It was the first B in Bob. It said "Bob + Liz." He wonders where they are now.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last three paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Klein looks up at him, a pained expression on his face. "Ted, this isn't cool. People can hear." He glances around, seeming to hope someone might come to his aid. But the place is practically empty.
  Again, Klein takes a moment before continuing. "It wasn't as painful as I thought, but it was definitely like a sharp jab," he reads, his voice wavering. "He went slowly at first and then he was pumping harder and I could feel him going deep inside me and it hurt but I did my best to relax and find the joy in it because that's how I wanted to remember it. It's funny how when you're doing something—you know, doing something real important—you actually end up projecting yourself into the future and thinking back on something while you're already still there. But it kind of crystallizes the moment. I remember his warm breath on my neck. He was breathing hard, but he wasn't looking at me. He kept grunting. I wasn't sure what I should be doing. So I said, 'Fuck me. Fuck me like you mean it,' because I'd once seen a woman do that in a movie. And that got him grunting more, which I thought was a good thing. Then I heard him whisper in my ear, 'I'm going to count down from ten and when I get to one I'm going to come.' And then he started counting. Ten... nine... eight... seven..."
  He doesn't answer. He just takes a moment to stare at him in utter disdain. Then he turns his back on him and walks away.