The Last Novel

Jerry Wicks taught high school chemistry for twenty years in Olympia, Washington. In the evening, he wrote fiction with aspirations of becoming a published author. During a lesson on the chemical reaction that occurs in a battery to create voltage, a student named Aengus asked if a car battery can explode. At that moment, a protagonist announced himself in Jerry’s thoughts, and he scribbled a spattering of ideas that would eventually lead to a story that brought him a $500,000 three-book contract.

In his first novel, Death Wears Runners, Aengus Geoghegan, a quirky chemistry teacher, proved that a fired employee intentionally set the explosion of a grain silo. These deductive talents didn’t go unnoticed. The police asked Aengus to assist in solving the mysterious deaths of marathon runners. He proved the killer soaked his opponents' insoles in Belladonna. As the runners sweat, the moisture draws the poison into their feet.

Finished with the last revision of his third novel, Death Can Be Explosive, Jerry sat back in his swivel chair, raised his arms, and yelled, “Yes, this is my best work!” The story centered around three banks that were blown up and robbed. Aengus replicated the explosions and proved that the explosive devices were embedded in the bank walls during construction. It was 1 a.m. He had to wait a few hours before he could call his agent, Virginia Comstock, in New York City. At six a.m., he called her, excited.

As she listened, Virginia paced, looking out her office window to the street below. She loved to look down on the crowds of people and listen to the clamor of traffic noise reaching her fifteenth-floor office. Virginia reflected back on how she discovered Jerry. While attending a writer’s conference in Seattle, she overheard him pitching one of his novels. “Yes, Jerry, I'm excited too! Okay, wait, okay, I see your manuscript, it just popped up in my inbox. As soon as I review it, I’ll get right back to you.”

“Yes, I know you have the fourth book started, and it has a more explosive ending.”

“OK. Jerry. Yes, I have to go now. I’ll get back to you as soon as I talk to Jake.”

Virginia opened the "Death Can Be Explosive" file and began reading Jerry’s latest revision. After a day of review, she was prepared to forward the manuscript to Westgate Publishing along with a new three-book contract. Virginia smiled to herself. She had an ace in the hole. Several other publishers had inquired about Aengus’s future. But Westgate had been easy to work with and generous.

“Jake, it's Virginia. Yep, I just pushed the send button. I suspect that you’ll be as excited about this one as you were about the other two. And I think the twist ending is going to lead us to another three-book contract.”

“What’s that? Well, no.”

“Okay, Jake, I’ll wait for your response.”

Virginia stood up from her desk, walked to the window, and mulled over Jake’s comments. How did he say it? The publishing industry is undergoing changes, and I’ll need a few extra days to thoroughly evaluate this book before proceeding. “It's just not now, you twit. The publishing world is always changing.” Her words left breath frost on the window. Why would he say that? There was something different in his voice. A little disturbed, Virginia emailed Jerry, assuring him that things were progressing smoothly. She didn’t want to worry him because of some perceived change in Jake’s tone.

Two weeks passed.

Jake called. The conversation was short and transformative. Virginia stood, looked out her window to the blur of people below; the sounds of traffic soured. She broke into a cold sweat and opened a bottle of Jamison whisky. Concern raced through her secretary’s mind as Virginia said, “Take tomorrow off.”

While working on the Jamison, she spoke with other agents, learning they were getting the same message.

Finally, she had to make the dreaded call.

Jerry was his usual self. “Virginia! I’m as excited as hell about this. How’d we do?”

There was a long silence.

“Virginia?”

“What?! They’re not going to publish Death Can Be Explosive; pay off my contract!”

“Jesus, Virginia, this is… Sandy and I bought this new home in Tucson for seven hundred….”

“Other agents too, I can’t believe….”

“Suicide, they can’t, you can’t be thinking….”

“Virginia!”

After sobering up, Jerry made calls to other authors. They all had similar stories. AI was taking over their profession. Publishers didn’t need real authors. With regret, he and his wife, Sandy, sat at the kitchen table and made some difficult financial decisions for the future.

***********

Nine months later, Jerry stood out front of what used to be his favorite bookstore on 10th Street. His dog face reflected off the window as he glared at the books.

“How’s the book business, Harold?”

“Hey Jerry, been a while. As to your question, it’s terrible.”

“I bet. This whole new publishing world sucks.”

“I’m barely holding on, but I still keep a shelf for you locals back there, including your self-published one. It was a good book.”

Jerry laughed. “Not good enough.”

Harold walked around his counter. “Follow me. I’ll show you where my real authors are in the new Organic Human Literature section.”

“Organic Human books? Sounds like a Neanderthal museum display with stone tablets.”

“There’s still a few people who want to buy your expensive real books. The bastard publishers have put pressure on us by dropping AI prices to $5.99. I’m the third generation owning this store and the last.”

“Damn, Harold, sorry to hear that.” Jerry was shocked. “The Neanderthal section looks… there’s only a scattering of bones here.”

“Yeah, that’s what they’ve done to us. Now, I’ll show you where the phony books are.”

Jerry browsed through the Mysteries section. “AI has been busy.” He picked up a couple, his voice soulful. “The book jackets are boring, printed in similar fonts and color tones. I’ve got to think the stories are also redundant.”

“I don’t know. I don’t read them.”

“Funny, you don’t read the books you sell.”

“Not like I did. We used to search by author and get excited about a new work that came out. Now, it's by title, followed by fake AI author names.”

Jerry spotted Demise by Explosion by Leon Hicks. He thumbed through its pages. “The protagonist’s name was Alessandro LaGuardia.” Jerry’s hands began to tremble. “He’s a college forensic instructor. Harold, look at this! It’s my book. AI Hicks rewrote my book. I’m calling Virginia to see if we can sue for plagiarism!”

“Good luck with that.”

********

Together, Jery and Virginia hired an attorney. During the trial, Westgate’s lawyer was able to spin how algorithms work and that it was only a happenstance that the two books sounded familiar, but, in fact, they were completely different. He pointed out that the explosive device that blew a hole in the bank wall was placed outside, not inside the wall. And the culprit wasn’t the contractor.

**********

Several months later, Jerry pulled into his garage. Sandy greeted him with a martini. The kitchen television was on. A news reporter was interviewing Detective Sam Brown. In the background, a large, nondescript square building was on fire.

“Detective, what is this place?”

“It was an AI data center. It’s the third…”

As the detective talked, Sandy said. “Virginia called and asked how you were doing.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her you were passionate about your new profession.”

“That’s for sure.”

“She’s worried about us.”

“Yeah. So am I. If the police discover I’m the one blowing up those AI centers, I’ll have plenty of time to practice my old, worthless craft. I wonder, would they prosecute me for property destruction or for the murder of an AI author?”