#Table detection in PDF to Word

[kpchrs]

Kris on Crack! Before 2024 ends!

but this time treated seriously. I think. Maybe.

Kris:

Céline:

[Comments from "A Walk in Chiaroscuro" Chapter 26]

This is a fanfiction of AWIC, so it's loosely based on it, even though it sets in a Crack(?) Timeline. I teased this...project of mine months ago in this post lol People who haven't read AWIC, I'm sorry maybe this won't really make any sense. But I mostly just write it for Céline @celinou

Word Count is 4,065, so if you wanna read it in PDF format, click here!

Happy KRISmas, happy holidays, and happy CeliNOU year! 👁️👄👁️ This is not a Christmas present though, not even a late one, it's just long overdue.

(******)

Is this the place? Eyeing a small piece of paper slipped between my fingers, I re-read. ‘Caulfield-Prescott Detective Agency,’ the paper says, an address accompanied below it. I raise my head and find the exact words on the monochrome nameplate of a building in front of me, formed with flossy block letters in a bold font. The nameplate design reminds me of a photography studio instead of a P.I. agency, with all the classy and chic pretentiousness, but yes, I think I’m in the right place.

Fixing my tie, I let out a shaky breath.

You can do this, Sussy, I hype myself up, trying to swallow down my anxiety. Yes, I can do this. With a newer assurance, I step into the office.

“Hello?” I call inside, the door chimes ringing prettily over my head. “My associate called this morning? For your service?”

Silence. I frown my brows, then decide to scan the space. The office is — what can I say — peculiar? Vintage goods that, I think, belong to the 1980s period decorate the black furnishings of the office. It’s there on the walls (a dreamcatcher) or the table (lacy tablecloth). It’s a mix of noir and retro aesthetics and, at a second thought, I think it looks quite…charming and personable.

I blink. Can’t believe I just thought that.

I was going to call out again when —

FLASH!

Sudden whiteness attacks my eyes, blinding me and shocking my heart to jump. My reflex system automatically pulls my lids to close and I cover my poor eyes with my palms. “What in the god’s name?!”

I open my eyes and a feminine figure — bobbed hair, a gray blazer over a T-shirt and jeans, quite small relative to my stature — appears blurrily in front of me. She stares at her camera (vintage Polaroid?) for a second too long, before she blinks several times.

“Uh?” I let out a sound, confused.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, shaking the Polaroid photo that comes out. “It’s our procedure, everyone is told before coming here. I hope you don’t mind.”

Uh...they never told me that. She slips the photo in her blazer pocket and I miss the opportunity to ask. But it’s only a photo, despite it being an unflattering one. I probably would have to give my photo for their archiving and administration, anyway.

With that, I shrug off my thoughts and land my gaze at the detective.

The detective; she’s younger than I imagined. I almost think of her as the receptionist of the building at first with a curious greeting style, which I quickly wave off once I observe her closely. She has the air; the air of confidence, of sureness. She stands with a pair of strong feet on solid ground. She can even brace the...storm, you can say, with that steel foothold. When she looks into my eyes, however, hers bears into mine and it turns out the storm in question resides in her blue eyes. That gaze of hers may even be stronger than her footing, I think absentmindedly.

She introduces herself as Max Caulfield. I call her Miss Caulfield to be polite. She explains that her partner, Mr. Prescott, is out right now so we have to make do with just her while he finishes up with his business. Fine by me. If this agency is as competent as they told me, then I’m sure I’m in the right hands anyway. Half the two detectives in my presence, maybe it’s a good thing. It’s easier for my nerves to speak to one, instead of two. It’s a relief if I want to be honest with myself.

Miss Caulfield invites me to sit on the couch, facing her, and she offers me a cup of coffee, which I gladly accept as I am increasingly in need of some filling in my churning stomach.

“You’re — wowser,” Miss Caulfield breathes out an amazed laugh as I stir some sugar into my cup, “you’re Mr. Drusus de Murrer, aren’t you? An actor, am I right?”

“Oh,” I breathe. I haven’t even introduced myself yet. Excited blush can’t help to heat my cheeks. “You’ve heard of me? I thought I’m only a small actor.”

“Yes,” she says, eyes twinkling as if amused. “Yes, of course I have heard of you, Mr. De Murrer.”

“Thank you.” I relax at that. Weird as she is, hearing someone so far in the field have heard about my little career is flattering.

Suddenly Miss Caulfield pushes a crystal ashtray in front of me. “You can smoke, I don’t mind.”

I stare at the ashtray for a beat. “Pardon?”

“You are jittery.” She gestured a finger at my right foot — which is apparently bouncing like there’s no tomorrow and I don’t even realize it. Oh. I immediately cross my feet to make it stop.

“I don’t smoke. I’m fine.” I raise my cup. “This is enough, Miss. I thank you.”

“Really?” She pauses. “Okay.” Miss Caulfield nods and puts the ashtray away.

I bring the cup to my mouth and sip. The blend of fragrant bitter and sweet flows through so smooth and I hum appreciatively. “‘This is, excuse me, a damn fine cup of coffee,’” I say. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

Miss Caulfield lights up, recognizing the reference to the quote. “Had I not known what my partner would yap to my ears, I would have given you the whole pot.” I beam at that. “And, that’s good, because he made sure it’s damn fine coffee beans and wouldn’t accept otherwise.”

She then tells me to speak whenever I want. At that, the flickery good mood I have dims instantly. My head droops and I set my eyes on my reflection on the coffee. Dark and brown, and I picture two pools of eyes I’m very familiar with because I’ve stared at them for 10 years.

“My fiancé...she’s missing,” I begin. It’s Lilly in my mind now; beautiful face, dark lush hair, brown skin, bright smile, and her grief-stricken expression as she hugged my dead, beloved cat last year. Not long, my eyes water. I try to hold them back. I shouldn't cry right now. Not the time. “It was three days ago. We had a fight. We slept separately that night. And the next day, I got this letter.”

I hand Miss Caulfield the letter left on our dining table. On it, I remember words like ‘need some time apart’ and ‘don’t contact me, I’ll be fine’ are written.

“I was waiting for her at first. But on the second day, I finally cracked and called the police. But they just told me to wait for her a bit longer,” I spit the last sentence bitterly, as if the black bitterness of the coffee I’ve swallowed has enveloped my words.

Miss Caulfield considers the letter in a literal second. “Sounds like she’s going away for a while? Maybe you should listen to the cops.”

“But it’s out of character for Lilly!” I snap. “She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t just leave!”

It drives me insane, really, all the waiting. For seconds, minutes, hours, days. I’ve been restless like the fragile winter trees. Right at the moment when I couldn’t take all the waiting anymore, my colleague told me to consult the famous detective duo I’ve only heard in passing.

Miss Caulfield; I gaze at her in desperation. She is considering the letter longer right now, perhaps using her detective hawk blue eyes to puzzle out the details in the letter. For a moment, I feel my heart bump a ball into my throat that I swallow down instantly.

“Do you have more details?” she asks, and I do.

“Met in a small theater, she and I.” I smile, as I reminisce about the good, old days. “We are both actors, you know, Miss Caulfield? We hadn’t been anything back then. She was more fond of the theater than I and so she stayed there while I got the offer to further my career in cinema and television. I understood that. The instant feedback and intimacy we got from the audience is second to none, but I’d made a choice. However, later I saw her again.”

I just lost an audition that day and found myself wandering the streets. Not wanting to face the people I disappointed again and again. Instead, my feet brought me to the small theater, my origin that sheltered and nurtured me as an actor. As if while I felt lost, my body wasn’t. So I went inside. An original play was playing, with Lilly on the spot of the female lead, playing off the male lead on the stage.

She was radiant. Gleaming. She was happy. And I wasn’t.

I asked her how, when she spotted me at the end of the play later.

Because I’m happy enough broke, she answered, quite saucily. I had the feeling that she took a jab at me and my decision to leave the theater, but at that moment she was so charming in my view that I took no offense.

“We had more rendezvous after. The more we talked, the more I realized how different we became, but she said that it was I who became different, living in the wider world. Because she was sure she stayed the same,” I tell Miss Caulfield, who is only blinking at me. “But it’s the glue of our relationship, I suppose. Nothing was boring between the two of us. When I finally got my first role, I gathered my courage to ask her out and she said yes. And then that miraculously went long enough that she, embarrassingly, was the one who proposed marriage to me 3 years ago. She’s a weird woman.” I chuckle fondly.

“I won’t lie to you, Miss Caulfield,” I continue in a wry tone. “Of course we have our ups and downs. We are admittedly at our low period right now, which was what, I think, sparked our fight the other day.” I swallow and slowly exhale. “That day I got home late and she didn’t like that. So we fought.”

Drusus, she chastised, you are late again.

One would imagine her standing with hands on hips, eyes pointed angrily. But at that time Lilly just curled up at the corner of our couch, hugging her feet to her chest and sinking. 

It was raining. It was dangerous, I reasoned to her, irritated. What do you expect me to do?

Call me! she shouted, finally straightening upright and seeing me. It’s that easy!

The sudden change in tone shocked me, prompting me to slip a hand to grab my phone in my jacket. My phone died. I admit, it was wrong for me to neglect telling her for any reason. Even more when I realized that she had been trying to contact me all this time. So I began to say, I’m sor —

You changed, she cut my apologies. You have been changing further and further, away from me.

I was stunned, because that truly came out of nowhere. What on earth do you mean, woman? I just got home late once and that’s what you concluded? I changed? What even— I gritted my teeth. Everyone changes, Lilly! You are so irrational! Frustratedly, I threw my hands heavenward. God, what’s wrong with me choosing my own career path? I thought we were over this! Why are you always questioning everything I do?

You only took that path of yours for money! she retorted.

It’s that money that bought this house, I snapped. The house I bought after you wanted marriage. My money. The money you said you were happy without.

Her face turned blank, as if she just lost all her fire. You are right, she muttered. I’m happy enough broke.

And after that —

“— she left.” I exhale shakily. “She left. She’s gone. I woke up in our bed. The letter is on the table. Can’t call her. And she never calls.” Ghosts emerge in my eyes and I project them onto the woman in front of me when I look up to her. “I’m not a saint, Miss Caulfield. I’m not. You should know from my story. I have many regrets. The way I— I responded to her that night is one of the few…thousand.” I shot out a bitter laugh. “I shouldn’t have done that to her,” I choked out. I shouldn’t have done that to her.

Lilly, oh god, Lilly.

Finally, I let the waves overwhelm my being. I openly weep in front of this young woman. The tears which had been waiting in the queue burst through the dam and I snivel, blubber, and hiccup for god knows how long. As long as it needs. As much as whatever amount is inside me.

Miss Caulfield kindly gives me a box of Kleenex then and I take a generous amount. Such a nice person, she is. I wipe whatever gross liquid leaking on my face as politely as possible, sort of embarrassed breaking down before an audience of one.

After giving me a moment to compose myself, Miss Caulfield says, “I have one question.”

“Of—Of course, Miss,” I sniffle, dabbing a tissue paper on my wet cheek, shakily smiling, “anything.”

“Yes, so…” Miss Caulfield pauses, eyes narrowing and her lips pursing. “Why did you kill her, Mr. De Murrer?”

My smile stills. “I…I beg your pardon?”

“Why did you kill your fiancé, Mr. De Murrer?” she repeats casually.

“I, uh,” I blabber. Goddamnit, mouth. “I-I don’t understand. Wh-what do you mean ‘I killed her’? I told you: she’s missing. This— You are mistaken.” I breathe out a burst of laughter. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve misheard all this time?”

“No, no, it’s not a mistake.” Miss Caulfield smiles and it sends shivers down my spine. “I know for a fact that you killed her.”

The remaining coffee sours in my mouth, nauseating. Water leaks again, not self-induced and not from my eyelids, but from the salivary glands in my mouth.

“Yes, yes, I can see it…” She stands up, circling the sofa, which at this point is the only thing preventing me from collapsing on the floor. “Miss Lilly Dade.” She—She knows her last name? “A week from today, she’ll be found in her hiking outfit in the mountains. Dead.”

Ice. It’s all ice and frost in my veins—

“But the forensics will find that she’s not murdered there, no.” She shakes her head. “Because, Mr. De Murrer, in her hair, a sample of dirt and soil not possibly from the mountains will be found. You know, minerals and chemistry stuff. And so, they will conclude that she’s dumped there, not killed in the location.”

And as if she’s reading from an invisible note, she continues, “Set like an accident, isn’t it? As if she gets into an accident while hiking and falls to her death. The forensics will analyze her estimated time of death, basing it on her decomposition state: over a week ago when she’ll be found. Cause of death: a fatal blunt force at the back of the skull, killed instantly. But the murder weapon, basing on the tool mark on the skull bone: a blunt object, but not a big rock you will typically find in the mountains, no. No chips of rocks or pebbles stuck in the mark. No rock around the area matches the mark either. However, there’s something there: one or two broken crystal chips.”

I automatically glance at the crystal ashtray on the table. Miss Caulfield notices and she smiles knowingly.

“Yes, just like that one, I suppose. Miss Dade didn’t smoke either, did she? If not you, then who regularly used the ‘murder weapon’ in your home? Well, we’ll talk about that later, I guess.”

Miss Caulfield stops, filling her cup with more coffee and sugar. She stirs it and the spoon hits the inside of the cup. Every clang pierces the air and she does it so slowly I almost suspect she does it to torture me. But the real torture is what comes next.

“Did you panic, Mr. De Murrer? After she fell like a marionette on her face, did you check her pulse on her neck? Did you find none? Did you flip her body on the floor? Disturbing the fresh wound? Did you miss the way her face was bruised into blue from the floor? Did the blood smear all over your hands, your arms, your sleeves? Did the blood seep through the floor gap? Did, in your panic daze, you perform CPR? Did you sing ‘Stay Alive’ to press on beat? Did you break her ribs trying to uselessly revive her? Because that’s another crack the autopsy will find other than the skull.”

Miss Caulfield grins widely, so menacingly.

“Did you give up finally? Did you lift up her body, trying to move her somewhere else? Did you change your mind and keep her on the floor? Did you glance outside of your house and see your yard, dirt soft from rain? Did you decide to bury her in your yard? Did you search for a shovel? Did you really try? Did you put her body in a shallow hole? Did you tremble before you covered her face with dirt? Did you change your mind again? Did you finally decide to dispose of her body in the mountains?”

The train halts for a spell.

“Your clumsiness left trails all over the body, did you know that? It’s obviously not a murder by a professional. It’s not premeditated either. Yet you still brave yourself to come here. I’m impressed.”

She takes a sip.

“So, I ask you again, why did you kill her? Or, better yet,” she says, “why do you come here and perform?”

A beat.

The last question has been uttered. All that leaves is a deafening silence.

It’s bizarre how your brain decided that this is the moment when — even beneath your hammering heart, your roaring icy blood in your veins, and your whirring breath in your ears — you can still hear every echo of her voice. It’s as if my brain completely forgot to protect me in the face of danger, choosing the freeze option from ‘flight or fight’, forcing me to stiffen and fixate on the weird way this detective is talking. As if she has seen things she couldn’t have seen. The future, and perhaps, the past.

The room spins.

I can’t breathe. Oh, I can’t breathe. I’m going to faint. What…what is happening here? 

I thought, they had made sure— they had made sure to fix everything thoroughly? My colleague…the—the organization makes sure to do that…no? My only role is to come here! They told me to. They—they told me to…

My body frantically searches for something to calm down. For some reason, my hand trembles towards my cup.

No, no. Sussy. None of this even makes any sense. Unless my colleague decided to prank me to participate in a mystery version of The Truman Show, absolutely nothing that has happened so far makes any sense. Like how she deduced to the small details I’m sure I don’t even remember.

I squeeze the coffee cup between my two hands, and freeze as the thought hits me.

“You put something in my coffee!”

She must have drugged me. I must have hallucinated all of this. Or, maybe I just told her the truth unknowingly and I blacked out and then she tortured me with truth when I didn’t know —

“Um, no, that’s a regular coffee.” She raises her eyebrows, looking scandalized. “And that’s fucked up! I’m not Jefferson! ...Or Nathan. Oh, god.”

Ignoring her denial and mention of someone I’ve never heard of, I throw the cup to the wall in panic. It shatters into pieces.

She gaped. “Are you cereal? That’s my favorite vintage cup set! And you stained the wallpaper!”

They…they tricked me! They want to trap me! I knew it was odd. I knew it was odd! Why would they send me here? Why should I expose myself to famous detectives in the first place? It doesn’t make sense!

Realization dawns on me.

The organization wants me to be the scapegoat.

I whip my head in the direction of…of her. Pointing my trembling finger, I quaver, “They are working with you!”

She stops glowering and instead looks thoughtful. “They who?”

I stare at her inquisitive face, totally unscrambled from my accusation, and I don’t believe her at all. Because there’s no other explanation. She is working with them.

I spin my head around the room, searching for…a group of assassins, or a team of cleanup, or whoever it is from them who will catch me with ropes, blindfolds, gags, and guns. Searching for the familiar face of my colleague who will smirk like a villain cartoon character and take his chance for his own evil monologue. That everything is just to trap me for the greater good of the organization. That the famous detective duo is under their thumbs all along. That this elaborative prank is designed to cut loose ends. And that I was chosen and trashed for the role to distract the masses because I’ve failed to keep what I do a secret from her— And I decided to not wait for it to happen.

I step back and I stumble on the couch— I almost yelp. Taking no regard to the detective’s calm expression, serenely observing, I collect myself, kick the floor, and grab my lifeline; the crystal ashtray.

“Don’t move!” I shout, raising the ashtray above my head in a shaky threat. Her eyes are huge, though absent of fear, but I can’t spare any second to consider what that means. I slowly move backwards, never taking my eyes off of her. After a moment, I push through the door, the chimes clanging chaotically over my ashtray, and bolt away.

For some reason, she lets me escape. The last thing I hear from that horrible place is:

“As expected of a theater actor…but you can never fool a time traveler.”

(***)

“I think I played around too much.”

“No shit, Sherlock! You were supposed to wait for me to come! Not do...whatever the hell that was!”

“I couldn’t help it! It sounded so funny in my head!”

“Yeah, it’s sooooo funny because now you can withhold anchoring for sooooo long and now you are wasting our GODDAMN time!”

“...”

“Don’t look at me like that. Time is relative. You know that more than anyone else, right, because now we have to wait for your power to come back, Max?!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Now what’s the plan?”

“We had the plan! I was gonna interrogate the shit out of the bastard with my power…but then you ruined my fun!”

“Ugh, Nathan, what?”

“Scaring bastards is fun, yeah? Don’t you fucking judge me when you just did it!”

“Geez, okay, I will wait for you next loop. Or maybe we can use this different photo I found.”

“Great.” He nods, satisfied. “At least we have confirmed that Mr. Whatsitsname is the murderer. And now that organization… But, for now, we can jumpstart the investigation in that direction. Oh, right, and preventing that mysterious organization ends him.”

“I guess.”

Nathan sighs. “Don’t waste time again, pixie. I’m overworked because the FBI is hopeless. I want all this to be over soon, pretty fucking please.”

Max can’t hold her chuckles in. “Okay, Nate, okay.”

(***)

FLASH!

“What in the god’s name?!”

White spots crowd my sight. Rubbing at my eyes, standing before me are two figures of a man and a woman. She holds a camera (vintage Polaroid?) towards me while he rests one of his arms on the nearest shoulder of hers to him.

“Welcome, sir. Been expecting you.” The wide grin he has sends shivers down my spine. “How about you take a seat?”

“Ungh?” I let out a pathetic sound which converts into a strangled one when his gloved hand hauls my collar to the sofa.

The man drags a crystal ashtray (what a coincidence) in front of him, pulling out a pack of menthols and a lighter. “You smoke? Oh, right, you don’t. Well, then…” He reaches for something else and offers with twinkling eyes and a grin that is now full of puffs:

“Coffee?”

[manojkumar021]

Techyhittools org: Your One-Stop Destination for Free Tech Tools and Online Utilities

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Tool Name

Purpose

LSI Keywords Used

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Techyhittools org

SmallSEOTools

PrepostSEO

Canva

Free Access

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AI-Based Tools

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Image Compression

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[tranquilvenomglyph]

How to Import a PDF into Excel: A Practical Guide

PDF files are commonly used for sharing documents, but they aren’t ideal for editing or analyzing data. On the other hand, Excel is designed for data manipulation and calculation. If you’ve received a PDF with valuable information, you may be wondering how to import a PDF into Excel for easier editing and analysis. This guide walks you through several reliable methods to get it done effectively.

Why You May Need to Import a PDF into Excel

There are many reasons to move content from a PDF into Excel, including:

To work with tables and figures in a spreadsheet format

To calculate totals, averages, or trends from PDF reports

To edit, reformat, or clean up static data

To combine multiple data sources into a single Excel workbook

Learning how to import a PDF into Excel can improve productivity and save time.

Method 1: Use Excel’s Built-In PDF Import Feature (Excel 365 / Excel 2019+)

Modern versions of Excel offer a direct way to import data from PDF files.

Steps:

Open Excel.

Click the Data tab on the top ribbon.

Select Get Data → From File → From PDF.

Choose the PDF file from your device.

A preview window will show pages or tables found in the PDF.

Select the one you want and click Load to bring it into Excel.

Advantages:

Automatically detects tables

Keeps structure organized

Easy to use and built into Excel

Method 2: Copy and Paste from PDF to Excel

For simple documents or smaller tables, copy and paste is a quick method.

Steps:

Open the PDF in a viewer (like Adobe Reader).

Use the text selection tool to highlight the data or table.

Copy the selected content.

Open Excel and paste it into the worksheet.

Use Excel’s Text to Columns tool if the data is not separated properly.

Good for:

Quick tasks

Basic PDF tables

Limitations:

May lose formatting

Doesn’t work well for scanned PDFs

Method 3: Use Microsoft Word as a Conversion Step

Sometimes pasting directly from PDF to Excel causes formatting issues. Using Word as a bridge can help preserve tables.

Steps:

Copy the table from the PDF file.

Paste it into a blank Word document.

Make any necessary formatting adjustments in Word.

Copy the table from Word.

Paste it into Excel.

This is helpful when Excel doesn’t recognize the layout properly during a direct paste.

Method 4: For Scanned PDFs – Use OCR Software First

If the PDF is scanned or contains images of text, it must be converted using OCR (Optical Character Recognition) before importing.

General Process:

Open the scanned PDF in OCR software or a PDF reader that supports OCR.

Convert the content into editable text or a Word file.

Copy the resulting text or table and paste it into Excel.

Note:

This step is only necessary for image-based or scanned PDFs, not for text-based files.

Tips for Clean Data Import

To make the process of how to import a PDF into Excel smoother:

Set your PDF to show only the data you need.

Preview how the data will appear in Excel before finalizing the import.

Break large imports into smaller sections if needed.

Format the Excel columns after importing for better readability.

Conclusion

If you’ve been wondering how to import a PDF into Excel, now you know several ways to get it done. Whether you’re using Excel’s built-in import feature, copy-pasting directly, or using a tool like Microsoft Word as a bridge, the right method depends on your file type and data complexity. Once imported, Excel allows you to organize, analyze, and present your data in a much more powerful way.

[techniver]

What is the best online OCR tool for image to text conversion? What are its advantages and disadvantages?

There are many online OCR tools available, but some of the best include:

Docsumo: Docsumo is a free online OCR tool that can process any document online with complete accuracy. It supports a wide range of file formats, including images, PDFs, and Word documents. Docsumo also offers a number of advanced features, such as the ability to extract data from tables and charts.

OCR.Space: OCR.Space is another free online OCR tool that is known for its accuracy and speed. It can convert images to text in over 25 languages. OCR.Space also offers a number of premium features, such as the ability to convert multiple images at once and to export text to different file formats.

Prepostseo: Prepostseo is a freemium online OCR tool that offers a variety of features, including the ability to convert images to text, extract text from PDFs, and translate languages. Prepostseo also offers a number of advanced features, such as the ability to detect and correct errors in scanned documents.

Advantages and disadvantages of online OCR tools

Advantages:

Online OCR tools are convenient and easy to use. You don't need to download or install any software.

Online OCR tools are typically free to use, or they offer a free plan with limited features.

Online OCR tools can be used to convert images to text in a variety of languages.

Online OCR tools can be used to convert images to text on a variety of devices, including computers, smartphones, and tablets.

Disadvantages:

Online OCR tools may not be as accurate as desktop OCR software.

Online OCR tools may have limitations on the size and type of files that can be processed.

Online OCR tools may require you to upload your files to a server, which could raise privacy concerns.

Overall, online OCR tools are a convenient and affordable way to convert images to text. However, it is important to choose a reputable tool and to be aware of the limitations of online OCR tools.

If you found this information helpful, please comment, and like this answer. I appreciate your support!

[fnolan6]

Finding the Perfect Text Reader for Windows: A Comprehensive Guide to Choosing the Right Software

Are you looking for the perfect text reader for your Windows device? Look no further! In this comprehensive guide, we will walk you through the process of choosing the right software that suits your needs. Even if you're a student, professional, or someone with visual impairments, a text reader can greatly enhance your productivity and accessibility. With so many options available in the market, it can be overwhelming to make a decision. But https://www.ttssoft.org/ fret not! We've got you covered. Read on to detect the best text reader software for Windows.

Table of Contents What is a Text Reader? Benefits of Using a Text Reader Factors to Consider When Choosing a Text Reader Popular Text Reader Software for Windows Comparing Features and Functionality How to Use a Text Reader on Windows Frequently Asked Questions What is a Text Reader?

A text reader, also known as a voice reader or text-to-speech (TTS) software, is an application that converts written text into spoken words. It utilizes advanced natural language processing algorithms to accurately pronounce words and sentences, making it easier for users to consume digital content without having to read it visually.

Benefits of Using a Text Reader

Using a text reader software offers numerous benefits for individuals with varying needs:

Raised Accessibility: For individuals with visual impairments, a text reader provides a means to access written content and digital materials that would otherwise be inaccessible.

Improved Productivity: A text reader enables users to multitask by listening to documents or articles while performing other tasks. This boosts productivity and saves time.

Language Learning: If you're learning a new language, a text reader can help with pronunciation and comprehension of foreign texts.

Reduced Eye Strain: Reading for extended periods can strain the eyes. By using a text reader, you can give your eyes some rest while still consuming the desired content.

Proofreading Assistance: A text reader can assist in proofreading written work by highlighting potential errors or awkward phrasing that may have been missed during manual review.

Factors to Consider When Choosing a Text Reader

Before diving into the age of text readers, it's essential to consider a few factors that will help you make an informed decision:

Compatibility: Ensure that the software is compatible with your Windows operating system version.

User-Friendly Interface: Style for software with an intuitive interface that is easy to navigate and understand.

Supported File Formats: Check if the software supports the file formats you commonly use, such as PDF, Word documents, webpages, and e-books.

Natural Sounding Voice: Opt for software that offers high-quality voice synthesizers with natural intonations and accents for enhanced listening experience.

Customization Options: Look for features that allow you to adjust the speed, pitch, and volume of the voice according to your preferences.

Additional Featu

[timelordthirteen]

Killing Time 23/35

Detective Weaver/Belle French, Explicit

Summary: A Woven Beauty Law & Order-ish AU. Written for Writer’s Month 2019.

Chapter Summary: Belle and Weaver get a big break in the case, but find it tempered by the mountain of missing pieces.

Notes: For my August Writer's Month prompt: We’re all a little stronger than we think we are. I've barely read this over before posting, sorry for all the typos.

[AO3]  

We’re all a little stronger than we think we are.

Dr. Hopper’s parting words replayed in Belle’s mind as she walked the three blocks back to her office.

The last few days had been lighter than any since her work on the Branson case had begun. A weight had been lifted by her confession to both Archie and Ian, and the therapy session which she was just leaving had only added to it. Today, their topics focused on ways she could relax and control any future panic attacks, which she assumed she would probably need no matter how much she wanted to tell herself otherwise.

The weekend had been quiet and comfortable. She and Weaver had worked some on Saturday, but admittedly they were distracted by movies on TV and each other. Sunday, they’d gone for a walk in a nearby park, and by the time they got back to the apartment, she was ready to tear his jeans off. Smiling, she pulled a lock of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She was quite certain that the only other time she’d had more sex in a forty-eight hour period was when they’d been on their honeymoon.

He hadn’t said anything about the miscarriage after Friday night, and she hadn’t either. She wasn’t sure what he was feeling or thinking about it, or if he was at all. Several times she’d almost brought it up, but always hesitated when the moment came, afraid to shatter the cocoon of safety and happiness they’d created for one weekend. She was determined to talk it over with Dr. Hopper next week, before she dared to breach the subject with Weaver. Archie would know the best way to go about it, and he would help her get her mind straight beforehand, as he had many times when she was practicing her closing argument for an important case.

Monday had brought no news from Nevada, but this morning she’d gotten a call from Clark County letting her know to expect something by no later than Wednesday. It put an extra spring in her step as she pushed the revolving door to the city building that housed the District Attorney’s office. Her cell phone chirped in her coat pocket, and she pressed the elevator button before pulling it out. An notification lit up on the screen, an email to her official account, but the lift was already moving and her signal went out as it began the slow climb to the sixth floor.

Belle shoved her phone back in her pocket and stepped off the elevator, wanting to wait until she was with Weaver before she read the email, just in case it was good news. Her lips parted as she rounded the corner and saw his outline through the frosted glass of her office. He was seated at the conference table, leaning back, as far as she could tell, and a naughty idea on how they might celebrate this possible good news flashed across her mind.

Weaver turned as she opened the office door, and smiled. “Go well?”

She nodded and walked over to her desk. “Pretty good.”

“Good.”

Then she held up her phone and grinned. “I have an email.”

“Just one? I’ll alert the media,” he deadpanned, pushing back from the conference table.

Belle rolled her eyes and dropped her purse in her bottom drawer before kicking off her walking flats and wiggling her feet back into her work heels. “From the Clark County Clerk.”

Weaver stood, his mouth curving crookedly. “Say that five times fast.”

“You’re the worst.”

He laughed as she pulled out her chair. “And yet you love me.”

She huffed and pushed up on her toes to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Allegedly.”

He made a soft ‘oh’ sound and slipped an arm around her, pulling her flush against him. “I have a fair bit of evidence from this weekend that says otherwise.”

Belle bit her lip and smiled as he dipped his head and kissed her neck. “None of which is admissible in court.”

Weaver’s nose nudged at her ear as he chuckled and whispered, “You’re the only judge I care about convincing anyway.”

Giggling, she shoved his chest until he stepped back, and then shook her head. “You’re incorrigible. Now, can I check my email?”

He gave her a sly look, but motioned towards her computer. Her stomach flipped as she sat down and opened the lid of her laptop, hoping that what they would find wouldn’t kill the delightful buzzing anticipation between them. It seemed to take twice as long for her email to open and the new message to appear, and she started tapping her foot impatiently while Weaver’s hand squeezed the back of her chair. She clicked on the message, opening it in a full window so they could both read it.

They exchanged a look, and Belle scooted forward, saving the attached documents to the folder for the case. There were three in all, a scanned image of Molly Macreedy’s foster care agreement, and two exported PDFs from the Nevada DMV database containing the records for her foster parents. The image had been pasted into the email and stated her foster parents’ surname as Tremaine. Belle opened the DMV records for each parent, putting them side by side on the screen before she sat back in her chair.

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Weaver said, breathless.

“No wonder we couldn’t find anything on Eloise Gardener,” Belle said. “She never existed.”

“Eloise Tremaine,” Weaver began, sticking the DMV photo up on the whiteboard next to a picture from Eloise Gardener’s autopsy. “Former foster parent to our first victim, Molly Macreedy, aka Baby Jane number 3-2-5. She was left at a fire station in North Las Vegas, estimated to be about three weeks old at the time.”

Detective Rogers shook his head and put up the DMV photo of Robert Tremaine on the other side of the board before turning to face Captain Graham Humbert, Belle, and DA Midas. “Robert Tremaine, real estate developer from Henderson, married Eloise Smith in 1993. They had no kids of their own, but had at least fifteen foster children, that we know of.”

“We’re still waiting on all the records from Nevada,” Belle added.

“Robert died in March of 2013,” Weaver continued, leaning against the wall of bookshelves in Belle’s office. “No particulars on that just yet, but shortly after that any paper trail on his wife goes cold.”

“What about his estate?” Graham asked, frowning.

Weaver shrugged. “Real estate records show the sale of the house was handled by an attorney. That’s all we have on that so far.”

Midas leaned forward on the table. “Tremaine’s business, anything about that? Real estate development in Vegas was pretty lucrative at that time.”

“And fairly shady.” Rogers’ eyebrows lifted. “We’re looking into possible organized crime connections with that, but that’s a whole can of worms unrelated to our serial murders.”

Graham flipped through the small packet of papers Belle had compiled thus far. “What was Eloise doing in Seattle?”

“We don’t know,” Weaver answered. “If there is a link to the mob with her husband’s business, it would stand to reason that she’d want to get away from Vegas, but Seattle doesn’t seem far enough to run from that kind of thing.”

“But,” Belle interjected. “It doesn’t explain how Jack and Nick Branson knew about the history between Molly and Eloise, or why they were killed.”

“So...you have adoption records and foster parents for one victim, from another state, and not much else.” Graham looked around at the group and dropped the papers back on the table.

“Hey, we -”

“Now wait -”

Weaver and Rogers start defending themselves at the exact same moment, but stopped when Midas stood up.

“Captain Humbert is right,” Midas said. “It’s interesting background, and it’s a possible lead to - something - but it’s not helping us build a case against the Bransons, and this office -.”

“Nick Branson worked construction in Las Vegas,” Belle interrupted. “Maybe that’s the connection. Maybe it’s through Robert Tremaine’s business that he - I don’t know - came into some contact with Eloise.”

Midas frowned and looked at Graham a moment before fixing Belle with a hard stare. “Follow it up, but don’t waste time on goose chases and rabbit holes. The murders were here in Seattle, not in Las Vegas. We’re not even sure Eloise was murdered by the Bransons -”

Belle attempted to interrupt him again, but his glare quieted her immediately. “You’ve shown me no definitive proof that she was. Meanwhile, we have five victims that we do know they killed, and a trial for them starting in two months. I’d like to avoid that kind of public spectacle if at all possible and get these two psychopaths to take a deal on those five murders.”

The tension in the room made Belle uncomfortable and her eyes darted to meet Weavers’ before shifting back to her boss.

“Am I clear, ADA French?”

She swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, detectives,” Midas said, nodding to Rogers and Weaver. “Captain Graham.”

Midas strode out of the office, and everyone left in the room collectively sagged in defeat. The air of excitement that Belle and Weaver had maintained for the last thirty-six hours at the news of Eloise Gardener’s real identity fizzled to nothing as Belle laid her head down on the conference table.

Weaver shot a look at Graham. “What the hell crawled up his arse?”

Graham sighed and ran a hand over his face. “The mayor,” he said, counting on his fingers as he spoke, “the city council, Alderman Samedi, Victoria Belfrey…”

“Belfrey?” Belle said, lifting her head. “What the hell does she care?”

“Apparently she had a deal with Samedi to build cost controlled housing on that vacant lot,” Graham explained. “The whole thing is in limbo now because the lot is a crime scene and hasn’t been released, and we can’t do that until we move forward on Eloise Gardener’s, or Tremaine’s, or - whoever the hell she is’s - murder.”

“So no pressure then,” Rogers muttered flatly, snapping the cap on one of the dry erase markers.

Belle pushed back from the conference table and stood up. “Okay,” she said, holding up both of her hands, palms outward. “We need a new plan. Rogers, figure out where the hell Eloise was living in Seattle. Hopefully having her actual last name will yield more results, but there could be something under her husband’s name, or his company. Ian and I will focus on the other victims, and see if any more of them are also adopted, or were in foster care.”

Then she turned to Graham and gave him a sickly sweet smile, that hand him rolling his head back and looking up at the ceiling. “Captain Humbert, if you could please reach out to your federal law enforcement contacts, and see if there’s even a whiff of organized crime around Robert Tremaine, that would be most especially helpful.”

Graham let out a snorting laugh, and gave Belle a salute with two fingers before he gathered up his things. “Yes, ma’am.”

Plans made, and men dispersed, Belle was left alone in her office. She sat down on the sofa, head in her hands, and took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly between her lips. Archie’s voice was once again in her head, and for a long moment she let herself focus on it, trying to block out the irritated voice of her boss and the nagging on in her head that set her anxiety up to an eleven.

Feeling calmer, Belle looked up, her eyes staring straight ahead at the white board with pictures of Robert and Eloise Tremaine hanging side by side. She pushed to her feet and walked towards her, her vision narrowing to the image of Eloise, with that awkward expression so common with driver’s license photos.

“Why were you in Seattle, Eloise?” she asked no one. “What were you running from?”

[horrorkingdom]

First Published: “The Corpse in Coffee Creek-Secrets of Ohio’s Tragic Triangle,” by Detective Otto H. Diskowski, Homicide Squad, Cleveland Police Department, as told to R. Rodgers, True Detective Mysteries, May, 1938.

Want to read this story later on your tablet?

Download PDF File of The Corpse in Coffee Creek

CHARLES SALWAY SLOWLY MADE HIS way home across the small culvert over Coffee Creek. His farm was just outside Mesopotamia, Ohio, and almost daily he walked down State Road 57 and crossed the creek to get to his field.

This afternoon of September 24th, 1936, there was an autumn tang in the air. It would not be long before frost would be on the ground and farming would be over for the season. He, his wife and his father had put in a good day’s work out there—the sort of work that gave a man an appetite and made him think longingly of his fireside and slippers.

Salway leaned for a moment on the rail, waiting for the others to catch up to him. Maybe next day he would bring out his fishing tackle and try his luck. Sometimes a man could get a pretty good string out of Coffee Creek.

The farmer’s eyes focused sharply. Directly underneath was an odd looking object. As the man’s family joined him at the railing, he pointed, wordlessly, to the bobbing horror in the water. Mrs. Salway gasped.

“What is it, Charles?” she asked.

Her husband was still staring. “It looks like a man,” he whispered.

Mrs. Salway shuddered. “A man? But where is the rest of him?”

The farmer gulped. “It looks like it’s just his head down there.”

His father nodded. “Yes, I don’t see anybody.”

The trio noted the closed eyes, and the purple, blotched face. Leaving the older man to keep watch at the culvert; young Salway raced for a telephone. “There’s a dead man out near my farm on Route 57,” he told the police. “I’ll wait there until you come out. He’s in the creek.”

Charles Salway returned to the grim vigil. He studied the face of the man in the water. Folks in that section of the country all knew each other. But neither Salway nor his father had ever seen the dead man before.

Sheriff Roy Hardman and Captain George C. Salen of the Warren police, lost no time getting to the scene. Accompanying them were several officers and Coroner J. C. Renshaw of Trumbull County. The farmer flagged them to a stop and excitedly pointed to his find.

“First we thought it was just a head, Sheriff,” he said, “but now I can see where the body is weighted down with something, so that just the head sticks out

It was a grotesque sight that greeted the officials. The water lapped gently against the dead face, tossing it from side to side. Releasing the body from what held it might prove to be a task.

In a short time, dozens of people flocked to see what the excitement was.

The officers, assisted by bystanders, finally extricated the body and laid it out on the ground for the Coroner’s inspection. While he went about his work, Sheriff Hardman and Captain Salen examined the wire with which the victim had been trussed and the heavy concrete slab attached to the corpse.

“Whoever did it,” the Sheriff remarked, “must have felt pretty sure it would be a long time before this thing rose to the surface. But the weight slipped down around the feet and there was enough buoyancy in the body to let the head float to the surface. No wonder it looked like a head without a body.”

“Looks like the fellow was pretty well beaten before being tossed into the creek,” Salen commented. “It’s the kind of beating gangsters give their double-crossers.”

The Sheriff shrugged. There might be some truth in that theory. The spot where the body was found is not far from Youngstown and only about forty miles out of Cleveland. Perhaps some rival city gangsters had been warring. Or maybe the killing was the outcome of strike trouble in the Youngstown steel area.

Coroner Henshaw estimated that the corpse had been in the water a week. There was not much else he could discover without a thorough examination, and the body was taken to the morgue at West Farmington.

After questioning the neighboring farmers and failing to find anyone who had heard or noticed anything unusual during the past week or ten days, the officers went to the morgue to search for a clue to the man’s identity.

Preliminary examination of his clothing revealed little—a few cents and the usual odds and ends. In a hidden inside coat pocket, apparently overlooked by the killers, the officers found a worn leather wallet.

Eagerly the contents were spilled on the table. The clue they seized upon was an identification card of a common type. Unless the murderers had been clever enough ‘to put it there to throw the police off the trail, it should reveal the identity of the dead man. It bore the name of Charles Steffes, Jr., and an address in Cleveland.

There was a space on the card classified “In Case of Accident Notify . . .” And next to it were the words, “Catherine Bunjevac, 1144 East 76th Street, Cleveland, Ohio.”

“Well, boys, that gives us something to start with,” Captain Salen announced. “We’d better get in touch with the Cleveland police and see what they know of Steffes.” The report of the murder came into Cleveland Headquarters over the wire that evening and Detective Lieutenant Jack Zeman took down the details.

He called in Detectives Carl Ziccarelli and Ralph McNeil, who were working on the four-to-midnight shift. “Just had word of a body being found in Coffee Creek,” he told them. “Check up on Charles Steffes, Jr., at 1328 East 53rd Street. And see what you can learn from a girl named Catherine Bunjevac at 1144 East 76th Street.”

Things began to hum. A quick check with the files revealed a record on Steffes. He had been arrested and charged with auto theft about a year before. He had pleaded guilty and, since it was his first offense, had been placed on probation. Further details disclosed he was an auto mechanic and twenty-six years old.

It was hardly the record of a person who might be involved in gang wars, but in the Police Department we learn to expect anything and consider everything a possibility until proved otherwise.

If he were a Clevelander and had been dead a week, perhaps someone had reported his disappearance to the Bureau of Missing Persons. A check-up here disclosed that on Sunday, September 20th, a call had come into the Bureau. A worried feminine voice had reported a disappearance.

“I’m worried about my friend, Charles Steffes, Jr.,” the caller said over the telephone. “I had a date with him last Thursday night and he said then that he’d telephone me the next day.

“He didn’t call and I thought maybe he was sick.” Her voice broke a little. “Charlie always kept his word with me. And when I found out he hadn’t been at work since Thursday and that no one had seen him at all, I got frightened.”

The officer tried to calm her. People, he told her, particularly men, often dropped out of sight for a time. Ninety-nine out of a hundred turned up again in their own good time. But this girl, who gave her name as Catherine Bunjevac, was sure Charlie Steffes had come to some harm.

“He’d never go away without telling me,” she insisted.

The report had been investigated at the time, but no trace of Charlie Steffes had been found. There was no accident victim who answered his description in the hospitals or the morgue.

That is, no one, until Charles Salway had seen the “body-less” corpse in Coffee Creek. It began to look as if woman’s intuition as to trouble had again proven correct. What Catherine Bunjevac had feared had apparently come true.

But supposing the corpse was that of young Steffes, the identification was just the beginning of the job. All we knew was that a girl named Catherine Bunjevac was to be notified in case of accident and that this same girl had reported him missing.

The department began to get busy in earnest. Detectives Ziccarelli and McNeil went out to check on Steffes, at the address in his wallet. This turned out to be a rooming house, run by Rudolph Zupanic. Here, Steffes had lived with his brother.

Both Zupanic and the victim’s brother, when interviewed, insisted they knew nothing of the garage mechanic’s whereabouts. The proprietor of the rooming house eagerly told the meager facts he knew about his lodger.

“Steffes left the house last Thursday night and we haven’t seen him since. He was rather close-mouthed about his affairs and never said where he was going or when he’d be back.”

Steffes’ brother confirmed this statement. “I haven’t any idea where Charlie could be. He just went out and didn’t come back. Several people have been asking for him since he left.” He shrugged. “He might be anywhere.”

His brother seemed to take his absence rather lightly, apparently confident that in due time he would turn up again. At the garage where Steffes was employed, the proprietor had the same attitude.

“He hasn’t been around for a week. Guess maybe he just decided to quit. A little guy came around a couple of times looking for him. Don’t know who he was.”

Was this “little guy” one of those who had called at the rooming house to inquire about the missing man? That was another angle to be investigated.

The garage owner gave the boy a good send-off. “He was a conscientious worker. Seemed serious-minded and said he was saving his money.”

When a young man who has had a previous brush with the law, settles down and talks about saving his money, experience has taught us there’s usually one reason—a woman. “Find the woman” is the detective’s old adage, and often a very successful one. In this case, the name of the woman had providentially been delivered into our hands.

But, before questioning Catherine Bunjevac, the detectives sought Steffes’ sister, whose address they had obtained at the rooming house. She had new information to give.

“Charlie and Catherine were at my house last Thursday evening (Sept. 17, 1936). We had a lot of fun kidding around, but they had to leave early, as Charlie complained he didn’t feel well. I didn’t think it was anything serious, but it did seem that he was worried about something. Usually Charlie was very happy-go-lucky, but that night he was different—acted a little as if he were afraid of something.

“I thought it was my imagination,” she continued, “but when Kate—that’s what we call Catherine—came over here on Saturday, looking for him, I got kind of worried. It wasn’t like Charlie to miss a date. He was crazy about her. Talked about getting married.”

So the girl, whose name appeared on Steffes’ identification card, was more than just an acquaintance.

Catherine Bunjevac’s parents told the detectives that their daughter was out with her fiancé, a Mr. Miller. The officers concealed the surprise they felt at this announcement. Steffes had talked to his sister about marrying Kate, but she apparently had other plans, or at least, that’s the way it looked.

“Do you know Charles Steffes, Jr.?” they asked the Bunjevacs.

Instantly there seemed to be a chill in the atmosphere. “Yes, we know him. He frequently called on our daughter.”

“Was he in love with her?”

“Perhaps. She’s a very pretty girl. Lots of men have liked her. But we didn’t want her to go with that Steffes. He isn’t dependable. He hasn’t any money. Mr. Miller can give Catherine a nice home and an automobile. He’s the kind of suitor for our girl.”

“Well, when she comes in, tell her the police want to talk to her.”

The parents’ faces showed no emotion at the knowledge that police wished to question their daughter. If there were fear there, it was well hidden.

Very early the next morning, Miss Bunjevac appeared at Headquarters. Her parents had been right when they said their daughter was pretty. It was not hard to imagine several young men in love with her at the same time.

As Sergeant James Hogan questioned her, he noted that she seemed greatly worried about her missing friend.

“The last time I had a date with Charlie, he seemed quite upset,” she said. “I asked him to tell me what was bothering him, but he wouldn’t say.”

As the girl talked on, the background of the case became clear. Here was a fun-loving young girl, torn between duty to her parents and her own heart. Steffes appealed to her romantic tastes, but her family frowned upon him.

Miller, she explained, was a name Joseph Csonka sometimes used for business reasons. He was a wall paper hanger whom she had known for a long time, and her parents thought he would make an ideal husband for her. He was the old-fashioned type, the sort who would never give a girl any worries—nor any thrills.

But Catherine Bunjevac had liked young Steffes. He was full of fun, liked to dance and have a good time. He made Csonka seem old and dull. A common enough tragedy, up to that point. But it didn’t tell us what had been worrying Steffes that last night he was seen alive. Could he have been involved in some racket and forced to “take a ride?” Or was it perhaps another woman, whose jealous fury had spent itself on her betrayer?

We discarded the latter theory at once. The very facts of the crime told us it had to be the work of a man. Women do not transport their victims forty miles, and then dump them overboard, with a slab of concrete to weigh them down.

Detective Gordon Shibley and I went to West Farmington to verify the identification of the victim. We questioned several of the near-by residents, but could find no one who knew anything about the mysterious happenings at Coffee Creek. The killer had taken pains to cover his tracks well, and no doubt darkness had hidden his sinister work.

Delve as we would, we could find nothing to tie the victim with any gang machinations. He had, to all intents and purposes, been paying strict attention to business and behaving himself. It looked as if the explanation would have to be found closer to home.

Officers returned to question Miss Bunjevac once more. Over and over she repeated her story of her friendship with Steffes and the last time she had seen him.

“He left me at my house early Thursday evening, as he said he didn’t feel well. I thought maybe he had another date, but then I felt sure he wouldn’t go with any girl but me. He said he’d call me Friday and when he didn’t I was annoyed. Joe asked me to go out with him that night and since I hadn’t heard from Charlie, I went.”

“Did you tell Csonka about Steffes?” the girl was asked.

“Yes, I mentioned it and said I was worried as that was the first time he had ever disappointed me. Joe said not to worry about it; that he’d probably be able to explain when I saw him.”

“Did you often discuss Steffes with your other suitor?”

“Quite often. He asked me, a couple of times to give up Charlie.”

The detectives’ eyes betrayed no particular interest. “Did the boys ever fight about your attentions?”

“Of course not,” was the quick reply. “Why, Joe helped me try to find Charlie. He went to his rooming house and the garage where he worked to discover what had happened to him.”

The little thin man who had “been making such anxious inquiries for the victim, as described by Steffes’ brother and the garage owner, was Csonka, evidently. He had been trying to find the man who had cat him out, in order to set the girl’s mind at rest.

“It was Joe who made me come right down to Headquarters, when we found out you were looking for me,” Miss Bunjevac continued. “He said it was best for me to go right away.”

“How did Joe act the Friday night after Steffes’ disappearance? Was he nervous or excited?”

“Why, no,” the girl answered, surprised. “He never talks a lot, but I didn’t notice him acting nervous or anything. Why should he?”

That’s what we were asking ourselves at the moment. We had two men in love with the same girl. One brash and forward; the other, from Catherine’s description, shy, meek and self-effacing. And the brash and forward one was now dead, his head battered in. I was convinced from what I could learn around Coffee Creek, that Steffes had been killed elsewhere and his body brought out to the lonesome farm area, probably by automobile.

The body had been returned to Cleveland from the West Farmington morgue and County Pathologist Dr. Reuben Strauss went to work to determine what had caused death. What we primarily wanted to know was whether the victim was alive when tossed into the water, or whether it was his corpse that was weighted down and shoved under the culvert.

On Friday night a detail of officers was sent to Csonka’s home on East 88th Street, to question him. It was destined to be quite a wait, as he was not at home. It was five-thirty in the morning before a short, slight man mounted the steps, to be met by a group of detectives.

Csonka evidenced no surprise. He acted as if it were not at all unusual for a couple of officers to be waiting to take him down to Headquarters. He showed no curiosity as to why he must go. He offered no protest, when the men went through his personal belongings. He evinced no embarrassment when he saw his personal letters being read. These included several written, but never mailed, to Catherine Bunjevac.

Those letters seemed to coincide with the man’s colorless personality. He was admittedly in love with the girl, but there was no hint of passion in his letters. They, too, were shy and bashful.

Downstairs in the basement, Csonka showed the same lack of interest, as officers went through his storage closet. The only thing found of any possible importance was a small amount of old wire.

And when Sergeant Hogan began asking him questions that Saturday morning, he realized he was facing a man who was able to conceal every emotion. He presented a bland, expressionless face and carefully deliberated before replying. We had a suspect, it is true, but we had little more on him than any man we might pick up in the street. He was in love with the same girl as the dead man had been—but that was his only connection, thus far, with the case.

The Sergeant, however, continued his investigation. A couple of detectives went out to find Csonka’s car. While they were gone, the report of Dr. Strauss came in and with it, the first ray of light. Steffes had been struck a hard blow on the head, but that had not caused his death. Water in his lungs indicated that he had been alive when tossed into the creek. He had died from drowning. That meant that the murderer, if and when we caught him, would be tried in the district in which the victim died—and those country juries are tough.

We decided to use a little old-fashioned psychology on Csonka. Detective Shibley and I brought him to the garage, and, with Sergeant Hogan and Coroner Arthur J. Pearse of Cuyahoga County, in which Cleveland is located, we started out on the ride to Mesopotamia and Coffee Creek. We were heading for the spot where Steffes’ battered body had been found. We had a little plan in mind and were eager to find out if it would work. The coolest, the calmest, the most collected criminal will often go to pieces when he is forced to revisit the scene of his crime. Dreams often will hound a guilty man into clearing his conscience, but a compulsory viewing of the spot will usually do it more quickly.

We did not do a lot of talking on that ride. Csonka continued to answer politely all questions put to him. Sergeant Hogan encouraged him to talk about himself. He nodded sympathetically when Csonka complained of business being slow. Csonka mentioned that he usually carried his tools—brushes and pails—in his car. Was he in love with Catherine Bunjevac? Sure, sure.

“You know, Sergeant,” he said to Hogan, “I think some gangsters got after Steffes. Probably took him for a ride. You know he was mixed up in some bad company for a while there.”

We did not answer. We were waiting for the psychological moment to outline to him what we thought had happened. But that time had not arrived as yet.

Coffee Creek looked far from sinister in the bright daylight. The foliage was just beginning to turn and the countryside was rich in autumnal hues. Everything spoke of peace, and quiet, restful living. It seemed hardly the spot for violence and death. Yet a man’s badly beaten body had been tossed into that creek and its calm water had taken his dying breath.

I took Csonka over toward the east rail and waited with him while the Coroner and Sergeant Hogan talked things over. I knew what was coming and encouraged the man’s nervousness by a complete silence and apparent indifference as to what was going on.

As the two officers conversed, their voices carried clearly on the still air. Hogan was outlining to Pearse what had happened. Csonka was the only one there who didn’t know that the Sergeant was putting on a little dramatic act.

“I think we’ve got this fellow,” Hogan was saying. “It all links up. Two of my men found his car, took a look in it and what do you suppose they found?”

“What ?” asked Pearse, all interest.

“Blood on the upholstery.”

“No!”

“Yes! And one of the windows was smashed. I think that happened when this bird Csonka swung at him with the brush and missed.”

“Brush?” asked Pearse.

“Didn’t you know we found a heavy paste brush in his car with blood on it? He hit Steffes over the head with his paste brush,” the Sergeant went on. “Again and again he struck him. Then when he thought he was dead, he drove out into the country and tossed the body overboard. He weighted it down to make sure it wouldn’t be discovered.”

Hogan paused dramatically as they came over to where we were standing. “Is that the way it happened, Csonka?” he asked suddenly.

I watched the man who was standing so close to me. I had thought of him as meek and mild—hardly the type to become involved in a murder case. But before my eyes I saw an amazing change take place. As he listened to Hogan’s outline of what might have happened that fatal September 17th, Csonka s eyes glittered. It was almost as if he were reliving the crime, and enjoying it. The meekness was gone and replaced by an expression of burning hate.

Abruptly he turned and faced us. “Sure, I killed him. I did it.”

The confession, unexpected as it was, did not give us all we wanted. We had to have details—proof to stand up in a trial. It was not a Cleveland case, but it was up to us to get Csonka talking.

Once he had started, the paperhanger seemed eager to tell the whole story and get it off his mind. I marveled at this shy little man, who, for more than a week had gone about his affairs as usual, but with a horrible secret hidden behind his meek, colorless face. He had even joined in the search for his victim, apparently seeing this would ingratiate him into the favor of Miss Bunjevac. And all the time he had known that the man she loved and waited for was lying in the cold waters of Coffee Creek, a heavy slab weighting him down.

Csonka opened up in earnest on the ride back to Cleveland. The story was even more grim and cold-blooded than we had conceived.

“I was ready to marry the girl. I wanted her. I was getting along fine and had a good business and good prospects. I could have given her things. I was in love with her and she seemed to like me well enough,” Csonka added, “until that Steffes fellow came along last April. Then things changed.”

I could picture this little paperhanger paying his court more to the parents than the daughter, much as they did in the old country. He loved the girl, in his fashion, and a great rage began working in his slow mind, when he found himself being cut out.

“That Steffes was just a no-good, a bum. I used to follow the two of them around and spy on them. A couple of times I met him and begged him to give up the girl. But always he just laughed and told me to beat it.

“And once,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “he told me Catherine wanted to marry a man. He insulted me.”

Steffes, knowing that the girl preferred him, and with the confidence of youth, had laughed tormentingly at the other man. And with that laugh he had sealed his doom.

“I met Steffes early in the week and told him I knew he had been in jail,” the paperhanger went on. “I threatened to tell the Bunjevacs what I knew, so they’d make Kate give him up.

“Steffes tried to laugh it off, but I told him it was time for a showdown. I told him to meet me Thursday night and he said he’d try to get away early enough to make it.”

That meeting, then, was what the garage mechanic had on his mind the last night his sister and his sweetheart had seen him. The story of feeling ill had been invented to make sure he would get away in time for the meeting he dreaded. The girl’s intuition that something was worrying him had been correct.

The men met by appointment at a beer parlor on East 53rd Street. Csonka began pleading with him to step out of the picture. Steffes drank stein after stein of beer and quickly lost his former dread. The oddly matched couple moved on from one beer place to another. At each they consumed several drinks, Steffes switching to liquor as the night wore on.

Once again in Csonka’s car, they continued the discussion, the murderer said.

“Sitting in the car at East 70th and Quincy. I told Steffes he’d have to give up the girl. He got mad at that, and took out a whisky bottle he had in his pocket. He swung it at me and I got scared. He was bigger than me and I reached in back of the car for my paste brush. I grabbed hold of it and hit him over the head.”

Csonka stopped a moment, as if remembering. A shudder shook his slight frame. He was thinking perhaps of the sickening thud each blow had made on the victim’s head. Then he continued:

“I had to hit him a lot of times before he became quiet. Then I got panicky and pushed his body into the back seat.”

It was evident that Csonka had believed his victim dead after the first blows. He even stopped to change a tire on his car before driving into his own garage.

“I stayed in the garage a while, not knowing just what I ought to do. I was scared someone might come’ in while he was there. And then—” his eyes widened with horror—”Steffes came to life again and started to fight some more.”

I could visualize the terror of the man, as his victim suddenly showed signs of life, when he believed him dead.

“This time I hit him with a heavy iron clamp and he lay still.”

Poor Charlie Steffes. His vitality must have been great, indeed, to withstand a series of such blows. The report showed without any question that he had been still breathing when tossed into the creek.

“I went around the corner to my house and got some wire and a big chunk -of concrete from under our garbage can. I tied him up and then started out to find some place to dump the body.”

And then came the most amazing part of this gruesome story. The killer had driven nearly fifty miles through the night, with the trussed-up body of his victim in the back of his car. And at each bridge and culvert he had stopped. With his flashlight he had peered into the water, trying to determine its depth. Joe Csonka was looking for water deep enough to-cover all evidence of his crime.

[generaltidalwavebeard]

What Is Pages App For Mac

Pages For Mac

Apple Pages Online

What Is Pages App For Macbook Pro

Pages App For Mac

Documents, spreadsheets, and presentations. With everybody’s best thinking.

LibreOffice is a powerful office suite – its clean interface and feature-rich tools help you. Apple’s iWork apps (Pages, Keynote, Numbers) are now available for free to any Mac or iOS user, so I thought it might be good to document some of the lesser known talents of Apple’s now-free. Apple Pages word processor. I have used every version of Pages, the Apple word processor app since Apple released it in 2009. The iWork 09 version worked perfectly. But at that time, it cost $79.00 for the suite of Pages, Numbers, and Keynote. Later, in 2014, Apple released a new version. Apple pages for windows free download - Apple Pages, Pages, Apple Safari, and many more programs. Word processor & page layout app. Paid Editors' rating. Publisher: Apple Downloads. Downloading apps requires an Apple ID. Pages for Mac, Numbers for Mac, and Keynote for Mac are available on the Mac App Store. MacOS Catalina or later required. Some features may require internet access; additional fees and terms may apply.

Pages, Numbers, and Keynote are the best ways to create amazing work. Templates and design tools make it easy to get started. You can even add illustrations and notations using Apple Pencil on your iPad. And with real‑time collaboration, your team can work together, whether they’re on Mac, iPad, or iPhone, or using a PC.

Pages

Amazing. In so many words.

Pages lets you effortlessly create sensational-looking documents. Choose a template, then use the powerful tools to add a picture, movie, shape, or chart. It’s never been easier to create a beautiful read.

Numbers

Spreadsheets that are bottom‑line brilliant.

A spreadsheet doesn’t have to look like a ledger. That’s why Numbers starts you off with a blank canvas instead of an endless grid. It’s easy to add dramatic charts, tables, images, and Smart Categories that paint a revealing picture of your data.

Keynote

Presentation perfect.

With Keynote, it’s easy to create and deliver stunning presentations. Powerful graphics tools let you design beautiful text and spectacular slides with cinematic transitions that bring your ideas to life.

New report templates

Select from new report templates to help you get started.

And more

Enhance your documents with a variety of new, editable shapes.

Get complete step-by-step instructions and information on all the features in Pages for Mac.

New in Pages 10.1 for Mac

Play YouTube and Vimeo videos right in your documents.* Learn more

Easily add captions and titles to images, videos, shapes, and other objects. Learn more

Create more flexible formulas using new functions.

Import an iBooks Author book to work on it in Pages. Learn more

* This feature may not be available in all countries or regions.

New in Pages 10.0 for Mac

Pages For Mac

Select from a variety of gorgeous new templates to help you get started.

Add a Pages document to a shared iCloud Drive folder to automatically start collaborating. Requires macOS 10.15.4. Learn more

Add a drop cap to make a paragraph stand out with a large, decorative first letter. Learn more

Apply a color, gradient, or image to the background of any document. Learn more

Easily access your recently used templates in a redesigned template chooser.

Print or export a PDF of your document with comments included. Learn more

Edit shared documents while offline and your changes will upload when you’re back online. Learn more

Enhance your documents with a variety of new, editable shapes.

New in Pages 8.2 for Mac

Set the default font and font size used for all new documents created from basic templates. Learn more

Jump to a specific page in your document using a new menu command.

Easily add HEVC-formatted movies to documents, enabling reduced file size while preserving visual quality. Learn more

Add accessibility descriptions to audio, video, and drawings. Learn more

Improved accessibility of exported PDFs.

New in Pages 8.1 for Mac

Style your text by filling it with gradients or images, or by applying new outline styles. Learn more

Copy and paste pages or sections between documents. Learn more

Create links from text to other pages in a page layout document. Learn more

Place images, shapes, and equations inline in text boxes so they move with text. Learn more

Using face detection, subjects in photos are intelligently positioned in placeholders and objects.

Reapply a master page so text and media placeholders return to their default style and position. Learn more

Create books using new templates for novels (available in English only).

New in Pages 8.0 for Mac

Use the new table of contents view to easily navigate your document or book. Learn more

Automatically sync custom shapes to all your devices using iCloud. Learn more

Automatically sync custom templates to all your devices using iCloud. Learn more

Add alignment guides to master pages to help with layout.

Improved performance while collaborating on documents.

Insert tables of contents and edit grouped objects while collaborating.

In Chinese, Japanese, and Korean languages, you can now type vertically in your entire document or in an individual text box. Learn more

New in Pages 7.3 for Mac

Offer your books for download or purchase on Apple Books. Learn more

New in Pages 7.2 for Mac

Use Dark Mode to give Pages a dramatic dark look. Requires macOS Mojave. Learn more

Easily record, edit, and play audio right on a page. Learn more

Support for Continuity Camera allows you to take a photo or scan a document with your iPhone or iPad and it automatically appears in your document on your Mac. Requires macOS Mojave and iOS 12. Learn more

Enhance your documents with a variety of new editable shapes.

Performance and stability improvements.

New in Pages 7.1 for Mac

Track text changes in shapes and text boxes.

Add colors and images to backgrounds in page layout documents.

Give charts a new look with rounded corners on columns and bars.

Add mathematical equations to page layout documents using LaTeX or MathML notation. Learn more

Enhance your documents with a variety of new editable shapes.

Improved support for Arabic and Hebrew. Learn more

Apple Pages Online

New in Pages 7.0 for Mac

Use new book templates to create interactive EPUB books. Learn more

View two pages side-by-side, and format them as double-page spreads. Learn more

Collaborate in real time on documents stored in Box. Requires macOS High Sierra. Learn more

Add an image gallery to view a collection of photos on the same page.

Create master pages to keep the design consistent across your page layout document.

Use donut charts to visualize data in an engaging new way.

Enhance your documents with a variety of new editable shapes.

Additional options for reducing the file size of documents.

New option to automatically format fractions as you type.

New in Pages 6.3 for Mac

Improved PDF export lets you view a document's table of contents in the sidebar in Preview and other PDF viewer apps.

Drag and drop rows in tables that span multiple pages. Learn more

Performance and stability improvements

New in Pages 6.2 for Mac

Enhance your documents using a library of over 500 professionally drawn shapes. Learn more

Reply to comments and join threaded conversations. Learn more

Add linked text boxes so text easily flows from one place to another. Learn more

New auto-correction and text replacement options save time while typing. Learn more

Export documents as fixed layout ePub books. Learn more

Change margins, headers, footers and paper size while collaborating. Learn more

Improved support for Hebrew and Arabic languages.

The Stock and Currency functions now return data from the previous market day’s close. Learn more

New in Pages 6.1 for Mac

Add bookmarks to easily link from one part of your document to another. Learn more

Add elegant mathematical equations using LaTeX or MathML notation. Learn more

Quickly open password-protected documents using Touch ID on the new MacBook Pro with Touch Bar. Learn more

Easily replace fonts throughout an entire document.

Import and export documents in Rich Text Format (RTF). Learn more

New leader lines make pie charts easier to read.

New stock and currency functions provide up-to-date securities data in tables.

Customize dates, times, and currencies for your language or region.

New in Pages 6.0.5 for Mac

Support for Touch Bar on the new MacBook Pro lets you easily edit text, shapes, tables and charts.

Stability and performance improvements.

What Is Pages App For Macbook Pro

New in Pages 6.0 for Mac

Pages App For Mac

Real-time collaboration (feature in beta)

Edit a document with others at the same time in Pages on Mac, iPad, iPhone, and iCloud.com.

Share your document publicly or with specific people.

See who else is in a document.

See participants’ cursors as they’re editing.

Open and edit Pages ’05 documents. Learn more

Use tabs to work with multiple documents in one window.

Wide color gamut image support.

What Is Pages App For Mac

[file-formats-programming]

Fully Reworked Versions of Ruby & Python SDKs & Enhanced PDF to Word Export in Cloud Apps

What's New in this Release?

We are pleased to announce the new release of Aspose.Words Cloud 18.8. Fully reworked versions of Ruby and Python SDKs for Aspose.Words Cloud have been released.. Moreover, the release provides Vector graphics support and Table detection and recognition improvements for PDF to Word Conversion. Fully reworked version of Aspose Cloud Ruby SDK has been released. Ruby Cloud SDK is a wrapper around REST API, allowing to process documents in Ruby 2.3 quickly and easily, gaining all benefits of strong types and IDE highlights.  New SDK is fully supported and has the many advantages over the previous versions, such as SDK is fully in sync with the API, all missing methods are added, Classes, methods, and properties have comments and are IDE-friendly, Better security, Usage of Request/Response classes to represent long lists of parameters. This allows for cleaner code and easier backward-compatibility going forward and SDK is not backward compatible with the previous generation because of the last item. It should be straightforward to convert program code to using Request/Response objects, if users need any help on migration please ask at Free Support Forums.  Fully reworked version of Aspose Cloud Python SDK has been released. Python Cloud SDK is a wrapper around REST API, allowing to process documents in Python 2.7, or higher (>=3.6) quickly and easily, gaining all benefits of strong types and IDE highlights. The distribution is available at pypi.org and source code at GitHub . New SDK is fully supported and has the several advantages over the previous versions. RPDF to Word converter now supports basic vector graphics. Moreover, accuracy of table detection has been significantly improved. Almost all simple tables are detected properly now. Please check Convert PDF Document to Word article for more details on blog announcement page. The taxonomy parameter is responsible for the list of classifier classes. If the parameter is not specified or is set to “default”, the classification is performed according to the IAB-2 taxonomy (10 news classes). Alternatively, there is a taxonomy “documents” (10 classes of documents). If the taxonomy parameter is set to “documents”, the classification will be performed using “documents” taxonomy. Please check Document Classification article for more details.  

Overview: Aspose for Cloud

Aspose for Cloud is a cloud-based document generation, conversion and automation platform for developers that offer a unique suite of APIs to work with Word documents, Excel spreadsheets, PowerPoint presentations, PDFs, and email formats and protocols. It supports all features for file processing, document scanning, barcodes creation and recognition, and allows extracting text or images too. Users can also work with SaaSpose APIs using REST SDKs that can be called from .NET, Java, PHP and Ruby etc.

More about Aspose Cloud

Learn More about Aspose.Words Cloud

Download latest release of Aspose.Words Cloud

Online Documentation for Aspose.Words Cloud

Ask technical questions/queries from Aspose Support Team

[shellheadtm-a]

@involuntaryspy​ | “Why is there all this space between us, Tony?”

“What?”  The look he gives Bucky is wide-eyed, startled, when he looks up from the file in his lap (”You can just email me a pdf,” he’d told the office manager.  “No,” she’d said, handing him a stack of manilla folders bristling with those sticky flags and leaving him no means of escape, before he’d cut out for the weekend.  His commute is starting to get unwieldy enough he’s considering looking for land parcels - maybe expand domestically again.  Show his office manager who’s the boss.  Land in the heartland is cheap, and he’d have...Literally no direct competition and-).  It’s nervous, the way he pushes his glasses back up his nose (to think, there’s been a time recently, in the not so distant past, he hasn’t needed these but the years do fly by and he’s not so vain - he is - that he can’t admit when he needs to consider the ol’ eyesight isn’t what it used to be), because those are...Anxiety-triggering words.  Those words usually come followed by the phrase, “It’s not you, it’s me,” and maybe, “I think we should see other people,” and...And...

He glances down, the couch cushion that had been occupied by a fuzzy white lump abandoned, the only sign Alpine had ever even been there a few stray white hairs (and Jesus, that cat’s hair gets everywhere, it’s unbelievable), and it takes another second for the meaning of things to connect fully.  “Oh.  Al abandoned me.”

He’s sick of reading fiscal reports anyway - the file he’s holding is an inch thick and settles heavily on the table when he drops it there - he’s been staring at the same page for the last...Fifteen?  Fifteen minutes or so, anyway.  It can wait until later (in an hour he’ll be picking it back up again, feeling guilty for slacking), and that done, he scoots into Al’s abandoned spot.  "It was a literal couch cushion, not half the country.”

true detective starters | accepting

[grahamstoney]

Writing a book using OpenOffice.org

New Post has been published on https://grahamstoney.com/communication/writing-book-using-openoffice

Writing a book using OpenOffice.org

My first book, on attracting women, was created using the OpenOffice.org 3.1 Office Productivity Suite. I like OpenOffice because it’s free, is community-supported, and has most of the features that I really need to get my job done. Here’s my experience using it on seriously sized projects of over 200 pages.

I recently finished the 3rd draft of a 450 page book, so I know what it’s like to use OpenOffice.org Writer to create and edit a significant work with over 30 chapters, a two-level table of contents, and several pictures. I also used OpenOffice.org Draw for the cover design, and PDF export to generate files to send to Lulu for printing. I was pleased to find that OpenOffice.org was up to the task, but there were a few quirks I had to navigate and some missing features which made the task more painful than I would have liked.

I partitioned my book as one sub-document per chapter with a master document containing the top-level table of contents and separating pages for the various sections. This approach worked really well because the text is huge; over 120,000 words. By avoiding applying formatting directly to paragraphs and using styles consistently, I could make global style changes just by editing the styles in the master document. I could also set the page size in the master document to what I needed for publishing, while leaving the page sizes in the sub-documents more appropriate for easy editing on-screen.

If you want to write a book using OpenOffice.org, here are my tips:

Put each chapter in a separate file and use a master document to tie them together.

Avoid applying formatting directly; always use styles.

Use the standard paragraph styles like Heading 1, Heading 2 etc. and Text Body.

Don’t use Default as your text style, use Text Body.

Set the page styles in your master document to the printed page size, but leave each chapter with the default page size so it’s easier to edit them on-screen.

Note that the styles in your master document override those in your chapters.

Worry about appearance later; it’s easy to change if you’ve used styles consistently and this lets you focus on what you want to say.

Use Tools -> Outline Numbering to give your document structure; but beware it has limitations.

Ask for help when you get stuck, on the OpenOffice.org Community Forum.

Use a screen-reader or text-to-speech program to help you spot typos during editing.

I struggled somewhat to get OpenOffice.org to do everything I wanted; partly because I’d never written such a large document before and needed to use features I had never used before, and partly because I ran into a number of bugs and missing or brain-dead features. Some of these may be due to OpenOffice.org’s compatibility with Microsoft Word, but in other areas OpenOffice.org appears to lag behind Word slightly. Most of these issues were already reported in the OpenOffice.org project issue tracking database. OpenOffice.org keeps improving, and some issues that used to get in my way, like that document outlining was half-baked in 2.4 have now been improved in 3.1.

The main issues that got in my way were:

The layout engine can hang on complex documents.

You can’t load styles from a master document into a sub-document directly.

Putting the page numbers in the header margin was tricky.

Captions added to frames appear within the frame rather than above/below it.

Scaling objects in Draw doesn’t scale contained text.

Objects don’t remain centred when generating HTML for the web.

No text-to-speech/screen-reader integration.

I sometimes had paragraphs in sub-documents inadvertently acquire formatting information which the styles in my master document didn’t override. I never quite worked out why, and it was often hard to detect this since the difference was not visually obvious and there is no way to identify when formatting has been applied manually vs coming from a style. Removing the manual formatting information from these paragraphs with Format -> Default Formatting fixed the problem; but this also removed formatting like italicisation unless I was paying close attention.

Time spent struggling with these sort of problems was time not spent on writing. Nevertheless, they say you get what you pay for, and in this case I got far more than that. OpenOffice.org is free, and I’ve used expensive old Microsoft Word in the past and had problems with it, too. The other cool thing is that, being an open source project, I could get information about these problems in the issue-tracking database, vote for getting them fixed, and even fix them myself if I really wanted to. And I almost did, but my aim was to write rather than fix bugs, so my motivation ran out. I made this laundry-list of complaints not because I want to be critical or bite the hand that feeds me, but in the hope that they will be prioritised to make OpenOffice.org even better.

I used OpenOffice.org Draw for my one-piece cover design, and found that it worked well. Start by setting your dimensions to inches in Tools->Options->OpenOffice.org Draw->General->Unit of Measurement, since all the dimensions Lulu gives you are in inches. Then draw your front and back cover of the exact size according to the paper size you plan to use. Once you are happy with the designs, extend the objects on the appropriate borders into the bleed area. Then the trick is to group the front and back cover objects as separate groups, and then right-click on the front cover group and use the Position and Size object inspector to position the edge of the front cover group precisely according to the final width of your spine. Note that you won’t know the spine width until you have the final PDF of your content completed.

If you want to manipulate images for use in your book using OpenOffice.org Draw, you may have trouble because you can’t easily set the image resolution when exporting from Draw. To work around this problem, install this extension.

Chances are that you just want a word processor for simple documents; you’re probably not writing a full-length novel. And even if you are, OpenOffice.org is up to the task. Despite my complaints, I highly recommend OpenOffice.org; and the more users it has, the better it gets.

[neo---blue]

HAMATORA THE NOVEL pt.I - Things More Important Than Money (ENGLISH TRANSLATION)

H therei!! d (ba-sudei) and avery (@minimums​) here! finally finished translating the first part of hamatora the novel! but before anything, please, please, please read this!

although we opted not to state this on our official foreword, both avery and i felt it shouldn't remain unsaid. please remember that this is a fan translation first and foremost, as well as something we put a lot of time and effort into. it is a fan translation because we are fans of hamatora, and felt that even all these years later the material deserved to come to light. yes, it is 2018, and not 2014. we know what year this is, and we are fans anyway. hamatora had its shortcomings, flaws, inconsistencies, and issues, just like every other series in existence. however, we both felt that since our love for it remains, translating would be “better late than never.” and while we hope that others still feel the same, we understand many won’t— and don't. if like us you still love hamatora, please enjoy our efforts! if you don't, all we can ask is that you please don't dismiss, make fun of, or dampen them. translating is not easy, and certainly neither is creating a series. so, without further ado, please enjoy Hamatora the Novel part 1!

ハマトラTHE NOVEL - I. 金より大事なもの 【英訳】 HAMATORA THE NOVEL PART I - Things More Important Than Money (ENGLISH TRANSLATION) 

under the cut~ (there’s also a download link to a pdf!! still, please reblog and spread the word!)

[DOWNLOAD LINK - Mobile-Friendly PDF]   ^ highly recommended over reading it on here!  Foreword from the Scanlators (scans by minimums, translation by ba-sudei)

✢

"hi, i'm avery, aka minimums on tumblr or gayhacker on ao3. i did the scans! hamatora is a series that has meant a lot to me for a while now, and still very much does. i originally bought the novel for the poster that came with it; i had no idea anything like this would ever come out of that purchase, but i'm so glad it did! D has put in a lot of hard work with the translation, so please enjoy hamatora the novel part 1!"

✢                                

“hi~ d here , aka ba-sudei on tumblr and d_n__ on twitter! i translated this thing!! avery’s worked really hard to make sure the scans were clear for me and has been helpful overall and i can’t thank him enough! i wish i could promise an accurate translation— but, all i can promise is that i truly did my best to make this translation a good quality one. this goes without saying, but i have loved (and suffered much for) hamatora since 2014, and i’m still here. i’ll always be here. i hope this translation helps rekindle your love for hamatora! so please enjoy hamatora the novel part i!!”

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✢ please feel free to get in touch with us on our socials ! ✢

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      “Now then, shall we work hard today, too?”

    The boy with bandages on his face and headphones around his neck spoke loudly to a girl. His name is Nice; he’s a detective.

      The girl’s name is Koneko. She is the broker of requests for Hamatora Detective Agency, which operates under Nice and his partner. She is also the owner of Cafe Nowhere, where Hamatora Detective Agency have set up their office on one of their tables.

       “Any requests come in today?”

    Nice asked Koneko with a lively tone and a smile on his face, forgetting the sad reality that the few coins in his pocket were literally all he had.

      Koneko's ponytail swung as she smiled and slightly tilted her head.

     “None.”

      It wasn’t surprising, but Nice still doubted her answer; the smile he unconsciously had on his face fell and his expression became serious.

     “Seriously?”

       “Seriously.”

       “Why?!”

    “Who knows...”

    Despite Nice’s franticness, Koneko’s smile didn’t falter.     The nerve on Koneko’s temple twitched but not because of Nice’s moodiness.

     “By the way, Nice-kun. When do I get anything out of lending you a table for your office?”

       “Uh, uhhhh...” Nice nervously looked around the interior of Nowhere.

      Over the counter was a man polishing a cup, the cafe’s master.

    Master is the one who stands in the kitchen and cooks food on the menu, while Koneko, the owner, is in charge of customer service and miscellaneous affairs.

    Master continued to work in silence, purposely trying not to meet Nice’s eyes.

      In front of Master on a seat across the counter was a girl drinking milk. She’s an assistant of the Hamatora Detective Agency— or so she’s supposed to be. But at the moment she was becoming a mascot instead. She is Hajime.

    Hajime finished her milk then held out her cup towards Master.

     “Seconds. You can charge it on Nice-kun’s tab.”

       “...Nice’s tab is just about all piled up, though.”

    Master took the cup and refilled it with milk before handing it back to Hajime.

      Hajime moved the cup towards Nice lazily.

    “Thanks for the meal. Cheers.”

       “Wait, wait, don't cheers to this, Hajime-chan! I haven’t had anything to eat since last night!”

       “Poor thing,” Hajime said with blandly, and began to drink the milk.

      Nice slumped his shoulders, turning his gaze towards a table in the back, where a young man wearing glasses was seated and looking through the newspaper. His name is Murasaki. He is Nice's partner.

      Murasaki, through his glasses, fixed Nice with a cold look.

    “Nice. Can’t you tell that you’re suffering the consequences of your actions?”

       “I can tell... but what did I do?”

      Nice looked clueless. Good grief, Murasaki sighed.     “Before this, who was it that turned down the request to investigate an affair?”

      “I did.”

      “And before that, who was it that turned down the request to do background checks for a delinquent high school student?”

   “I did?”

     “Not to mention, before that, who was it that, when a lady who was having trouble with a stalker following her around came and begged for something to be done, sent her away saying ‘you can do something about that yourself’?”

       “Ah, you make it sound so harsh! It was just a lovers’ quarrel, they shouldn’t involve other people to solve their problems for them. You think so, too, right, Koneko?”

    Nice waited for Koneko to nod and agree with him, but Koneko only looked away.

       “I don’t know about that.”

       “...Huh? Does that mean I got that wrong?”

       “See, that’s what I’m talking about.  You’re in your current situation because you’re always so picky with the requests you take. If that’s not suffering the consequences of your actions, then what is it?”

       “Okay, but even so. This is work after all, I wouldn’t do that to people who are seriously in trouble. Everyone I turned down was just requesting stuff for their own convenience. It’s not a big deal if I don’t help them, is it?”

       “I guessed that would be your reasoning. You mean that it shouldn’t be acceptable in this society.”

       “It’s a sad society, really.”

       “Can't deny that society is sad— Another woman seems to have gone missing.”

    Murasaki put the newspaper down onto the table and tapped an article lightly with the back of his hand.

      Nice went over to Murasaki's side to have a look at the newspaper.

    “Another one?”

      In this town, Yokohama, girls have continuously been going missing.

    Whether these cases were plotted or coincidental was unclear. The commonalities among the missing people were that they were young and attractive; there seemed to be absolutely no correlation among their workplaces, schools, and relationships.

       “Yeah, this is the fifth one already. Looks like it’s a high school girl this time. She’s said to have gone missing two days ago.”

        “Two days ago...? Maybe she’s just been staying over at a friend’s place or something?”

     “Things would be fine if that were the case. But there are some short articles in the newspaper that say that the family was set on reporting it to the police.”

        “As an incident?”

        “It’s not a job for us detectives, an investigation like that. It’s for the police.”

        “The police, huh... I wonder if Art’s busy right now.”

     Art. He is a young man Nice has been keeping company with for a long time.

     Art is a police officer from the Yokohama police department. After graduating from a special educational institution with outstanding achieve-ments, he continued to make extraordinary efforts and became the police superintendent at quite a young age.

       “I wonder if Art’s having some trouble.”

       “Art might not be the one put directly in charge of the continuous disappearance of those girls. Besides, he’s excellent, so I don’t think he’d be having any trouble.”

      “That's true,” Nice agreed, knowing Art as a guy who’s overcome all his difficulties with sheer effort; he’s one of the few people that Nice can respect from the bottom of his heart.

     “I can tell that that guy’s working hard. Looks like I don’t need to worry that much after all.”

    Nice cleared his throat and went silent. The rest of the inside of the cafe quieted, too, until the sound of the television took over for everyone to hear. There was a variety show airing.

       ‘We are inside a shopping mall in Yokohama. There is an exhibit by Aomiya-san, a doll-maker who’s been much-talked-about lately. Since today is the last day, the venue is packed.’

    voiced the reporter. Nice and company turned their eyes towards the television.

    The event space was in a familiar shopping mall nearby, and it was decorated with many life-size dolls. They were all female dolls in luxurious gothic-style dresses.

     ‘Look at the infamous lifelike dolls, they look like they’ll start moving any second now! Aomiya-san’s work is going to be auctioned at New York this year, and many bidders are ready to bid over a hundred million yen!’

      Next to the reporter introducing the dolls appeared a strange-looking young man.

    The man had hung several marionettes, the type one can manipulate with strings throughout their bodies.

    The reporter introduced this man who had a strange, confident smile on his face:

     ‘The world-famous doll-maker Aomiya-san has arrived! It’s a pleasure to have you here today despite your busy schedule. ’

       ‘It’s no problem. This is an opportunity to propagate my aesthetics, so the pleasure is all mine.’

    Aomiya brushed his hair out of his forehead with one hand; it was a gesture that made him look like a decent man.  That motion bumped into several marionettes, making a dry sound.

       “That's some weird fashion. Do you think he lives like that?”

    Nice quipped. Murasaki replied indifferently,

     “It’s probably part of the production, since he’s a doll-maker and all. Can’t say it’s a good hobby, though.”

      Hajime, uninterested, averted her eyes from the television and continued to drink her milk.

      Koneko smiled wryly and opened her mouth,     “It stands out, so isn’t that a good thing? You can’t go wrong with it, it’s a famous doll exhibit.”

      “Koneko, do you want to go?” Nice asked.

      “No, not really... Actually, dolls that look just like humans are a little creepy...”

      “Creepy?”

      “Uhhm, you know. Isn’t it like those urban legends? Where they dress up human beings to make them living dolls... O— of course, I don’t believe in such urban legends.”

    Koneko quickly shook her hands in front of her face as if to cover her expression. Nice chuckled.

      “I won’t laugh at you whether you believe those or not. But hm... Living dolls, huh?”

    Nice stared at the lifelike dolls next to Aomiya.

    The man called Aomiya was talking about something proudly, but his voice didn’t reach Nice’s ears.

      “—You’re right. It does give off a strange vibe. Plus it’s creepy and spooky.”

    It was when Nice coughed a small cough that the cafe door clicked and the bell on it rang.

      It seemed someone had arrived. Everyone except the one who was paying attention only to her milk saw who it was.

      There came a woman who was slightly overweight and dressed in brand.

    She looked to be in her forties; she held what looked like a branded handbag and wore unfashionable glasses with gilded rims and metal carvings.

    She raised her glasses above her eyes with a hand and surveyed the store restlessly.

     “I heard that the detective called Hamatora would be here.”

      “Oh, if you’re looking for Hamatora, that’s us.”

    Nice confidently raised his hand. The woman’s eyes widened behind her glasses; she was visibly doubtful.

    “...You?”

    The woman seemed to have thought ill of Nice’s appearance for a reason or another.

      When Nice noticed, he felt an instant irritation. Before Nice could say anything in retaliation, Murasaki had raised his hand after folding the newspaper and straightening his back.

     “Do you have a request? If that’s so, you can talk with me.”

    Unlike Nice, Murasaki is able to read the mood when it comes to others and phrase himself accordingly. This is a testament to his maturity.

      The woman initially looked at Murasaki from head to toe with contempt.

    Murasaki and Nice both wear street-style clothes, but thanks to his glasses, Murasaki appears more honest in disposition. The aggression disappeared from the woman’s eyes.

     “So there is someone here who I can talk with properly. Good.”

      “Then, have a seat,” Murasaki gestured to the table, inviting her.

      ‘Good’ my ass, Nice muttered, leaving the table abruptly and plopping down next to Hajime by the counter.

    “Piss off,” Nice grumbled in a whisper. Now now, Koneko hushed him in a low voice.

      The woman sat down on a chair Murasaki had pulled out for her, and did not even wait until Murasaki could seat himself opposite her before she started talking:

    “I want you to search for my daughter. You can do it, right?”

    While the woman was saying this highhandedly, Murasaki took his seat, unfazed.

      “A person-search request, I see. Of course, we can accept it. Could you share with me the specific circumstances?”

      The woman fidgeted and leaned towards Murasaki.

    “My daughter hasn’t come home in two days, and you know! You’ve heard of it, too, haven’t you? Of the cases of beautiful daughters going missing in this neighborhood. I’m almost sure, she must have gotten involved in an incident like that...”

    She continued without pausing for breath,

    “If she got caught up in that incident, oh, what will I do? This is why I don’t let her to go out even with her friends. Recently, though only once in a while, she’d be a little late to her curfew and I didn’t think much of it, but if the friend she went out with was a man, it could’ve been the criminal of the incident—”

    she kept rambling to Murasaki.

      “Ah, please calm down—”

      “How can I calm down—?! If I knew this was going to happen, I would’ve made her attend an all-girl’s school all this time from kindergarten! Why is such a thing happening to me? If I lose that child, whatever will I do—?”

    The woman was on the verge of a breakdown. As if to change the flow of the conversation, Murasaki picked up the newspaper he’d folded and set aside to spread it in front of her.

      “For now, could you read this article? Is it possible that perhaps your daughter is the one mentioned on this article about a missing person?”

      The woman fixed the position of her glasses and skimmed across the newspaper article. She seemed to regain composure.

    “Y—yes, that’s right. I also reported it to the police, but I couldn’t just stand still so I came here.”

    The woman pulled out an envelope from her handbag. It was considerably thick.

    “For the retainer fee and advanced payment for necessary expenses, I’ll deposit this much. I can guarantee twice this amount once my daughter is found safe and sound.”

      Koneko was the first to react to how thick the envelope was. She lit up, enthusiastically putting her hands together by her chest.

    “With just that, you could already pay off everything accumulated under your tab...”

      “Can’t be helped,” Master said, unmoving.

      Murasaki shifted his focus to Nice.

   “We’ll accept this request, okay—?”

     “No thanks.”

    Nice shot back instantly. Murasaki stood up, his chair skidding.

     “You’re still saying that? Just what on earth about this doesn’t sit right with you?”

      Nice spoke past Murasaki to the client:

    “Hey, just wondering. Haven’t you thought that your daughter going missing might just be her going out with a friend?”

      “Of course I have. In that case I would have asked her for her friend’s name!”

    the woman answered testily.

     “You probably don’t think about how your daughter feels. Don’t you think she felt suffocated at home and ran away?”

      “Suffocated? Impossible. She’s my only child and I care for her, I’ve given her a life without inconvenience. I let her take any class she wants, I give her enough pocket money. What else could she complain about?”

      “...That so?”

    It was all Nice said back, before getting up from the bar stool and heading for the exit of the cafe.

      “Hey, Nice!”

    Without looking back, Nice waved Murasaki off after hearing him.

      “You can handle it, Murasaki. I’ll go look for a job by myself.”

    He likes to have it his way, Nice heard Murasaki explain, but went on outside without stopping.

    He raised his arms and stretched them.

    “Having to breathe the same air as her feels so suffocating. Her daughter probably couldn’t breathe.”

    Anyway, Nice recollected his thoughts and headed out.

       “Even a detective can walk around without running into trouble. Well, at least for now, it’s peaceful like usual...”

    Fuwah, Nice yawned, as he strolled along the river that leads to the sea.

      The river flows under an elevated highway, and the riverbank is fortified by concrete, so it’s not very windy. On the far end of the boulevard across the river is the famous Yokohama Chinatown. Nice was walking from a back street along the river, a few minutes away from the bridge.

      “Guess I'll go to Chinatown. Where there’s a bunch of people, there’s bound to be some work!”

      Chinatown is well-known as the place to get meat buns. There are shops that sell steamed meat buns with shrimp, and fresh fruits. It’s a place where one can get good food anywhere.

      I’m starving, Nice groaned, thrusting a hand into his pocket.

    Nice felt the shapes of the coins with his fingers to count them, then hung his head.

    “...No good. It’s all I have, it’ll all be gone if I buy a meat bun. But eating that’ll keep me full for longer. It’s the only choice I have!”

    Nice raised his head with a bitter smile. Suddenly, he noticed a cruiser mooring close to the bank.

      It was a huge cruiser, one that looked like it could go out into the open sea. It just barely passed the bridge.

      “Is it really alright to stop a ship around here in this river? Won’t it break down like that? Ah, I mean, I’m sure a ship like that’s freaking expensive... I heard that even an ordinary one would cost a couple hundred million yen. I wonder what kind of guys buy that kind of... Ah— At the very least, I bet they don’t have to think about money all the time. I want to be like that so I can eat meat buns without worrying. Maybe I’ll go see the ocean for a change of pace.”

    Nice decided to ditch Chinatown for the sea; nearby is a park where one can look out into the ocean.

    He went on over to the wide crossing. Past it is the entrance to the park he was headed to.

      The pedestrian signals were red; Nice stopped walking when he saw it.

    Right next to Nice was a little girl he hadn’t noticed.  She was wearing a black dress that matched her long hair, with red shoes. Her height just barely reached Nice’s hip, and she looked like she was about kindergarten age.

    Her skin was so white it seemed almost transparent, and her features were remarkably fair. It all made her body up to look quite delicate.

      Kinda looks like a doll. That was Nice’s first impression of the little girl.

      Though the little girl was expressionless, she was looking all around her. She seemed to be looking for someone.

      Nice looked around the area as well. On the other end of the pedestrian crossing, there was a young boy, even smaller than the little girl, playing with what looked like a vinyl ball.

    “Hey, isn’t it a little dangerous to be playing with a ball on the sidewalk?”

    Nice had thought in that moment to call out even if he was all the way across the street.

      The ball rolled into the pavement, and the boy playing with it ran after it, not seeming to care that the pedestrian signals were red.

      “I said don’t play there!"

      Beside Nice who was surprised, a small shadow moved. Moving like she was weightless, the little girl came rushing onto the pedestrian lane, all the while the signals were still red.

      “Hey!!”

    Out of the corner of his eye, Nice spotted a large truck coming.

      When the truck caught sight of the young girl, the horn honked as the brakes screeched.

    But it was too late— it was obvious what was coming next.

      At this rate, the little girl was going to be hit by the truck right in front of Nice—

    Without missing a beat, Nice put on his headphones and snapped his fingers.

    The sound from his headphones drowned out the horn, and for a moment the world stopped moving.

      Everything stood still in an instant, the truck, the little girl— even the leaves falling from the trees by the street.

    The special ability Nice possessed, <Speed of Sound Minimum>, was activated.

      There exists a special ability that only a handful of people are naturally born with.

    A small miracle— a Minimum.

    That is, an ‘extraordinary individuality’ actualized.

    A person with a Minimum Ability is called a Minimum Holder, and Nice is one of them.

      With <Speed of Sound Minimum>, up to 5 meters from the activation point, Nice can run as if he were side by side with sound.

    But it goes by in the blink of an eye for anyone else.

      In a world where everything was stopped, Nice sprinted into the pedestrian crossing, grabbing the little girl less than a mere meter away from the truck’s bumper.

    —Isn’t this kid awfully light?

    With this iffy feeling, and with all his might, Nice flew forward. Right after this, the world started moving again.

      Once the sound of the truck brakes faded, surprised voices rang out:

    “Wha— what!? She disappeared!”

    “Wah—!”

      The road was more than five meters wide— more than Nice can use his Minimum.

    Nice would have been hit by another car on the other lane if he hadn’t made haste cutting across the pedestrian lane. But as he did, he kicked up the ball rolling by and started dribbling it like he would a football.

      It was only by the time Nice had gone past the pedestrian crossing that the car came to a complete stop. The driver shouted at him:

     “You idiot, you wanna fucking die?!”

      “No friggin’ way—”

    At Nice’s retort, the driver honked his horn even louder.

      The little boy who was playing with the ball was sitting on the curb of the street. His face was twisted in shock.

     “Wh-wh-what-t what—”

    The little boy got on his feet with a start and burst into tears.

      “Ah, I didn’t do anything!”

    the driver cried irresponsibly, starting his car and fleeing.

      Confused, Nice forgot all about putting down the little girl he was holding.

    “Hey, I won’t know what to do if you cry like that, you know?”

    Nice took the ball he was dribbling and passed it deftly towards the chest of the crying boy in a loose arc.

      The boy caught it quickly, still in tears.

      “My child, why are you crying?!”came a woman’s hysterical voice from beside them. Nice saw a young woman with gaudily-done makeup making her way towards them with heavy steps. She seemed to be the mother of the little boy.

      “Oh, no, I didn’t make him cry—”

      “But he’s definitely crying! And just now I saw you kick the ball with your feet!”

    The woman lifted the little boy, moving him away from Nice.

       “No, that’s— I mean, I did kick the ball, but that’s not why he’s crying—”

     “God, young people these days sure are rotten, bullying little children like this.  I’m calling the police right now, don’t move!”

    she spat, holding her child and stomping away.

      “What’s with that woman? If she cares about her child so much, she shouldn’t let him play ball in a place like this!”

    Nice muttered, finally thinking to let the little girl down. But as he did, she clutched onto Nice’s clothes, refusing to let go.

    “Guess there’s no way around it. It’ll be annoying if the police come, so why don’t we escape while we can?”

    Still carrying the little girl, Nice made a beeline for the park.

      In the park facing the sea, there’s a terminal for boarding pleasure cruises. Anchored right next to it is a large cargo ship that people can visit for observations or field trips any time.

    There weren’t many people in the park. From the nearby boulevard, one could hear the sound of cars passing by and sea birds chirping, making it a relaxing atmosphere.

      Nice deemed their position to be far away enough from the crossing. He settled beside the fountain in the center of the park and drew a breath.

    “Hah. Whew. I wonder if the police can track us all the way over here... But, well, as long as you’re here you can tell them about what actually happened, right?”

      “Yo, broke detective. You having so much trouble getting anything to eat these days that you switched jobs to kidnapping?”

    said a teasing voice. Hearing these words, Nice panicked and whipped around.

    There, he found a man wearing sunglasses, a thin smile playing on his lips.

      It was someone Nice has gotten along with for a long time. His name is Birthday; he works as a handyman.

      “Don’t talk shit about people like that, Birthday. Who the heck are you calling a kidnapper?!”

      “Well of course, you, Nice.”

      “You’ve got it all wrong. This kid was about to get run over by a truck, I just helped her. Right?”     Nice prompted, putting down the little girl he’d been carrying. She wordlessly tilted her head.

    “You were thinking of helping that kid with the ball earlier, too, right? That was really reckless, damn.”

      The little girl did not respond to anything Nice was saying. She only looked up at Nice, staring, completely expressionless.

    Her eyes were so pure and clear that Nice felt like he could be sucked into them when he saw his reflection.

    Feeling disarmed, Nice looked away. Then Birthday questioned him,

      “By the way, who is this cute little kid?”

      “No idea.”

      “Then, it’s a case of a lost child, isn’t it? If it’s like than, then leave it to Birthday-sama!”

    Birthday sucked in a rough breath and puffed his chest out proudly.

      “The heck are you acting all high and mighty for now?”

      “From little girls to older women, I’m a friend to every lady, didn’t you hear?”

      “Oh yeah? And what if the lost child was a boy?”

      “A boy? Well, a man must overcome difficulties on his own, of course!”

    Birthday exclaimed with a laugh, crouching down to be in level with the little girl. Still expressionless, the little girl tilted her head in the opposite direction.

    “Hello, little lady. First things first, come closer. Yup, yup.”

    Birthday closed his hand and presented it to her.

    Then he opened it to reveal small flowers. They looked like toy flowers.

      The little girl peered at the flowers but did nothing more. She remained expressionless.

      “Huh? You didn’t like that? Then, how about this?”

    He closed his hands around the flowers then held them wide open the next moment.

    There appeared little flags, the ones that looked like they would come on children’s meals. Out of nowhere, Nice laughed.

      “Ahaha, what a shabby magic trick—”

      “Nice, you bastard, it’s not cool to say shit like that!”

    Embarrassed and turning red, Birthday rushed to get back up.

      The little girl was still expressionless, and though subtle, she was trembling. She seemed surprised.

      “Birthday.  Is it me or did you just make her uncomfortable? Not a friend to ‘every lady’ now, are we?”

      “Tsk,” Birthday clicked his tongue. He plastered his smile back on and looked at the little girl.

     “Sorry, sorry. Don’t get mad, OK? From now on, I’ll only give my best, so could you please cheer up?”

      The little girl blinked. Though she was still expressionless, there appeared to be expectation in her eyes.

      “Your best, huh?” Nice mocked.

      “It’s gonna be good, so just watch.”

    From the pocket of his pants, Birthday slowly slipped out something that resembled a rope. There were countless LED lights attached to a wire cable; they were used to decorate Christmas trees.

    “And here—”Birthday threw the lights up and twirled, swinging it as if it were a rhythmic gymnastics ribbon, turning round and round until it was wrapped around him.

    Then, with his empty hand, Birthday took a stun-gun from somewhere.

    “Here it goes!! Ahm—”

    Birthday had opened his mouth wide and put the stungun in it, then switched it on. A zap, then there was electricity— Birthday’s hair stood on end for a moment.

    Lightning coiled around the hand he was using to hold the wire, then all at once the decorative LED lights lit up.

      Using <Electric Shock Minimum>, Birthday can freely manipulate and amplify electricity through his body. Just like Nice, he is a Minimum Holder.

      Nice and Birthday have known each other since they were much younger. When they were kids, they met at Facultas, a top academy and educational institution that gathers Minimum Holders and gives them special training.

    Both of them dropped out of the Academy— Birthday for health reasons, and Nice for his own reasons.

      Teeth to the stun-gun, Birthday made a cocky face.

    “Fhowizt, cuztomwahn—!”

      “How is it, customer-san? is what he said. Should just friggin’ take the stun-gun out.”

    Nice commented. Birthday lowered his stun-gun, striking a pose as the decorations sparkled with electricity.

      “What do you think now, Nice? Right now I’m shining just like a human Christmas tree!”

      “It’s not shining anymore, though. Looks like she’s not buying it.”

     “For real—?”

    Birthday looked back at the little girl in dismay. Despite having a curious look in her eyes, she was still expressionless.

      “Maybe if it were actually Christmas, she’d take it, don’t you think, Birthday?”

      “To think that even this won’t work...  She’s so hard to please, this little girl. A world where I can’t even make children laugh— it’s just so damn sad...”     After saying a such a lofty thing, Birthday fell to his knees.

      “Let me take it from here, Birthday! I want to make children laugh, too.”

    Nice held his hand out to Birthday. Birthday grasped it tightly.

      “...I’ll leave this to you. If anyone can find the perfect quick trick, it’d be Nice-kun, ‘Hama’s laughingstock!”

      “Who are you calling a laughingstock? Don’t friggin’ call me that.”

    Nice complained, smiling anyway. He stuffed a hand into his pocket and took all the coins there, then opened his palm in front of the little girl.

    “Here. Two one-hundred-yen coins, one fifty-yen coin, and three ten-yen coins. This is all I have right now.”

      “That’s a pathetic amount, you can’t even use it to buy a meat bun in Chinatown.  Even a meat bun is about three hundred yen.”

    dissed Birthday. Nice countered,

      “Sometimes you can get it by haggling! Don’t say useless things!”

      Fine, fine, Birthday backed off, shrugging his shoulders.

      Nice shifted his gears, speaking to the little girl again:

     “Ah, well... This money is super important to me. It’s something you should never let go. Do you understand?”

      After a short pause and a gulp, the little girl nodded.

    “That’s why, this money will never go away. Even if you do something like this!”

    Nice gripped the coins then tossed them all up in the air.

      The little girl’s round eyes watched the coins fly towards the sky.

    While she was distracted, Nice put on his headphones.     She could only watch as all the coins fell from the sky, to a distance Nice’s hands could reach.

      —Perfect. I calculated correctly. Throwing them upwards was a good idea.

    Nice snapped his fingers and activated his <Speed of Sound Minimum>.

    Right when the coins stopped falling, the water fountain behind Nice also froze, like a crystal sculpture.

    Nice plucked the coins out of the air one by one. With the last coin in Nice’s hand, the water in the fountain started moving again. The Minimum’s effect had run out.

    Nice took off his headphones and offered his closed fist to the girl, opening it with a tada!

    On his palm were the exact same number of coins he’d shown her earlier.

    “See? Something important like this won’t just disappear!”     Nice put the coins back in his pocket triumphantly.

      Boo, boo! Birthday hurled his booing at Nice.

    “Why would she buy something like that? Didn’t you just totally rip us off? You totally cheated and used your Minimum!”

      “Didn’t you use your Minimum too, Birthday?!”

      “Okay, that’s true, but you couldn’t make her laugh either!”

      “No way!” exclaimed Nice, looking the little girl over again.

    Nice, just like Birthday did earlier, fell to his knees.

     “If I made a wrong move then I could’ve lost all my money for nothing...”

     “Yeah, this one’s a tough cookie...”

    Birthday sniffed loudly and turned away from the little girl, shaking Nice’s shoulders.

       “This one little girl, we can’t make her laugh,” Nice wailed. “...It’s hopeless...” Birthday admitted.

      Without Birthday nor Nice realizing it, a small group of people had gathered around them in a circle.

    It’s because they kept doing things that made them stand out.

    However, neither Nice nor Birthday cared much for the onlookers. The only thing they cared about was the little girl in front of them who wouldn’t laugh. Nice and Birthday croaked out:

       “But Birthday, we...”

     “Yeah, Nice. We can’t let it end like this.”

      They felt in sync with their determination. There was only one thing left they could do. They shouted, voices overlapping: “Our Last-ditch Attempt!” “Our Secret Technique!”

    ‘Funny faces!’

    Using all their fingers, Nice and Birthday pulled as many funny faces as they could think of.

      Laughter erupted from the circle of spectators.

    “The heck is that?” “Super weird!” “They’ve gone crazy!” “Young people sure are full of energy!”

    Everyone around them was buying it. Except the most crucial one of them; the little girl didn’t even crack a smile.

      Nice and Birthday moved their hands off their faces and let them fall, lowering their heads.

    “Hey, Birthday. We did all we could, right?”

    “We did. We really did all we could, Nice.”

      But just as Nice and Birthday said that, the little girl touched their heads with her small hands.

      As soon as she did, for a moment, an image of a girl flashed in Nice’s mind.

    “Wha— just now—?” “What did I just see?”

    Nice and Birthday looked at each other.

      “Just now, did you see it too, Birthday?  That girl?”

    “Yeah, I saw it! I’m not a lolicon, but that girl looked cute, whoa!”

      A beautiful girl: these are the words that fit her. She looked to be around elementary-age.

    She had long, glossy black hair. She had a somber look on her face, but it was a look that was suited features.

    Her beauty, almost artificial, somehow resembled that of the little girl who wouldn’t laugh.

    The little girl withdrew her hands from Nice’s and Birthday’s heads. She was as expressionless as ever, but Nice felt like he could see something in her eyes.

      “...Could it be, you were looking for that girl?”

      Languidly, the little girl bowed her head.

      “You want us to look for her. Is that what you’re hoping?”

      The little girls eyes wavered. She hesitated, but even if it was a small one she had given a nod.

    Help me. Nice felt as if he heard a voice call out to him.

      “Alright. I accept your request.”

    Nice stood up, carelessly wiping his palm off on his shirt before holding it out towards the girl in greeting.

    Very nervously, the girl let Nice shake her hand. Her fingers were unusually stiff, unlike how soft her childlike face appeared.

    Nice tucked the sense of discomfort away in the back of his mind and introduced himself:

    “I’m Nice. I’m a detective.”

      Birthday got up cheerfully and started gathering the lights he’d tangled all around his body.

    “Then shall we? You gotta do some work to find people, you know... Hi, hi, sorry for the ruckus~”

   Birthday sang to the crowd, out of courtesy, before he began to walk.

      Slightly surprised, Nice asked Birthday:

    “You’re gonna help me? We’re not gonna make any money out of this. And actually, Birthday, don’t you have any handyman work today?”

      Birthday stopped to spare him a glance.

    “Work? Well, there was a request to be some disagreeable fella’s bodyguard, but that’s fine. I mean, since it’s come to this, we should listen to the wishes of a girl who’s so troubled she can’t even smile.”

      “So that’s it,” Nice laughed in agreement. Then, taking little girl’s hand, he began to walk as well.

    “‘Cause there really are some things more important than money.”

  ✢

     “Sheesh, that Nice. He really does just do things his way.”

    Murasaki complained to himself after the client who requested the search for her daughter left. Damn it, Murasaki sighed.

    “...I know you’ve told me before, Nice, we have to only accept serious requests. I get where you’re coming from. But that’s not how the world works. Not everyone will understand what you believe. So I end up having no choice but to do this.”

      Since that woman client had left, there were no other customers in Nowhere. It’s fine to check how much this is now, right? thought Murasaki as he opened the envelope containing the advance payment.

    The envelope was snatched from beside him. Murasaki turned in that direction in surprise, shifting his eyeglasses. There Koneko was smling widely, envelope in hand.

    “Hey, what are you doing all of a sudden—”

      “It’s not all of a sudden or anything. I’ll take care of this, for the stuff that needs to be paid off.”

    Though Koneko was smiling, the light in her eyes shone with conviction. Murasaki let out another sigh, smaller this time.

      “Can’t do anything about that, we have been borrowing money. That’s mostly Nice’s fault... If there’s any money left after the overdue fee for using the table, and that idiot’s tab for food and drinks are all paid off, give it to me.”

      “Mhm, I’ll properly and fairly return what’s left of it after everything’s paid off...”

    Koneko nodded repeatedly, looking quite satisfied. Murasaki readjusted his glasses with a hand, getting up after looking towards where the woman had entered before handing them the envelope paying for her daughter’s search.

    “Are you going out, Murasaki-san?”

      “Searching for people takes hard work and a lot of time. I don’t have the luxury to be warming chairs with my ass.”

       “Take care,”

    Koneko called out, wishing Murasaki off.

    At that moment, Murasaki heard Hajime order, “Three large servings of curry. On Nice’s tab.” But Murasaki, thinking he had no obligation to tell Nice about it, let himself forget all about it right on the spot.

    He was only thinking about the request he’d just accepted.

    “At any rate, it’d be best if I could get any help.”

    Right as he left the cafe, Murasaki brought out his smartphone. He dialed a contact he considered reliable, hoping he would answer. After two rings, the call went through.

      ‘Murasaki? What is it?’

      “Ratio, do you have a minute?”

      On the other end of the call was a man named Ratio. He is a doctor who works for a large hospital, but he is also Birthday’s partner in handyman work.

    ‘Yeah, it’s fine. I’m free, I got off just now.’

      Thinking of Ratio's appearance, that he’s always wearing a white coat and an eyepatch on his right eye, Murasaki continued:

    “You’re free? Great, I want you to ask Birthday to help out with a request. It’s to search for someone.”

      ‘Unfortunately, I’m the only one on who’s free. It’s Birthday’s fault.’

      Upon hearing Ratio’s explanation, Murasaki got a good grasp of the situation.

    “...So your playboy went off somewhere and left you with all the work too, huh?”

      ‘There was a bodyguard job request but it seems he’s got some more important business to take care of. In any case, it’s probably about a girl— So, what’s the plan? If you’re fine with me, I can help you out. I’m off work today because I spend my unpaid leaves to help Birthday with his odd jobs.’

      Ratio is more coolheaded than Murasaki, and also more mature. But from his placid tone, Murasaki could sense his frustration. Phew, Murasaki sighed lightly.

    “...We both suffer, don’t we?”

      ‘I’m used to it. You, too, Murasaki, you’ll get used to it eventually. Truth be told, if we get angry at our partners every time, there’ll never be an end to it.’

    Ratio chuckled. It made Murasaki feel at ease.

      Ratio and Murasaki, just like Nice and Birthday, are from Facultas. Ratio dropped out of the academy in the same season as Birthday, while Murasaki studied at the Kansai campus of Facultas, so they weren’t acquainted during their time as students.

    Murasaki only met Ratio in the last year when he quit the academy. And though they haven’t known each other for very long, Ratio has become someone Murasaki can count on.

      Birthday and Nice are the same breed, so Ratio’s suffering is something I can understand.

    Without voicing his empathy, Murasaki spoke,

    “No end to it, huh... You’re right about that. All we can do is fulfill the requests we accepted— It’d be better to tell you all the details by showing you. Can you leave there?”

      ‘I can, no problem. Should I go to Nowhere?’

      “No, let’s go to another cafe. There’s one closer to the hospital where you work, right, Ratio? There would be fine.”

       ‘Roger that. I’ll go right now, meet you there.’

      “Right, thanks.”

    Once the call was over, Murasaki began putting his phone in his pocket but stopped his hand mid-gesture.

    “...Should I call Nice? Nah, I won’t. Since it’s him, he’s probably started doing something else. Well... He’s probably not gonna get any money out of it though.”

    Laughing once, Murasaki put his smartphone in his pocket and headed for the meeting place.

  ✢

       Once Murasaki had gone out, Koneko brought out a laptop she uses specifically for bookkeeping and began to work on accounting; her first order of business, naturally, was liquidating Nice’s debt.

    “Master, can I have the account book with Nice-kun’s tab?”

      “Wait for a while... I’m finishing a serving, see.”

    Master put out the dish for Hajime’s order of large curry servings.

    On the large dish was more than twice as much rice and curry as there would be on a regular serving.

      Hajime is a small girl and looks delicate, but she loves eating, and she loves eating a lot. Her large curry was three serving’s worth.

    Having been waiting with a spoon in hand, Hajime tasted the curry as soon as she received it.

      “Now, to get that book...”

    Master retreated into the backroom of the cafe. Seeing him turn his back, Koneko began to type away at the keyboard.

      Koneko stopped her hands for a second to look at Hajime.

    “Ah, I just remembered! Hajime-chan, Hajime-chan, can I ask you to do me one favor?”

      Her cheeks stuffed with curry, Hajime replied:

    “Me? What?”

      “Ah, well, there’s a book I’d like you to buy.  Just a magazine with shoujo manga.”

      Hajime swallowed the food in her mouth and drank some water before answering.

    “Right now, I’m facing off with this curry with everything I’ve got, so I can’t.”

       After answering frankly, Hajime turned away and started eating her curry again. To her profile, Koneko said,

    “If you go buy it, I’ll make you a parfait to go with that.”

      Hajime about-faced instantaneously, and without even changing her expression, complied.

    “Tell me the title of the magazine. As Hamatora Detective Agency’s number one assistant, I’ll acquire the magazine without fail.”

      “Really?! This month’s issue is going to be sold out soon because it has rare bonus materials! Can you do it now?”

      “Just one second. I’m gonna finish my food first.”

    Hajime vigorously shoveled spoonful after spoonful of curry into her mouth. Koneko watched as the big serving of curry disappeared. Lastly, Hajime finished her cup of water and put her spoon down.

    “Thanks for the meal. Tell Master that I’m having my second serving with that parfait when I get back.”

      “You got it. Now here’s the title of the magazine and money to buy it.”

    Koneko handed Hajime a 500-yen coin and a memo with the magazine’s title on it. Hajime glanced at the memo and put it in her pocket along with the coins.

      “Roger. I’ll get going now.”

    she said in her usual bland tone, and with light footsteps, as if she were skipping, Hajime left the cafe. As if to replace her, another girl in the same generation as Hajime entered the cafe.

      It was a sweet-looking girl with beautiful big blue eyes, and long blonde hair tied into twin tails. She was wearing a white coat that was reminiscent of a researcher’s lab gown.

    “Hi, Koneko. Long time no see~”

      “Ah, Honey-san, welcome!”

      Honey. She is half-German, half-American. She and Koneko are acquaintances.

      “Oh? Where’s Nice and the others? Out on a job?”

      “Nice-kun and the others went out just a while ago, do you have business with them?”

      “Nhn, not really. Just kinda wanted to see them. I’m meeting with Art today. Do you mind if I kill some time here?”

      “Not at all. Please go sit at any table you like.”

    Closing the laptop, Koneko switched her mind into service mode.

    Koneko immediately prepared a tray with cold water and a moistened hand towel, then headed towards Honey’s table.

    “Are you ready to order?”

      “Then, your house-blend. No need for milk and sugar.”

      Koneko felt like she’d heard somewhere at some point that Germans like to drink good coffee.

    If you look at her, you’d guess she’d be more of a tea person. But to begin with, she’s also part-American, isn’t she? I wonder if Americans like coffee over tea, too...

    Thinking this but deciding not to say anything unnecessary, Koneko took her order.

    “Got that... Wait a second, Master hasn’t come back yet...”

      As if on cue, with perfect timing as Koneko turned around, Master had reappeared with a notebook in one hand.

    “Here’s the account book— oh, a customer? What’s the order?”

    Master set the notebook down somewhere within his reach and put his working face on.

      “Our house-blend,” said Koneko. Master started preparing the coffee drip right away.

      Honey felt a tad bit sheepish.

    “Could I have gotten in the way of you doing some accounting work?”

      “Ah, don’t worry about it. It’s just about liquidating Nice-kun’s tab, so I can push it off.”

      “Liquidating his tab? Did he get some incidental income?”

      Nice is always in a tight spot at the end of the year; Anyone who knows Nice even a little can guess that he’s that type of person.

      “Yes, that’s right. It’s from a payment for a request Murasaki-san accepted, to search for someone.”

      “Search for someone?” inquired Honey. Koneko pondered how she should reply.

      Honey works as a bodyguard. With a great man named Three, they take requests to just about anywhere in the world, not only to be bodyguards but also to clean up messes.

    Since they are agents effective at resolving messes, they also often receive requests from even the police.

    The person Honey said she was meeting is Art, a police detective from the Yokohama Police.

      As it seemed, the request Murasaki had accepted might also concern the police. If there is a connection between his case and the continuous disappearance of attractive women, Murasaki might find himself involved.

      A detective’s gone off to go look for a missing person. Koneko wondered what Art and Honey would think.

    In some cases, civilians will just do more than they have to even if everyone’s told to practice caution, so it’s not that strange.

    —Koneko thought better than to say anything.

    “As an intermediary for Hamatora Detective Agency, I cannot divulge any details.”

    Koneko wore a business smile. Honey giggled.

      “If it’s not gonna mess with the police, you would tell me, right?”

    It appeared Koneko was found out. Having no choice, Koneko smiled timidly.

    “As expected of Honey-san who has the <Information Analysis> minimum.”

      Honey was in the same batch as Nice, Birthday, Ratio, and Art at the Academy. While Nice and the others dropped out, only Honey and Art graduated.

      Honey’s Minimum Ability allows her to predict up to ten minutes into the future through a unique urban-grasping system application that she developed herself, <Mighty Script>, with the help of her special computer terminal, a tablet called  <Mighty>. But just now, Honey didn’t use <Mighty>.

    “I didn’t have to go as far as to use my Minimum, it was simple reasoning. I was just wondering if that has something to do with why Art called me. I won’t ask anymore. I’ll keep it from Art for you, too, at least for now.”

      “Thank you very much.”

    Koneko bowed after seeing Honey smile.

    “By the way,” Koneko changed the topic. “So it’s gotten to this point, Honey-san, you and Art-san. I wonder how that will go?”

      “How what will go?”

      “Aren’t you two getting together? Uhm, I suppose you guys suit each other...”

      Honey’s eyes grew wide.

    “Me and Art?”

    Right after she said that, she started cackling,

    “Ahahahaha! I’ve never thought of that!”

      “W—was... Was what I said really that weird?”

    Koneko asked, feeling extremely flustered. After a while, Honey stopped laughing out loud and flashed her another small smile.

      “Well, if it weren’t a weird thing, I wouldn’t have a weird reaction, right? But Art, huh...  He’s like my comrade in arms.”

      “Comrade in arms?”

      “That’s right. Art is someone I respect, and I have faith in him. If a situation ever comes where he has to shoot me, I won’t even have a problem with it because I believe in him.”

      “...Somehow, that kind of relationship is better than being lovers...”

      “I don’t think about it that way. Like, sure it’s special but it’s not about being lovers.”

      The expression on Honey’s face changed suddenly; Koneko thought it was the expression of an innocent girl. No doubt that Honey has someone she’s interested in, Koneko thought.

    Someone popped into Koneko’s head; a big man who always had an austere look on his face— It was Three.

    Honey and Three are as far apart in age as a parent and child would be.

    No way, that’s not possible. With this in mind, Koneko decided to ask anyway,

    “I know you’ve been working with Three-san for a long time, right? What about Three-san?”

      Honey’s face suddenly flared, and she blushed up to her ears.

    “Wh-wh-wh-what are you saying so suddenly, I didn’t hear—?”

    Honey hurriedly gulped down some water, choked, then ended up coughing.

      Koneko watched Honey with a warm smile.

    —Ah, so is that it...?

      After a long while, Honey wiped her face with a handkerchief she took out from somewhere and spoke with it over her mouth:

    “Th—that guy, look, he’s got that kind of face but he’s actually sensitive— I mean, he’s got plenty of soft spots here and there, too. He’s got some weird hobbies like reading shoujo manga, but it’s also kinda endearing... Ah, oh no, what am I saying? Geez, it’s because Koneko asked—!”

      —Uhm. I don’t remember ever asking about that much though...

      As Koneko troubled herself over how to respond to that, the scent of coffee suddenly spread throughout the cafe.

      “Coffee’s ready,” Master announced.

      “Well would you look at that! Go and bring it here!” Honey commanded hastily, as if to dodge further questions.

      Feeling deeply relieved, Koneko smiled, said “Yes, I’ll be right back,” and went back to the counter.

      On the tray was a cup of coffee on a saucer as well as a few almond chocolates on a small dish.

    “Just a little extra service.”

    Past Honey’s exchange with Koneko, Honey might be able to feel grateful for Master’s thoughtfulness.

      Thank you very much, Koneko said to Master before taking the coffee.

    When Koneko had delivered the coffee to the table, a young man entered the cafe.

      He had shadowy but delicate features, and a lithe body dressed properly in a suit.

    “Hello,” he greeted in a refreshing voice; it was a police inspector from the Yokohama police department, Art.

      Honey turned around and waved at him.

    “Hi, Art!”

      “Sorry for being a little late. Koneko, could I ask for a cup of tea?”

    Having apologized to Honey and ordered from Koneko in the same breath, Art took a seat opposite Honey at her table.

      “Yes, tea coming right up. Please wait for a little.”

      Koneko glanced at Master. Without her having to repeat the order, Master had already begun preparing tea. Art’s usual order is tea, and Koneko mused that she’d never seen Art drink coffee.

    “Oh, Art-san, won’t you try some coffee next time? It’s delicious, Master’s coffee.”

      “The truth is, I’m really not a coffee person. It’s my bad, even though you’re very considerate.”

    Art said with shame, chuckling wryly.

      “Ah, my bad as well for saying something unnecessary, I’m sorry. I’ll be quiet so I don’t interrupt you anymore.”

    After apologizing, Koneko left the table. Art then turned to Honey.

      “You guys coming is a big help, Honey. What business do you guys have in Japan? If you guys are very busy, I won’t bother you anymore.”

    Art told Honey. She made a slightly off-putting expression and made a sidelong glance.

      “...It’s Three.  He said there’s a shoujo manga magazine that he really wants to get today.”

      A shoujo manga magazine? Those words worried Koneko but she didn’t say anything so as not to disrupt the mood of their talk.

      “Ah, now that you mention it, Sensei does really like shoujo manga.”

      Art calls Three sensei. Three is a guru of a military-style ‘command self-defense’ type of wrestling.

    Three is also adept in Jiu Jitsu, and Art had learned Judo from him.

      Art continued after getting that remark out,

    “But is it really worth all the effort to go buy them physically? Electronic versions are available these days.”

      “It’s pretty difficult to get the magazines overseas as it is, and somehow the e-versions are less interesting. But it’s a good thing, isn’t it? Because we get to see each other like this now. So, what do we have to do?”

    Honey’s expression became thoughtful, as did Art’s.

    “I need you to do something for me, even if it’s just for today. I’m certain that your information-processing ability will be a great help.”

      “Had a feeling it would be that. Can I have the info ASAP?”

      “Yeah.” Art brought something out from the pocket of his suit, then he looked towards Koneko.

    “Where are Nice and the others today?”

      “They’re out. I don’t think they’ll be back for a while.”

      “That’s a relief. This time, these photos really can’t be shown to anyone except people involved in the investigation. Koneko, you too, could you pretend you didn’t see anything?”

      “I understand,” Koneko replied. With a small nod, Art spread out the articles on the tabletop.

      There were five photos, all of which were of young and attractive women.

    Additionally, there were five sheets of printed paper.

    They seemed to contain succinct summaries of the women in the photos.

      “Recently, there have been incidents of girls disappearing quickly one after the other. Although there’s a possibility that they were kidnapped, we hardly know anything yet.”

      “I read about the incident on the newspaper before I came here. Well, I’ll borrow those for a bit.”

    Honey fished her computer terminal tablet out of her bag. It contained an urban-grasping system application called <Mighty Script>; it is also called <Mighty>.

     Using the camera on <Mighty>, Honey took photo after photo of the documents.

    <Mighty> then displayed the photos and profiles that were converted into data.

    Honey organized the information on <Mighty>, taking sips of her coffee every once in a while. She put one almond chocolate in her mouth and bit down on it, muttering once she was sure,

    “...I got it.”

      “Have you already figured out what’s behind the situation?!”

      “Don’t be so hasty, Art, it isn’t like you. What I got is that the information is severely insufficient. Even if I use my Minimum, it wouldn’t be enough.”

      “...My bad, it wasn’t in my place to go off.”

    Despondently, Art shrank back, and the cafe quieted all over.

      “Tea’s ready.”

    Master announced. Koneko went to the counter and carried back a tray with nothing but black tea on it this time.

      “Sorry to make you wait.”

      “...Thank you.”

    To cool his head, Art took a sip of the black tea.

    “In times like these, when you think about the horrible things those missing people must be going through, it’s so hard to calm down no matter what I do. The only thing I can do are straightforward investigations.”

    Because unlike you guys, I don’t have a Minimum.     Art said this in a long breath.

      Art was also from Facultas. However, unlike Nice and the others, Art did not have a Minimum Ability. Though he exhibited Minimum Aptitude, he could not manifest it into an ability.

    Neverthelesss, putting great effort into everything, Art managed to graduate Facultas with an exceptional record.

    After graduating from Facultas, he passed the Government Employee Career Exam, and young as he was, attained his position as police superintendent. He is seen by the police organization to be an extremely excellent officer with a very promising future.

    There was absolutely no one who had ridiculed Art’s efforts, and no one who could even come close to him.

      “Alright, time to hurry this up.”

    Honey drank all her coffee and put the rest of the almond chocolates in her mouth. While chewing, she put <Mighty> in her bag and got up.

      “This information really is nowhere near enough. So first of all, let’s use these photos and get more information. What’s that you said, Art— don’t you think everything starts with a good, straightforward investigation?”

      “I guess so.”

    The determination returned to Art’s face.

    “I’m sorry, Master. Looks like I won’t be able to finish all the tea you brewed for me. I’ll leave my payment here. I’ll drop by again, please send my regards to Nice and the others, too.”

    Art cleaned up the materials he laid out on the table, pulled out two bills from his wallet, and set them down.

      There was obviously more money than was payment for both the tea and the coffee, but Koneko accepted it without trouble, knowing it was hush money for the information she’d seen.

    “Yes, we’ll look forward to your next visit. Please take care.”

    Koneko saw Art and Honey off with a smile, then took to cleaning the table.

    She tilted her head slightly.

    “A shoujo manga he wants to get today, was it? Three-san will probably run into Hajime-chan, won’t he? This month’s issue will be super rare...  What if they clash—? No, no, that won’t happen...”

    Koneko interrupted herself with a giggle, then went back to doing accounting for Nice’s debt.

  ✢

       “Hey, you foreign-looking guy over there, hold it!”

    called a girl’s voice at the street corner, to a man whose big, martial-arts body was covered in a pastor’s vestments—

      Three stopped in his tracks to turn around and was mildly surprised to see someone unexpected.

    “If it isn’t Hajime. What is it?”

      Three and Hajime are acquainted with each other. They have seen each other several times.

      “Ah, it’s Three. Now that I look at you, your face is pretty scary.”

      Because Hajime raised her voice, he had a surprised look on his face.

    On Three’s big, square-ish face is his nose, thickly sculpted and reminiscent of a lion. There is also a scar that looks like an X, spanning from his forehead, through his eyebrows, all the way to his cheeks.

    He always has such a serious look on his face that children could cry if he approached. But even if he looked like this, he’s actually fond of children.

      “Sorry for my scary face. What do you want, Hajime?”

    he asked, in a low and soft tone that was gentlemanly. Hajime answered after a short silence,

      “The clerk at the convenience store said that a foreign-looking guy bought that last copy. So, please give it to me. I can pay for it with money properly.”

      In Three’s hands was a plastic bag from the convenience store, and in it was the shoujo manga magazine.

      I came to Japan because I really wanted it on the release date, but the bookstore I went to was sold out already by some fate, and I finally found it in a convenience store and bought it right out of their storefront inventory.

    Oh no, Three groaned. It was the wish of a child. Any other time, he would have given it away without hesitating, and for free, too.

    However, he couldn’t let go of this one volume so easily.

    It was because this was a completely new work with unserialized stories from one of Three’s favorite manga authors who hasn’t announced new content in several years.

    “...It pains me to say this, but I can’t hand this magazine over.”

      “—Even if I said I would pay for it with money? You won’t change your mind?”

      “I absolutely can’t. If you’ve looked all over the place for this, too, Hajime... Then you’ll understand. If I miss out on this, I might never get my hands on it ever again. I have a good reason not to give up on it.”

      “Me too, I have a good reason not to give up on it. Even if I have to beat you up or kill you, I’ll pay for it.”

      Three couldn’t have known that Hajime’s reason for not yielding was so that she could have a parfait.

    Judging by Hajime’s weighty words and the serious look on her face, Three thought that it must have been a deep reason.

      “It’s in my principle not to wage violence against girls... But I don’t think I can give up, no matter what. I have no choice. I’ll have to treat becoming your opponent as training.”

      There was a time not long ago when Three had fought Hajime; he was aware of how strong Hajime was.

      Three, thinking it wouldn’t be right of him to hold back on a girl like Hajime, put the plastic bag containing the magazine on a nearby post.

    “If you defeat me, just take it. At that time, the payment won’t be necessary anymore.”

      “I said I would pay for it!”

    Then, Hajime disappeared in a flash.

      “What—?!”

      Hajime caught Three off guard, and he was wide open. Three felt wind blow behind him.

      Instinctively, Three turned around, and came a few centimeters face to face with the heel of Hajime’s boot.

    Her kick was aimed right at his chin. Three felt a chill run up his spine.

      Hajime’s kick, targeted at Three’s face, relentlessly blew through in a sharp arc.

      Three crossed his arms in front of him and took the attack.

    Three immediately felt the impact on his arms.

      Hajime’s body is small and light, but if she put enough power into it she could have easily fractured Three’s face.

    Her technique was beyond even a karate dojo’s instructor.

      —Her skill’s even sharper than when we fought before. Does that mean she wasn’t serious then?

    So you can do this much if you get serious. Three braced himself.

    If I draw this fight out, I might get myself injured by Hajime one way or another.

    If I want to make this quick, I have to do a locking technique in Judo and make her give up.

      Three is a guru of a ‘command self-defense’ type of wrestling. He knows throwing techniques, locking techniques, even strangleholds; there was no way he could lose in a professional fight.

      —It’s awful of me, but I have to get serious now!     Dropping his guard, Three caught Hajime’s ankle as she kicked him. He planned to put pressure on her ankle while he was at it.

      But the moment Three caught Hajime’s ankle, she punched his elbow.

    The precise blow numbed Three all the way to his fingertips, making him release Hajime’s ankle from his hold.

      Hajime just did a move from Chinese martial arts when she raised the knuckle of her middle finger in her fist and sharply struck Three’s elbow.

    Then from that extreme stance, Hajime flipped backwards away from Three.

    She landed on her feet without a sound. That movement made her look as flexible as a cat.

      “Ryuuzu-ken is a difficult move to master. You might get injured if you don’t train yourself to do it properly.”

      “Ryuu-what-ken? I didn’t know it was called like that. I just know it hurts a lot when I do it.”

    Hajime usually wears fingerless gloves that have small, protective armor shells. They reduced the effect of the Ryuuzu-ken by half, but also reduced the damage that would come back to her by that much.

    After swaying, Hajime took her stance once more. Her body was utterly overflowing with endless power.

    “So? Do you feel like giving up now?”

    Although she looked like a child, within her was an elite fighter. Three acknowledged Hajime.

      “You’re really formidable, Hajime.”

    A big smile grew on Three’s lips.

    “How interesting! I said this would only be training, but that’s okay! I’ll take you on seriously as my opponent!”

      Three is a Minimum Holder that possesses the <Beast Minimum>.

    “Oh Lord. Please forgive me for staining these fangs and claws with blood. I am the beast—”

    Offering a prayer to the god he believes in: this is the condition for invocation of Three’s Minimum.

   His hair stiffened as he immersed himself, and a beast’s instinct manifested itself in his appearance. In his eyes were an irrefutable glint: he was the ruler of all the animal kingdom.

    “Roooooaaarrr!!”

    Hardly worrying about drawing attention in public, Three let out his beast-cry.

  ✢ ✢ ✢

 HAMATORA THE NOVEL PART I END

thank you for reading! please look forward to part ii!

 again you can get in touch with us on the following: minimums@tumblr/gayhacker@ao3/tatsuyaenomoto@twitter (scans) ba-sudei@tumblr/d_n__@twitter (translation)

thank you for the support! ここから応援してください！

[tonkidb]

Apps like byword for windows

#Apps like byword for windows full#

#Apps like byword for windows windows#

#Apps like byword for windows full#

And deep integration with macOS Sierra means you get access to tabs, split screen, autosave, versions, and full screen.īut even with all these features, Byword isn’t flawless. Byword’s specialized version of Markdown, called MultiMarkdown, also makes more possible, including tables and linked footnotes. Documents can be exported to Word documents, PDFs. It’s a minimal text editor designed to make writing and publishing Markdown simple. The app contains far more integration that other text editors, connecting with Medium, Tumblr, Evernote, WordPress and even Blogger. In a lot of ways, Byword is very similar to A Writer. Apple named it the top plain text editor for every year from 2011 to 2015, which is no mean feat. If you’re looking for a straightforward Markdown editor, this is a great place to start, even with a $10 price tag. In the years since its release, iA Writer has gained a significant following. And integration with WordPress and Medium makes it possible to publish directly from the application. There’s also a unique feature called syntax control that detects the different parts of speech in your writing, helping you identify poorly-worded sentences. The preview mode, which shows how your styled text will appear in HTML, is clear and easy to use, and the side-by-side view simplifies making changes. IA Writer includes a helpful set of keyboard shortcuts for formatting text and allows you to easily insert images into your posts. And once you’re used to that idea and aesthetic, using Word feels like starting up a tank to drive to 7-11. The intention is to help you focus on your writing, not extraneous formatting. It’s essentially a plain text editor but with even fewer options that something like TextEdit. Like many Markdown editors, iA Writer goes in for the “minimal” approach to text editing. Here are the best Markdown editors for anyone running macOS.

#Apps like byword for windows windows#

We have already covered the best Markdown editors for Windows and Linux. However, it’s much easier when you have a specialized text editor. It’s possible to write valid Markdown in any text editor.

[winportables]

Portable ByteScout PDF Multitool can help you perform a wide variety of operations related to PDF documents. In this sense, the program integrates various utilities aimed at extracting data, converting to other formats, managing sensitive data, recognizing text from scanned documents and merging PDF, among others. The program has a simple interface, very similar to that of a word processor. However, it has the peculiarity of a left side panel in which the different utilities are organized in the form of a tree according to their purposes. Unfortunately, it does not allow you to open multiple documents simultaneously. n the Data Extraction category, you can find utilities that allow you to extract text from a PDF in formats such as TXT, CSV, XLS, XML, and JSON. This has the advantage of detecting tables, so you won't mess with the text in a table. Fortunately, it allows you to export the data entered in forms. In addition to text, there are utilities that can also extract images and embedded attachments. In terms of conversion, there are several tools aimed at converting the open document to other formats, including a series of bitmaps, multi-page TIFF, EMF, and HTML. As for sensitive data, there are several independent utilities to analyze, detect and delete any data that may affect your privacy. Finally, there is a group of miscellaneous utilities. In this sense, you can use this program to remove images, text fragments and vectors. It also allows you to perform various operations on documents, such as splitting, merging, and rotating. In addition, you can make a PDF document searchable by applying OCR or reverse-protect its content by making it unsearchable. All in all, the main advantage of Portable ByteScout PDF Multitool is its versatility. XP/Vista/7/8/8.1/10English264.34MB &#13;