#SnippetSunday – Hard-Boiled/Noir WIP – March 22, 2015
Snippet Sunday is a Facebook group for writers I’ve been privileged enough to have been accepted into.
From the group guidelines; “Welcome to Snippet Sunday, where writers come together to share a few sentences of their current project–whether it’s a recently released novel, a WIP (work in progress), or an older manuscript that’s being revived. Intended to hook readers, gather feedback and build an author’s fan base, Snippet Sunday is the FB group that does all three.”
This week’s snippet picks up where last week’s left off.
To summarize– Jake wakes up alone in his motel room. Marisa is gone. A cursory investigation reveals that she’s outside in the parking lot, having a heated discussion with a very large man. Jake gets dressed and weighs his options– handgun or blackjack. He chooses the club and heads for the door. Side note– Jake has developed a habit of stubbing his toes on the leg of the table in the kitchenette…
The table leg got me again on my way back. If I’d picked the Browning I’d have shot it.
Something thudded against the wall outside. Something heavy.
I yanked the door open.
A fist the size of a cinder block met me at the threshold. It came in from down low, slamming into my face.
I sailed back into the room. The table broke my fall, meaning it came apart on impact and I hit the floor. Pain, sharp and deep, sucked the joy out of seeing the thing in pieces.
Marisa yelped, then shouted, “No!”
I ignored my aching head and the double vision and forced myself to sit up.
My blackjack was gone. The big man probably ate it.
I used a chair to haul myself to my feet, then lurched toward the door. I shouldn’t have bothered. The mountain came to me– a big, bald mountain with a big red nose in the middle of its big red face.
I took a swing at that nose. He stepped out of the way and dumped me back on my ass with a hard, chopping right, all in the same motion.
I think I tried to get back up. My legs weren’t having it.
The guy leaned in, placing his massive hand on my shoulder.
“Stay down, hero,” he growled, treating me to a whiff of sour cologne and stale beer.
He pushed me all the way down to the floor, then walked out of the room.
The spirit wanted to get up and chase him. The rest of me voted for a nice snooze amid the wreckage of the table.
Democracy in action.
I went a little long. Sorry about that. Wanted readers to have some closure as I plan to skip around some in the coming weeks.
As always, thank you for stopping by, and thanks for any feedback you feel inclined to leave.