Snippet Sunday – Hard-Boiled/Noir WIP – November 15, 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 is from the NaNoWriMo version of my WIP… Sometime after Jake’s run-in with Sheriff Jones at Marisa’s house Jake is talking with Evangeline in the Sunshade’s office. After a while, two locals he recognizes from Beau’s in come in and state that they’d like a word with Jake next door. Jake agrees to go, reluctantly. In this bit, Evangeline speaks first.
“You boys aren’t getting ready to do anything stupid, are you?” she asked the two locals. She might have been talking to me as well.
Neither man answered the question.
“Raymond?” she prodded.
“Us? No,” said the bearded man, shaking his big head. “Him? That’s what we’re aiming to find out, Evangeline.”
She shot me a look without fully taking her eyes off of them.
“You know what this is about?”
“Got a pretty good idea,” I said, standing up. “And I’m pretty sure you do too.” I gestured toward the door. “After you, gentlemen.”
Raymond and his friend stood there for another couple of seconds, then led the way out of the office.
Clouds had moved in, blotting out the stars and making things rough on the moon. Only the barest amount of blueish light escaped. The feeble efforts of the streetlights along the side of the road did little to pick up the slack.
None of us spoke during the short walk from the Sunshade to Beau’s. Raymond opened the bar’s door and waited for the red-haired guy and me to walk in.
He locked the door behind him.
The music had been turned way down from its usual volume. The bass line and an occasional drum flourish were about all I could make out.
I counted fourteen people inside, arranged on stools with their backs to the bar. Beau sat on the very end, still in his apron, shifting on his stool and tapping his foot. I’d never seen him on my side of the bar. I didn’t even know he had legs.
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