Snippet Sunday – Hard-Boiled/Noir WIP – December 20, 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 exactly where last week’s left off. We’re at Beau’s Bar & Grill. Jake and Marisa are dancing to the blues and somebody’s watching them. The last line of last week’s snippet referenced the flare of the watcher’s cigarette when Jake moved his hands down Marisa’s back while slow dancing…

He took two more drags under my steady gaze before Marisa caught on. She disentangled herself from my arms and led us back to the pair of bar stools we’d left a few minutes earlier.
The big man crushed out his cigarette, then sat all the way back on his bench. The outer edges of a glass ashtray glinted in the tarry light. A single wisp of light gray smoke snaked toward the ceiling.
Marisa climbed onto her stool and ordered beers for both of us.
I sat with my back to the bar, watching a tall, wiry man in a blue Hawaiian shirt and torn jeans step out of the men’s room, walk to the back corner booth, and slide in across from the big man.
I tapped Marisa on the shoulder.
“That’s nobody too, right?”
She gave the corner a half-a-second look.
“Nobody you need to be concerned with,” she replied. She saved herself from saying more by taking a drink.
Two fresh cigarettes flared to life in the back corner booth.
I turned around on my stool to look at Marisa. The yellowish light reflecting off the mirror behind the bar gave her suntanned complexion an even deeper amber glow. Her expression didn’t tell me any more than her words had.
“He’s my ex,” she relented.
“Which one?”
“The big one.”
“That makes him somebody, Marisa.”
She set her pint glass down harder than she needed to.
“No, Jake,” she said. “It doesn’t.”

Thanks for stopping by to read my kung fu, and thanks for any feedback you feel inclined to leave.

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Snippet Sunday – Hard-Boiled/Noir WIP – December 13, 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.”

Today’s snippet takes us back to early on in the story. Jake and Marisa have met on the beach and are now enjoying an evening together in Beau’s Bar & Grill when Jake thinks he notices someone watching them…

“Who’s that guy over there?” I indicated direction with a backward nod.
She got up on her tiptoes to look over my shoulder.
“Nobody, Jake,” she said, trying to hide a sigh. “That’s nobody.”
I waited for her to tell me more. She didn’t.
“This is a small town,” I prompted. “Everybody’s somebody here.”
I swung us around so I faced the man.
The poor light over his back-corner booth concealed a lot, but couldn’t hide the man’s sheer bulk. He took up better than half of the space, from side-to-side, on the bench and appeared even bigger when he leaned forward with his elbows on the table. The size of his hand made the beer bottle he held look like one of those liquor bottles they gave out on airplanes.
I was able to make out the shape of his bald head against the darkness behind him. The occasional flare of his cigarette revealed a wide nose and thick dark eyebrows. The eyes themselves remained hidden in shadow. I felt more than saw them on us as Marisa and I made our way across the dance floor.
I returned the stare for a long couple of seconds, then turned my attention back to Marisa.
“What does a big city man know about small towns anyway?” she asked.
“Is there something about this small town I should know?”
The blues ballad faded into something upbeat. We continued to slow dance. I slid my hand down to the small of her back.
The man in the back-corner booth’s cigarette flared a little brighter.

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