Novel Excerpt Exchange #3 - James Kellogg

Novel excerpt exchanges help expose readers to new authors, as well as being a way for writers to support one another. This is the third one for me.

The selection below is from novelist James D. Kellogg. He is a civil engineer by training and an outdoor enthusiast by choice, and both elements are obvious in his thriller, E-Force. He and his wife Kristen are raising their four kids near Glenwood Springs, Colorado. You can contact James by email or visit his website.

This 1,200-word excerpt is from chapter 5 of E-Force.

Tempers were flaring at the manager’s meeting. Colt was certain that the Salem Witch Trials couldn’t have been more chilling. With the suddenness of an ocean squall, the forum had degenerated into a hostile volley of accusations and defenses. The handwriting on the wall was plain for Colt to see. The days of EcoFriends were numbered.

A female manager turned on the other five women. “I’m not paying the price for the bitch that ratted on us! Everybody knows I’ve put my heart and soul into this organization.”

“You’d sell us out in a heartbeat if you could profit!” One fiery vixen charged at the haughty accuser. “How much is the FBI paying you?”

“That’s right. Fight it out!” A man pumped his fist.

“Let’s make them all take polygraph tests.” One board member stepped between the two potential combatants.

“There’re better ways to get a confession than that,” another person said.

“Enough of this!” Howard Anderson finally took control. “We’re tearing ourselves apart because of one traitor. If we’re going to survive, we’ve got to stick together. The truth is going to come out. Whoever is guilty has one last chance for redemption. I’ll give you until the end of the week to come to me and confess. Then we’ll figure out how to make things right again.”

Adjournment was an armistice in an escalating war. At the reprieve, people scattered. Colt looked for Deb, but she was gone. The air in the building seemed poisoned. He hurried outside where he could breathe.

“Damned horde of barbarians,” Colt muttered on the sidewalk, shaking his head with disgust for the behavior his colleagues had exhibited. The organization was supposedly founded on trust and loyalty, yet every leader was bent on crucifying one of their own.

Anderson has lost his mind. Colt stormed toward the street. It was insane to prop up the terrorist group E-Force as a means to stabilize EcoFriends. It’s like skydiving without a parachute so you didn’t risk getting tangled in the lines. Everybody’s following him into the sea like a bunch of damned lemmings.

Without a doubt, Colt regretted his involvement with EcoFriends. Foolishly, he’d been a complacent passenger in his life and work. It was time to move behind the wheel and take command. EcoFriends was going to be part of the past, not the future.

“Colt, wait for me!” a familiar voice said.

Colt turned to see Deb dart across the street. A car braked to avoid running her down. She drew alongside Colt, ignoring the blaring horn as the vehicle resumed course.

“You almost got killed!” Colt was alarmed by Deb’s reckless action.

“What does it matter?”

“I don’t understand why you would ask that.” Colt evaluated his friend’s pale sickly appearance. “What’s going on? Where’ve you been?”

“Vomiting in the restroom.” Deb’s voice wavered. “We need to have that talk.”

“Let’s get away from the street.” Colt grabbed her by the arm. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

The pair didn’t speak during the brisk trip to a parking lot at the end of the block. When they reached Deb’s vehicle, she couldn’t contain herself any longer.

“Colt, can I trust you to keep a secret?” Deb asked in a hushed tone.

“Of course you can trust me,” Colt said, frowning. “What’s going on Deb?”

“I’m the one who went to the FBI. I told them about the money laundering.”

“So it was you.” Colt’s pulse quickened. “Holy shit. The meeting must have been a nightmare for you.”

“I can’t believe what’s happening.” Tears welled up in Deb’s eyes. “When I called from a payphone, the FBI agent promised my statements were confidential. I don’t know how Anderson found out. Colt, I’m scared.”

“It’s going to be okay.” Colt dabbed a tear from her cheek. “Nobody can pin the leak on you.”

“There’s more to the story.” Deb’s eyes were hollow. “All the dirty money went to E-Force.”

Colt’s heart skipped a beat at the assertion. Deb had uncovered the truth. Months ago, Colt had discovered that tens of thousands were going to E-Force. But he had done nothing. Like a fool, he continued to divert funds from his chapter, knowing the money was being laundered and funneled to E-Force.

“Is that what you told the Feds?” Colt sputtered. “How do you even know that?”

“I overheard a conversation between Anderson and Cain. And, yes, I told the FBI!”

“Deb, keep your voice down.” Colt cast a nervous glance around. “Maybe we should talk inside your car.”

“I haven’t told you the worst part,” Deb said after they were seated in the vehicle with the doors shut. “I’m not sure if I should.”

“What could be worse?” Colt felt as if he was about to be sentenced by a judge.

“Zed Cain is part of E-Force.” Deb was trembling. “If he finds out I know the truth, he’ll do something terrible. Colt, I don’t know what to do.”

“Just calm down.” A shiver rippled through Colt’s body. “This is bad, but I won’t let anyone hurt you. Did you tell the FBI about Cain?”

“Not yet.” Deb was obviously struggling to retain her composure. “But I’m going to. It’s the only way to stop these crimes.”

“But you don’t know who tipped off Anderson.” A light bulb went off in Colt’s head. “Maybe he’s got somebody inside the FBI.”

Deb shook her head with doubt. “We’re talking about Howard Anderson, not some foreign government.”

“Then how did he find out?” Colt’s unease was growing. “That’s a serious question, and we’ve got to find an answer.”

“Once Cain and Anderson are behind bars, it won’t matter. Then I’ll be safe.”

“It’s not going to be that simple.” Colt gripped Deb’s shoulder and looked her in the eye. “Something’s not right. There’s a hidden trap waiting to snare anyone who decides to be a hero.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Deb thumped a fist against the steering wheel. Another tear rolled down her cheek.

Colt suddenly felt conspicuous. “I don’t know yet, but we need to continue this conversation at a different time and place.”

“Okay, you’re right.” Deb nodded and reached for a tissue. “I’ll call you when I get back to Boise.”

They hugged for a few seconds before Colt stepped out onto the pavement. Deb ventured a weak smile and waved goodbye. Feeling lost and lonely, Colt looked after her car until it was swallowed in the traffic.

With eyes cast downward, Colt turned and walked away. Before he traveled twenty paces, a shadow crossed his path. Colt looked up to find Zed Cain standing in front of him. The man’s tall figure was imposing. With long black hair, he resembled a fierce Comanche warrior from days of old. Colt stopped dead in his tracks.

“Are you lost?” Cain asked without an ember of warmth.

A chill went down Colt’s spine. Did the alleged E-Force member suspect something? Maybe he overheard part of the conversation with Deb.

Colt managed a dismissive air. “I forgot where I parked. My vehicle’s over there. See you at the next meeting.”

Colt moved past Cain and retreated toward his Land Cruiser. He maintained a casual stride and resisted the urge to cast a backward glance.

Novel Excerpt Exchange #2 – Michael Haskins

I was invited to participate in an “excerpt exchange” by some nice folks at FB group Suspense/Thriller Writers. This is the 2nd of these. I’d invite followers of this blog to give me some feedback – love these exchanges, hate ‘em, couldn’t care less – what? Following is a 1,000-word selection from STAIRWAY TO THE BOTTOM by Michael Haskins – Chapter One:

If I hadn’t gone to watch the comedy showcase at the Key West Fringe Theater, I wouldn’t have silenced my cell phone. If I hadn’t silenced my cell, I would have answered Dick Walsh’s first call at 1:10 A.M., and then things might not have gone so badly. If is a damn big word for only having two letters.

I unplugged the cell from its charger in the morning and the lighted screen reminded me it was on silent mode and that I had five messages. Each of Dick’s messages was more frantic and pleading than the last. He needed help, but didn’t say for what. By the third message, he was cussing but still wanted me to call and that was at 3:15. He didn’t sound drunk, like most three in the morning callers do, he sounded scared. The fifth and final message came at 5:36. He had calmed down, asked me to come by his house as soon as possible and gave me the address. His composed voice assured me I would understand the problem after I arrived and he would be in touch later.

“Mick, I need you to believe me, it isn’t what it looks like. Please help me,” his message ended with a quiet plea.

I dressed quickly in last night’s clothing and swallowed cold water from a bottle out of the cooler. Before I got into my Jeep and drove to Dick’s house on Von Phister Street, I called his cell but it went to voice mail and I left a message. We were playing phone tag.

Von Phister is a narrow, tree-lined street in a quiet neighborhood of old and new houses. Dick’s was an old two-story house with a large gumbo-limbo tree in front and two more in back. He actually had a decent-size backyard, something that is at a premium in Key West.

The house was dark. It was almost six-thirty, about an hour since his last call. The sky was a light gray with a reddish-purple sunrise pushing the dawn westward. Only a large yellow tomcat crossed my path on the empty street. I parked in front and noticed Dick’s scooter was gone. I went up the steps to the wraparound porch, rang the bell, and then knocked. Nothing. I looked into the living room window. Nothing. I knocked again and when no one answered, I tried the door. It was unlocked so I went in.

The stench that greeted me in the hallway was familiar. The smell of death was strong and that told me somewhere in the house, death was very recent. Death, if left alone long enough cloaks all other odors, especially in the tropics – violent death even more so.

I called Dick’s name but no one answered. I walked into the living room and it looked lived in – a big screen TV, stereo with CDs stacked next to it, a sectional sofa set. A hallway led to a kitchen, small dining room, and bathroom. The stairway on the right went upstairs to the bedrooms.

Dick used the dining room as his office – medium-sized desk that was too big for the room, a computer, a printer, and a two-drawer file. I walked through into the kitchen. There was a table for two off to the side, dirty dishes in the sink and a woman’s body on the floor.

She lay face down and a large part of her head was gone. Pieces of shattered skull, along with parts of her brain and blood, tarnished the otherwise clean kitchen wall. Blood and human waste soaked the tile floor and stained her clothing. The stench of death filled the kitchen. I didn’t bother looking for a pulse.

An automatic with a silencer attached lay on the floor, her arm stretched out toward it as if reaching for the gun that had a small stream of brownish blood curled up next to it.

I ran upstairs to check the two bedrooms, calling Dick’s name. Both rooms were neat and the beds made. Nothing broken or seemingly out of place. Dick’s closet looked full with only a couple of empty hangers in the mix. The guestroom closet was empty.

Dick shot this woman, I thought as I looked down at her body. Whose gun was it on the floor? I didn’t touch anything, though I wanted to. My curiosity was getting the best of me.

I’m Liam Murphy, a semi-retired journalist and fulltime sail bum, some say. Key West has been my home for almost eighteen years. Before that, I lived in Southern California and reported on Central American civil wars and when they ended I covered the drug wars for a weekly news magazine so a dead body wasn’t something that frightened me it intrigued me. In Key West, I’ve made friends with all kinds of characters, including the chief of police, Richard Dowley. We have a two-sided relationship. One side is Richard the cop, the other is Richard the friend. He considers me a friend but always thinks of me as a journalist. He says I only have one side. I called him on my cell, sure of catching him at home, and knew I’d be talking to his cop side. I told him where I was and what I’d found.

“What are you doing at that nut’s house?” I could hear him banging around in the kitchen.

When I explained about the messages and Dick’s plea, he sighed loudly enough for me to hear on the phone. “Don’t touch anything and I’ll call it in,” he said. “Best thing is go outside and wait for the first unit, and I’ll make it there too.”

“Okay, Richard, but tell the ambulance it doesn’t have to hurry,” I said and he hung up without replying.

Outside, I sat and waited, thinking of Dick’s last message telling me it wasn’t what it looked like. It looked like murder.

My own first novel, THE ASSASSINS CLUB, has been uploaded to both Kindle and Nook, and should be available for purchase later today. (The cover art on Kindle doesn't show up yet - be sure to wait, so you don't miss the awesome cover.) Priced at $2.99 which is a little more than 3 cents per thousand words – my accountant says I’m crazy! - Dixon

Novel Excerpt Exchange - Karen Vaughan

Some of the folks at the FB Suspense/Thriller Writers group are doing an excerpt exchange, and I was invited to participate. An excerpt from my novel, The Assassins Club (which will be released in JUST FOUR DAYS!!!) will appear in Karen Vaughan's blog. Below is about 1,100 words from Dead Comic Standing by Karen Vaughan.

An up-and-coming comic was just exiting The Laff Attak. The comedian usually left through the alley after his sets, usually two per night, 30 minutes per set. Like other wannabes, he worked two clubs per week whilst working part time at an upscale Coffee Emporium. This guy didn’t want to spend the rest of his career as a part-time Barista /Comic. Oh no, this dude had plans, he was going to be the Robin Williams for the next generation. Well, skip the 'Na-noo-Na-noo' bullshit that Robin had to tout, in his early years.

In the meantime, bills had to be paid and the comic had a wife to support as well. Debbie worked as an insurance adjuster for a huge HMO management company. She technically supported him and his “hobby”. At least it was a marginally paying hobby. The young man walked around the corner down another alley, a supposed short cut on his way home. He feared nothing, although he would never have let Deb do this, day or night. Her argument was why should he? Did he think he was “Iron man” or something? The young dude lit up another smoke, a filthy habit and Deb hated it. Another reason she thought he might die young. She just didn’t get the part about a good smoke, after coming off stage. Comics had to be the worst chronic smokers. He had to do it here because once he stepped into the house, no more ciggies. He might as well smoke now ‘cause Deb wouldn’t let him smoke after sex. Smoking brought him back from the adrenaline high of being ‘on’. No matter what shit hit you throughout your day, you hit the stage running with a smile, ready to show the crowd the time of their miserable lives. He stood in the shadows taking a few pulls on the Camel, dropped it and ground it into the asphalt with the other discarded cigarette butts. Debbie, as much as he loved her, had her phobias. She was convinced that some guy would jump out of the shadows and knife him to death, when, in reality, the worst killers came wrapped in cellophane and cardboard.

The next step he took into the alley was his last. A hand holding a butcher knife came out of nowhere. If this weren’t the end for real, he would have found a place in his act for the scenario. He felt the knife blade plunge into his stomach, and he went down on his knees, and then fell onto his back.

“Fuck man, if you want my wallet, just ask.” Dave was gasping for air.

“It’s not about the money, asshole. I just didn’t know how else to tell you……”

“What?” Dave croaked weakly.

The stranger grabbed the hilt of the knife, and yanked it out of his victims gut.

He looked straight at him and said, “YOU JUST AIN’T FUNNY!”

Then the killer slit the young man's throat.

* * *

The room was packed. People were lined up at the bar three deep, and all the tables were full. Jeffrey Beals, the owner and operator of Comic F/X was looking forward to a good night. His headliner, Phil Vetters was a real crowd pleaser for sure. He was more concerned about Shelley, the new girl starting tonight. She auditioned well, and Jeff had no doubt that she had talent. However, Shelley clearly admitted that her club experience was limited and most of her experience had been in an auditorium setting, doing comedy for educational purposes. This worried Jeff. Shelley was a small girl, and guys tended to eat people like that up, especially after a few stiff drinks. Great prey for hecklers and perverts.

Jeff tried to keep society’s baser elements out of the club. However, some just seemed to slip through the cracks. They walk in seeming quite civilized but once a female comic hit the stage, all vestiges of humanity escaped through their assholes.

Comic F/X was full of yuppies out for a few laughs. The club was a brightly lit establishment. There was no smoking allowed and there was a three drink minimum rule. The basic premise was to serve up good drinks and provide quality entertainment. Jeff wanted people to come back time after time, to see the rising stars of tomorrow. He hoped Shell was one of them. Jeff had heard she came from a tough neighbourhood, a white girl surrounded by Hispanics and African-Americans. It was everyone for themselves and one had to develop a thick skin and a strong backbone.

Shell was doing her initial sound check on stage. “Hear the one about…..”

“Never mind the jokes sweetie, just show us yer titties.”

“Hey guy what’s your name?”

“Who wants to know?” Shelley shielded her eyes from the spotlight to see the person who had addressed her and spotted a large man sitting at a center table. Oh god no, why couldn’t hecklers be gorgeous? Why were they always butt friggin’ ugly as well as obnoxious? So if she had to put up with this moron, she might as well have fun with him. Maybe the toad would get the message and back off.

“Well pal, I just don’t open my shirt for just anyone. I like to be on a first name basis with my voyeurs, if ya know what I mean?”

“If I tell ya will ya take it off?”

“I don’t know, by the looks of you, you seem to have a bigger rack than I do.”

“You Little Bitch!”

The guy was steaming as the audience watched her dismantle his ego one line at time.

“Whoa boy, you better put on your big boy pants to use language like that, you wanna take your potty mouth and go to the washroom?”

Jeff was watching the impromptu exchange, and decided that Shelley could handle herself. Gord-o was a dog, but Shelley was having an easy time having him neutered. If Gord-o had gotten out of hand, Jeff would have had him thrown out on his ass.

“Very funny girlie—God gave you a sense of humor –‘cause you just can’t please the boys. Gord-o can teach you what you need to know.”

“Well Gord-o, what you can teach me won’t take more than two minutes.”

“Au Contraire, sweetie, I could have you yelling Gord-Oh by morning.” Gord-O was giving back what she gave him.

“No doubt, loser, it would take you that long to get it up!”

The audience was enjoying the impromptu exchange between Shelley and Gord. There was a lot of laughing and clapping. Gord-o was starting to look the fool. Something he hated, especially at the hands of a chick. “You freakin’ cow! No one makes me look like an ass, and gets away with it!”

“Gordie, my dear, you don’t need my help to look like an ass. You’re doing a good enough job on your own.”

The purchase link at amazon.com for either paperback or e-book is http://www.amazon.com/Dead-Comic-Standing-ebook/dp/B005PIYMNI/ref=ntt_at_ep_edition_2_1?ie=UTF8&m=AZC9TZ4UC9CFC