Hey readers,
I'm just posting an early draft of the first chapter of Me N My China Town Warrior. Seriously, it's draft 1. Anyway, it doesn't give away too many spoilers from the book it's a sequel to (China Town Warrior - available on Amazon if you haven't read any of my crazy postings like every day this past week). My intention was to have a main story that connects for a 4 book series, but I also wanted to have each book able to be read as stand-alone titles.
Anyway, I've got about 6 chapters done for the first draft of this new book, then I'm going to take a break and adapt a screenplay I had written into a novel (completely unrelated to China Town Warrior). But yeah... Read it.... Comment if you feel the need. They're always appreciated.
NOTE: If you want a soundtrack to play while reading this, the first song I label accurately, but the second one I'll add in here just in case. It helps create the visuals.
1st song - "Me N My Arrow" - Harry Nilsson
2nd song - "Onward Blindly Onward" - Rare Air
“You… uh… like… uh sucking Irish cawk, you rotten whoooooooooar?” It was the pitiful attempt of a fat, young oaf to talk dirty as his pregnant brunette mistress rhythmically bobbed her head up and down below him. The balding ogre with a ring of buzzed, blonde hair and the most innocent blue eyes anyone has ever seen gurgled like an overweight newborn, dangling baby fat cushioning his chin from his neck.
One tender, pudgy hand clutched the steering wheel, holding it steady as the headlights lit up a long stretch of paved road lined with trees on either side for as far as the night eye could see. Isolation. These two lovers were alone on an infinite path of nothingness driving about 80 miles per hour.
Harry Nilsson’s “Me and My Arrow” chimed in over the radio as the brunette slurped beneath the ogre. She paused for a moment to catch a breath, running a hand across her chin to wipe some dribble away, and then returned to the work of an intern.
While one hand was fiercely gripped on the wheel, the other was holding a fried chicken drumstick in the air like a golden, crusted scepter, rubbing the greasy hunk of meat against the baby-faced barbarian’s open lips, a perfect arrangement of teeth tearing into the extra crispy batch of soul food. Tiny pieces of crinkled chicken skin drizzled off the gargantuan’s chin into the mistress’ hair, unknowingly entombed for an eternity amidst a vaporous jungle of hair spray.
A figure appeared suddenly on the road ahead. It was that of a man, shrouded in what looked like a brown overcoat or sheriff’s duster from the Western films of old. The man had long, dark hair dangling out from around his neck over the front of his cloak. A backpack nestled on one shoulder, rugged and torn.
The king behind the wheel watched as this man trudged down the desolate road, marching out in the middle of nowhere for God knows how long. Alone. Surrounded by trees and plains for miles without recourse. What was he doing here? Where had he come from?
Curved road up ahead spelled out the crimson Ferrari’s doom, as the driver’s head was turned, watching a figure shrink back into the darkness. It was a turn onto a bridge over a lake glimmering in the moonlight like a star-studded romance movie cliché. The king screamed, tossing his half-eaten scepter behind him and clutching the wheel with both hands. The flight over the railing was majestic, something magical and dazzling in the ambience of the night sky’s glistening array.
Water rushed its way through the cracks and lining of the car, seeping in like the mighty hand of Poseidon, dragging the couple down to their eternal slumber. The brunette was flung off the man on impact, tossed back into her seat. Her seatbelt clamped around her as her pretty nails feverishly clutched for the release button.
The man already had his undone and was working on kicking his door open, jamming his wing-tipped shoes repeatedly against the lodged door until it finally gave. Pushing himself out, the man swam to the surface, dressed for success with his red power tie wading through the water like a shark’s fin.
A gasp announced to the cosmos that he was safe. The man waded for a few moments, waiting for a second gasp that would not surface. Terror lurked in his orbs as he swam for shore near the bridge, chubby digits clawing into thick mud. Beaching himself, the solemn beast wriggled along solid ground, reborn in the wet earth that enveloped him.
Crisp and cold was the night mother that swarmed around him as he climbed to his feet, and crisp and cold was his heart, still beating at the bottom of that lake, anchored by his unborn mistake. A baby’s underwater scream looped through his brain as he stood there for a moment. Silent. Stern. Those eyes scanned the desolate road for any sign of life. There were no headlights, and his house was back the way he came.
That’s when the Irish jig seized his legs. Senator Ian Hannity couldn’t explain it, but as peril and fear crept further into his heart, as he heard his father, Judge Hannity slamming the gavel down at his trial of manslaughter, the young oaf just ran. Onward. Blindly. Onward. Run. Allow the Irish tin flute and bagpipes to set the rhythm. It will be all right if you run. If you dance.
Barreling down the street like a tub of jello wrapped in a muddy business suit, Ian listened to the music. His face reddened as he breathed heavier than he ever has in his entire life, and his power tie fluttered behind him like a banner, waving good-bye to the night mother of mischief deeds. Fire rushed up his leg muscles, and heat circulated through those frosty veins, filling up the heart with hope and prospect once more. Maybe no one will ever know? Maybe no one will ever find the wreck?
And so he ran for what felt like a century. He bolted down an endless array of trees along a recently renovated highway pondering the glass of scotch on the rocks that awaited him back at home where it was safe. He thought of how glad he would be to see his oblivious wife and his five year-old son. Oh, and a big plate of bangers and mash.
The thump to the chest brought an end to these thoughts. It was a rock hard, rugged hand jutting out from a sheriff’s duster like a concrete blockade – the kind of hand with off-centered and fearsome-looking knuckles and massive veins pushing through the cracked skin around it. It was a worker’s hand, unlike his dainty, tender playboy’s mitt.
“Excuse me,” Hannity flustered. His own soft paws attempted to move the solid clamp that held him in place to no avail.
“You crash your car?” the stranger asked. His voice was deep, like the sleeping sounds of a hibernating bear echoing off the walls of a never-ending cavern. Eyes like blue moons illuminated behind a canvas of long, dark hair. His face was also veiled by this canvas and a thick mustache that tickled the lips as he spoke.
“No?” Hannity pleaded.
“I heard something crash into the lake up there,” the stranger said. “Were you driving that car? Was anybody hurt?”
As the stranger spoke, Ian saw the man’s eyes water and shimmer like two deep whirlpools. Little red Ferraris sunk to an eternal slumber beneath the glazed orbs, and a baby once again gurgled beneath the waves.
“Look,” the senator said, pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts and reflect on the damning sound wreaking havoc on his brain, “It was… uh… just me in there. I’m… uh… fine.”
“Are you sure?” the stranger asked. He removed the clamp, but his eyes froze over like small icicles, probing into Ian’s facial features and expressions as if searching for a secret to spear.
“Certainly,” Hannity barked, running his hands over his forehead. “I’m fine. Fine!” He chuckled lightly. “What… uh… are you doin’ out here anyways?”
“Walking.” The stranger shrugged casually.
“Wawking? Wawking to whe-ar? From whe-ar?” A spark ignited in Hannity’s cold frame. This could be an angle for him to exploit or use to his advantage. A strange man walking down this desolate highway in between towns that are at least 60 miles apart?
“Just walking.”
“Hmm. What have you… uh… seen while you’ve been wawking?” Ian reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a soggy pack of gum. Juicy Fruit. Hopefully the flavor is still there.
“A couple cars. Your car. Then I heard it crash.”
“Yeah?” He carefully removed the gum from its flooded package and folded the piece over before placing it on his tongue. “I bet you’ve been wawking for a while. You must be… uh… tired. Maybe hungry?”
“Aren’t we all in some manner of speaking?” The stranger’s lips curled into a smile as an ignition of life burst forth through his demeanor. He brushed the hair away from his face, revealing a youthful appearance beneath that haggard and worn mask. Those blue orbs sparkled, and a warmth instantaneously filled the night. “I’m just a wanderer learning what I can learn.”
Something about this vitality and comfort possessed Ian Hannity and forced his hand to extend forward. His fingers clasped the stranger’s, and they shook on it.
“I’m just a senutah,” Ian grinned. “We’re about ten miles away from… uh… my home city. We can wawk back and grab a scotch… or something, Wanderer.”
END
The first novel can be purchased HERE
