Sample Scene 2: The Good Killers
Finishing an introduction to Ben Rossi
I’ve decided to share excerpts from The Good Killers while going through the process of writing the sequel and hope it will get everyone either back up to speed or intrigued by the characters and story.
The Good Killers is set in a rural county close to the Canadian border in Upstate New York. The protagonist, Ben Rossi, often teams up with his best friend, deputy Riley Lopez, to solve mysteries. He’s lost his job at the local hospital and so has been volunteering as a medic at a free clinic that’s run by another friend, Chul. Prior to this scene, Ben Rossi has been looking for a suspect named Ana, who is the key to Rossi getting his job back at the hospital.
This scene is about 1500 words, so I’ve split it into two posts. The first half appeared last week in Sample Scene: The Good Killers.
Here we go…
Rossi has chased Ana from the clinic and lost her at an intersection. We pick up the story at that point:
The light changed to green. Rossi coasted downhill through the intersection. At least the side street had less traffic.
He rolled past the buildings: a run-down tavern, a takeout Chinese place, an empty lot with a rusty shopping cart, and the rest were abandoned, with square placards on the front indicating they were unoccupied: a white X on a red background. Most were multi-story apartment units, save one, which looked like an abandoned diner.
He reached the end of the block. She wasn't on the left, the right, or ahead.
Rossi backed up. Parallel parked. Got out. Stepped up to the sidewalk. Looked at each building.
Sniffling in the cold air, he walked uphill toward what he'd just driven past, and stopped at the beginning of the block. He checked the sign: Duchess Avenue. The name sounded familiar.
The takeout Chinese place had a large glass window in front. Enough room inside for a few chairs and tables, a counter with a point-of-sale terminal, and beyond that, the kitchen where several Latinos stirred vegetables into giant woks. The Asian guy at the counter balanced a corded receiver between his shoulder and ear while writing orders on a pad.
He stepped inside the tavern. At the bar, a female bartender, wearing black jeans and a T-shirt with a faded image of Robert Smith of The Cure, listened to a heavy-set guy. The guy had a long gray biker beard and love handles spilling over his leather pants. The bartender slapped the bar, laughing, throwing her head back, her neck long and sinewy. Beyond them, two pale college students stood at the pool table, shirts untucked, holding cues in one hand, working their cell phones with the other.
Does anyone listen to The Cure anymore? he thought aloud.
Outside again. The overcast sky darkened. He checked the time on his phone. Daytime in Upstate New York gets rare after Halloween.
The doors and windows on the row-houses-turned-apartments were locked or covered over with plywood, all solid. Same story on the diner.
He noticed a narrow alley between the diner and one of the apartment buildings. Narrow enough for his shoulders to brush against the crumbling bricks on either side.
His phone chimed. He took it out.
Chul's message said: Brah?
The other messages were the supervisor's. Her first message was: Saw the news story. Don't know what's going on. Call me if you need anything. Next: been thinking about you a lot just give me a call anytime. Finally: that didn't come out right.
He studied the alley. Narrow, but it didn't get any narrower. The alley appeared to extend through to the other block. He saw a sliver of daylight on the other side, above a solid barrier, possibly a fence. I've seen scarier alleys on deployment, he thought. What could possibly go wrong?
He proceeded slowly, walking almost sideways, leaves and desiccated plastic shopping bags crunching under his feet.
About halfway down the alley, he saw a gray metal door on his left. Maybe a service door to the diner's kitchen? He continued to the fence at the end. Pushed the fence experimentally. He pulled himself up the fence. It creaked but took his weight. The alley ended at the same point as the back wall of the diner. Beyond was a parking lot. On the back wall of the diner, facing the lot, were a pair of steel doors, secured with a chain and padlock, and the rusty ass-end of an air conditioner jutting out from the wall. He dropped, brushed the residue of rotten wood and dirt from his hands on his coat, and walked back to the metal door.
The door had a worn brass knob. The lock had a reinforced metal plate that covered the bolt, to dissuade thieves. He turned the knob experimentally.
It moved.
Lopez wouldn't go inside, he thought. She'd call for backup or sit in her car and wait for people to come out. His head tilted back and forth slightly as debated his next move: leave or enter. Well, he told himself, Lopez always has this thing about entering buildings.
He turned the knob the rest of the way.
He opened the door an inch. Listened. No sound.
He opened it further, wincing as the hinges squealed. Screw it, he thought, and opened the door at normal speed. The hinges chittered.
Rossi stepped inside.
The door closed on its own.
Darkness. Sound of dripping water.
He stepped to the left of the door.
Someone moved. A plastic bag crinkled.
His eyes adjusted. Beyond the dust, behind a few shards of light from the window at the street, the Latina sat a table, as if waiting for service.
"You must be Ana." His voice echoed.
Of all the emotions he thought she might express at that moment, Rossi never expected her to show a look of concern.
The concern wasn't for herself, though.
Concern for him.
"Estás en peligro," she said.
Rossi got the you are in but he hung up on the last word. Peligro, he repeated, thinking it through.
Then: Danger. You're in danger.
"Crap," Rossi said.
I hope you enjoyed this brief scene from the book! Look for more to come!
Items mentioned in this post (ad): The Good Killers
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