Back at It

I meant to put the hammer down this weekend, but of course that didn't really happen. I barely got any writing done at all.

I made some really good progress tonight, though. I feel like I am developing my secondary characters pretty well, and the story is starting to pick up a momentum of its own. I think I'm looking at a story that is much more of an action piece than the more moody, subdued piece I was imagining. I'm not concerned by this -- it's a good thing when the story starts telling itself. You just have to go with it.

There's an excerpt in the extended portion of this entry that I'm rather proud of at the moment. Tomorrow I'm sure I'll hate it, though. (The passage is rated R for strong language, FYI)

---

Alex cursed to himself as he watched Brokowski step out of his SUV and walk up toward the building. He could tell by the way he was moving that things had not gone as planned. Brokowski was as subtle as a freight train at midnight.
Alex was already at the intercom when Brokowski buzzed.
“You get it?” Alex said, already knowing the answer he was going to get.
“No, boss,” Brokowski’s voice answered. “I ran into a little trouble.”
Of course you did, Alex thought to himself. When haven’t you?
“Get in here,” he said, and jammed his thumb into the “Door” button on the intercom panel.
Alex’s apartment was small, but it was extremely practical in terms of its location and very inconspicuous. He paced back and forth in its tiny foyer as he waited for Brokowski to lumber his way up the stairs.
Finally, two loud knocks on the door. Alex yanked the door open and glared up at the big redhead.
“Trouble?” he demanded. “This had better be some serious fucking trouble, Broke.”
Brokowski raised his hands defensively. “Don’t worry boss,” he said, “We’ll get it.”
Alex scowled, then turned and stalked into the kitchen to pour himself some whiskey. “Sit down, Broke,” he called, “and start talking.”
Brokowski walked over to the small, brown couch in the living room and eased his large frame down onto it. “Well,” he began, “I don’t know for sure if it’s there or not. The guy seemed kinda suspicious, you know? Well, not suspicious. More like…you know, defensive.”
Alex swallowed a mouthful of whiskey and walked out of the kitchen. “Did you pull a gun on him, Broke?”
Brokowski scratched his head. “Well, only after – “
“Jesus, Mike,” Alex exclaimed, “Of course he was defensive!” He looked over to the doorway. “And close the door, for fuck’s sake!” He slammed the door shut.
“Sorry, boss,” Brokowski said, sheepish.
Alex walked past Brokowski and sat down in a chair opposite him. He put his drink down on the coffee table in front of him on top of a magazine with a glossy picture of Paris Hilton on its cover. “Let me get this straight,” he said, rubbing his eyes with his fists, “You pulled a gun on this guy and he didn’t give up the package?”
“No,” Brokowski answered. “Well, I didn’t pull it on him. I was going to blow off the lock on the gate. You know, just shake him up a bit and then have a look around. But he said there was an alarm on it.”
Alex looked at him blankly. “An alarm.”
“Yeah.”
“On the gate.”
“Yeah.”
“To the Christmas tree lot.”
“Yeah, boss.”
Alex hung his head. “Mike,” he said quietly, “do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?”
Brokowski rubbed his nose, thinking hard. “I guess it does seem kinda weird. But he was really convincing.”
Alex leaned back, taking another sip of whiskey. “Well,” he said with a sigh, “at least we know he’s got it.”
“I’m not so sure, boss,” Brokowski said. “I asked him if he’d seen it and he said he hadn’t. And I had the gun at that point so he probably would have said something, you know?”
Alex shook his head. “No, he’s got it, Mike. He wouldn’t make up a cockamamie story about an alarm on a goddamned Christmas tree lot if he didn’t have something to hide. And the fact that he pulled off a convincing show of it, despite the fact that you were waving your gun around, makes it even worse.”
“Why, boss?”
“Because,” Alex said, “not many people can hold their shit when someone’s threatening them with a gun, much less come up with a halfway plausible story and deliver it convincingly. He’s got strong nerves.”
“Is that bad?”
“Yeah, Mike,” Alex answered. “That’s a problem.”

Posted on November 11, 2003 11:29 PM | Entry Categories: Excerpts , Progress