here’s a short excerpt of my latest book “Hiding Agent Michael Lewis.” it’s the prequel to the Agent Smith Smith series.
The main character’s name is Michael, he’s a police officer at LAPD. he meets a new friend today.
I sat up in bed to the sound of my pager beeping at me. I stumbled out of bed and around my room in the dark, trying to find my phone.
“hello?” I asked, my voice groggy from sleep.
“Michael. Station. Now.” Jon’s voice blared. “30 minutes.” he said it as if he was testing me.
“be there in ten.” I said. and I would meet my goal.
I got dressed rapidly, throwing on the first things my hands touched and not thinking about anything but my goal. Block out the world. Just do it.
I was in the car in five minutes, and I raced the LA night traffic to the station. I was there in nine and a half minutes to the second.
“Very nice, Michael.” Jon said when I came in, literally panting. “grab a coffee, you’re gonna need it.” he nodded to a pot on the other end of the room. But I was wound tightly, and didn’t feel like drinking anything. I had enough chemicals in my blood to keep me awake for a little while.
“what’s up?” I asked.
“I’ve got… a case for you.”
“a case?” I asked, clarifying. “as in, detective case?”
“yes and no,” he took out a file, then nodded again to the coffee. I got some just to reassure him I wouldn’t drop exhausted on the job.
“you’re working with a homicide detective, one I trust.” He nodded to the corner of the room, where a man I hadn’t noticed before stood staring out the window, hands in his pockets, feet spread wide apart. He was a big black man, friendly looking but intimidating at first glance.
“Anthony Brinson.” Jon said. the man turned, and smiled at me, then walked over and offered a large hand. I took it and we shook, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the obvious strength in his arm.
“nice to meet you,” I smiled. He smiled back. he had a warm almost comforting appearance, and I realized that this man would make a very good homicide detective, since their work often involved visiting people and asking a lot of questions. In the white population, a big black man would cause people’s walls to fly up. but this man looked so warm that I felt that it would be different. We’ll see what happens, I thought.
Jon handed me the file, and I looked through it as he spoke, as was our routine. It was a comforting one, the repetition was soothing, regardless of how nasty the work was.
“Psycho killer.” He said regretfully.
“ouch.” I muttered. Anthony nodded thoughtfully, his warm face slipping into a cold hard mask. The transition was amazing to observe. His large eyebrows lowered over his coal-black eyes, and his thick full lips turned down slightly. He gritted his teeth, showing his strong well defined jaw line. There was a strange and terrible beauty to his face.
“we can’t see any pattern to the killer.” Jon continued. “so far he’s targeted rich and poor, black and white, young and old, men and women.”
“do you have physical ID of the people he’s killed?” Anthony asked.
“just show me.”
Jon shrugged and took out an envelope from his desk and handed it to him. Anthony opened it and spread out the photographs. I knew what he was doing—looking for any relation whatsoever. On the backs of each photograph were some very basic facts—age, height, weight, school attended if it was a child, where they worked if it was an adult, religion. But Anthony wasn’t looking at the information. He was looking at the photos.
He stared at the photographs. He held one. he set it down and looked at the others. Then he froze, and picked up the photo again. he handed it to me. “Describe her.” He said.
“ok… A little black girl with braids and beads in her hair, a grin with several missing teeth and deep brown eyes.” I handed it back to him, but he motioned for me to hold onto it.
He handed me another. “Describe him.”
He was looking away from me as I spoke. “old white woman, silver hair, brown eyes, wrinkled skin, glasses, straight teeth.”
He pointed at a third. “teenage boy, tan skin, looks Korean almost, black hair, crooked teeth…” I trailed off as I looked away from the photograph and at Anthony. We both nodded and said “brown eyes.”
Every one of the photographs, the person had brown eyes.
I took a deep breath and let it out, Anthony closed his eyes and nodded thoughtfully. “He’s targeting people with brown eyes?” I asked. “what does that mean?”
“it’s his clue to us.” He replied simply. “he has brown eyes. he doesn’t like who he is. So he’s killing people with brown eyes because he doesn’t like them any better. or… and this is more likely… he is going to kill someone with brown eyes and he’s warning us by killing these people.”
I shook my head. “that’s so strange… that it makes sense… for a psycho to do that is just right.”
We left the station with only one hint—the killer had it in for someone with brown eyes.
Read the first three chapters here: http://uipa.webs.com/apps/forums/show/1774424-hiding-michael-lewis
until next time,