Writing Wednesday - An Excerpt from Warchild

It's a bit late on this Writing Wednesday, but it still totally counts.

Normally, this segment would have me bringing you a short story, maybe a bit of flash fiction for you to read and enjoy. Short and sweet, pretty much complete. But I find myself in the midst of moving a whole bunch of files between my tablet--which was my primary writing implement for quite a while--to my laptop, and I don't want to dive into that mess to fish something out for you just yet.

So, instead, I've decided to share with you an excerpt from one of my WIPs, titled Warchild. I hate to admit that an entire novella has been written between when I took a break from this book and now. And at least one other will likely follow before I wade back into this one. But, we are naught but leaves in the breeze of our inspirations at times.

Anywho, this story is focused on a pair of former child soldiers. Having left that life far behind in Africa, these two boys grew into men on very different paths here in America. This is the second chapter of the book, dealing with the main character in the present day.

I hope you enjoy it. And please, feel free to leave a comment. I read them.

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Ch. 2 – Let Old Dogs Lie

Jedidiah Cross opened his eyes. The water stained ceiling above him was a painful reminder of his continuously dull existence. He sat up and shucked his sweat drenched shirt off. He walked to the window of his apartment and peered through the half-wrecked blinds at the street below. Harlem’s decaying squalor stared back at him. Dirty streets, litter strewn sidewalks. Gangbangers, prostitutes, and pimps dotted the landscape in every direction. The mayor called it an urban warzone. Jed smiled. 

What did he know about war?

Padding over to his cramped bathroom, Jed turned on the shower. Water rattled through the pipes before sputtering out of the dingy shower head and falling to the floor where it swirled around the rusted drain. He removed the rest of his clothing and stepped under the tepid flow. The inconsistent stream coursed over his shaven head and down his shoulders. He soaped up and got himself clean. Jed killed the water flow, stepped out and toweled off. He didn’t bother shaving. Perhaps tomorrow. He pulled on a t-shirt, took a moment to piss, then grabbed his shorts. 

With his morning routine finished, Jed left his apartment. He descended the well-worn stairs, dragging his fingers along the wall and watching the lead based paint flake off in his wake. He stepped into the hazy morning sun of New York City and started his walk toward the shop.

Four blocks passed. 

Jedidiah Cross found himself thinking about an often-spouted adage, that predators recognized predators. He certainly recognized the threats around him. Pimps and drug dealers were notoriously dangerous people, but they tended to mind their own business unless they were bothered. Rival gangs, on the other hand, could erupt into violence at a moment’s notice. But none of them paid him more than a passing glance. Maybe it was his posture, back straight, shoulders back, head on a swivel. It was second nature to Jed, being aware of his surroundings. He walked through the maintenance door of the garage, punched his time card, and retrieved his coveralls. Stepping into the jumpsuit, he zipped it up and reported to the break room.

“Hey, Jed.” Marco sat near the coffee machine, nursing a cup of dark black in one hand and fiddling with a pen in the other. He had the caramel skin and jet-black hair common to most Latino men. His eyes were blue, though.

“Morning, Marco,” Jed replied. He retrieved a cup of the bitter brew himself and took a sip. He watched the clock and waited. 

Twenty minutes until the garage opened. Then it would be go-go-go until he clocked out. Cross took another swig of coffee. He smiled. It seemed strange, but he loved this job. It was routine, something he valued for its predictability. He drained his cup just in time to see the rolling door ascend toward the ceiling. “Time to get to work.”

The first car through the door was a late eighties Oldsmobile. It bore all the markings of the well to do local criminal element. High gloss paint with metal flakes, gold trim. Jedidiah whistled. Marco stepped up beside him.

“Ooh. Play you for it?” Marco held up a fist. Jed raised his own. After handily defeating his Latin friend in two rounds of rock, paper, scissors, Jedidiah stepped through the door to greet his first customer.

“What will you have today, sir?” Jed approached the driver side door. The man inside the car rolled down the window.

“She needs a tune up, my man. And an oil change, if you don’t mind.” He handed over the keys and got out of the old car. Jedidiah put it in neutral and pushed the car over the maintenance pit. He climbed under the car and started draining the oil. He checked the oil filter. Jed’s nose itched. He sneezed, banging his head as he came back up. 

Something near the right front tire dislodged and fell into the maintenance pit. Jed cursed at the sore spot on his head and bent down to retrieve the object. He came up with a plastic bag in hand, partially wrapped in tape and filled with a powdery white substance. A ratcheting sound brought his attention to a nickel-plated revolver pointed at him from above the lip of the maintenance pit. 

“Come on out, man.”

Jed put both his hands in plain view and made his way out of the pit, emerging from under the Cutlass to see the customer still aiming his pistol at his face. He stood face to face with the man, close enough to see the hollow point bullets nestled in the revolver’s cylinder. He held out the hand with the bag. “Here you go, sir,” Jed said evenly. “It’s all yours. No harm done.”

“I wish that were so.” The gun wielding man snatched the bag with his free hand.

“So, what happens now?” Jedidiah watched his opponent closely, his eyes no longer focusing on one spot but on the man as a whole.

“Unfortunately, now I have to shoot you and your friend back there in the office. I heard you guys were good mechanics. I’m sorry it’s come to this, my man. But this is my business and I can’t risk counting on you to keep my business quiet.”

“Are you sure?” Jed hated feeling like he was buying time. A thousand doubts bubbled in his mind. “Marco and I can keep a secret.”

“I can’t take that chance, man. Again, sorry.” The revolver pressed forward, its stubby barrel approaching Jed’s sternum. The man’s face hardened.

Jed felt the adrenaline surge and it was as though he were watching a movie. Stepping to the side, his hand clamped around the man’s wrist and pushed it away. Jed stepped into the circle of the man’s arms, wrenching the pistol loose with a downward twist of his free hand. He released the empty hand and smashed an elbow into the man’s nose. His opponent fell on his ass, rupturing the bag in his other hand as he scrambled back. Finding himself against the wall, he looked up into Jedidiah’s face. 

Dark, blank eyes stared back at him, emotionless. 

He shuddered. “Hey, man. Be cool, alright? I didn’t mean nothing by it. Please.”

Jed shook his head, clearing the haze from his brain. He was staring down the sights of the revolver, his bead drawn squarely on the man’s nose. His hand was steady, light tension against the trigger bleeding off as he realized what was happening. As if a switch had flipped, he released the hammer, guiding it down with his thumb until it was closed completely. He pressed the cylinder release and watched the big piece of steel swing open. Five rounds sat snugly in their recesses. His empty hand smacked the extractor and sent the ammunition tumbling to the floor. Five pieces of brass jingled as they bounced off of the pavement. Jed dropped his arm, the revolver swinging down to his side before he cast it backward and heard it clatter into the maintenance pit.

“Get the fuck out of here.” Jedidiah Cross motioned to the car. “And if you come back again, I’ll kill you. You understand?”

The man on the floor nodded mutely, clambering to his feet and moving toward the door of his Oldsmobile. Jed tossed the keys to the car in through the window and stepped out of the way. The man got in, turned the ignition and backed hastily out of the garage. Jedidiah watched him go. Marco stepped out of the break room and nodded in the direction of the Cutlass as it sped away.

“What’s his hurry?” His eyes tracked the glint of brass on the floor and he froze.

“He had business elsewhere,” Jed replied, wiping his brow with a shop rag. He watched Marco bend down to retrieve one of the rounds.

“Holy shit, Jed.” He stood and looked at the base of the casing. .38 SPL +P was stamped around the circle. “What the fuck happened in here?”

Jedidiah looked toward the door. “Conflict of interest. Hey, Marco, I’m not feeling too well,” he wiped his face again, “can you hold it down today? I need to go rest.”

Marco patted him on the back. “Yeah, sure, Jed. Go lay down for a while. I think you’ve earned it. Don’t worry about Burt, I’ll let him know.”

“Thanks, Marco.” Jed exited the shop, not even getting out of his coveralls before he left. He walked back down the street toward his apartment. He found himself staring up at his own window before he’d realized where he was. Jedidiah blinked his eyes, rubbed them with his fingers, and exhaled sharply before pushing through the door and making his way up the stairs. He unlocked his door and slammed it behind him. Jed peeled off his coveralls and laid down on his bed. Sweat beaded his forehead as he stared blankly at the ceiling. His adrenaline started to bleed off, his eyelids growing heavy. Jedidiah Cross grimaced. 

He wasn’t going to sleep well. Not after today.