T. A. Chase

Wednesday Work in Progress…

I wasn’t sure what to share with you, though I could give you a little glimpse into the story I’m expanding for Total e-Bound, but I might have already posted a snippet before I turned it in the first time.

I think I’m going to give you a peek at the story I’ve been writing out long hand. 🙂 It takes place in the early 1900s at the moment anyway…lol. I might change my mind about that part of it, though it’s a little late for that, considering how much I’ve written so far. So here you go….and I’ve got started typing it in, which is good. 🙂

Choices Sealed by Fate copyright c. 2013 T.A. Chase

Excerpt-

The shrill scream bounces along the street like a kid’s toy ball, no direction to its pattern. I round the corner in time to see two men struggling while a dame flutters around them like a hummingbird trying to figure out how to sip from their violent encounter.

Before I can intercede, a shot rings out and one man crumbles to the ground. The dame screams again, causing the remaining guy to point his pistol at her.

“Hey there,” I shout, not sure why I’m stepping into a problem that has nothing to do with me.

They both turn to look at me, and since the street lights were behind me, all they see is a very large silhouette of a man who sounds Irish, which in Boston, usually means police.

I’m not a copper, but hell, if he wants to think I am, I’m not about to tell him the truth. The man with the gun takes off, and maybe my first instinct should’ve been to go after him, but I’m no hero either, and I’d just gotten done doing a little fighting of my own. I’m in no mood to chase after a person who’s all ready shown he’s not afraid to kill a man.

“Oh Tommy,” the lady cries, drawing my attention to her once more.

She hovers over the man, reinforcing my image of a bird by fluttering her hands at me. “Is he dead?”

How should I know is what I want to say while staying as far away from them as I could, but what little manners my ma managed to beat into me before she died kicked in.

“I’ll check,” I mumble as I shuffle forward, every muscle in my body protesting the postponement of a nice hot soak in my bathtub.

My knees creak as I kneel, then press my fingers to Tommy’s neck like I’d seen a doctor friend of mine do. He was checking for a pulse, so I figure I should do that.

Considering there’s a good size hole in the man’s chest and an ever-expanding pool of dark liquid under him, I’m pretty positive Tommy’s dead.

“I called the cops,” someone yells from one of the windows overlooking the killing spot.

I wave to acknowledge them before standing. “I’m afraid your Tommy has expired, miss.”

“Oh,” she wails and sobs into a lace-edged white square fabric. Some kind of dainty handkerchief I image.

Once more I hear Ma’s voice berating and guilting me into my next actions. I approach the girl like I would a wild dog. Have to be careful not to frighten her because I don’t want her screaming again. My head’s already pounding from the beating I received earlier.

Slowly, I wrap my arm around her shoulder, tugging her against my chest. She’s too caught up in her own grief to worry about me, so she curls into my embrace like a kitten seeking shelter.

If I’m any other kind of guy, I’d be taking advantage of the opportunity to hold a shapely dame in my arms, but I’m me, and a dame-shapely or otherwise-doesn’t interest me at all.

Of course, most of the girls who hang around in my world are as hard-nosed as the men. They take what they can get by seducing a guy, then cutting him off after bleeding him dry. The girls I deal with are smart women of the world, and they would’ve picked my pockets clean after two seconds of being this close to me.

“It’s all right, miss. The police are on their way. They’ll be able to help you.” I pat her shoulder, awkwardly comforting her while trying not to get her clothes dirty.

I’m not sure how long we stand there in that strange tableau. Me, the big Irish bloke who looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a bear, which is close to the truth. The pretty little dame who should’ve never stepped foot on this side of Boston. And Tommy, the dead guy, growing deader and colder every second.

But finally the police arrive and relief sweeps over me. No more offering fake comfort to this woman. I can leave and go soak my bruises. My body’s tightening up on me, unused to going this long without being pampered after a fight.

“What happened here?” The first copper asks as he approaches us.

She quickly transfers her trust to him. “I’m Samantha Smith.”

Immediately, policemen surround her, and I’m pushed aside, unneeded and not nearly as interesting as the possibility of being smiled upon by one of Boston’s reigning society princesses.

Someone calls for the chief to be brought down here Smiling, I edge further from the crowd, hoping to make my getaway without anyone being wiser or remembering I exist. I don’t want to get mixed up in what’s looking like a gossipmonger’s dream. I don’t want to talk to the police for my own private reasons, and I don’t want my name in any paper that might care this murder.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Swearing silently, I freeze, then glace over to my right. My gaze meets a pair of big inquisitive brown eyes, and suddenly I’m aching in an entirely different spot.

Now here is someone I could be bothered with. I don’t like dames who are too fragile and curvy. Give me a strong body with angles and muscles, and I’m a happy man.

I have a couple inches of height on him, being six-one to his five-ten, and I’m broader everywhere, but something in the set of his chin tells me he’s a scrapper, and can probably handle his own in a fight.

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