Sunday Story Segment, writing

Asena 10: Plans

Rejoin Asena as she scrambles to save both Emmett and Marlene from a possibly lethal plan to uncover the truth about Francis’ murder. Comment below to add your thoughts and ideas! Thanks!

 

This was a terrible plan. I wasn’t usually the type of person to get swept up in a grand idea without weighing the options. I had learned the hard way that that was the quickest path to destruction. Harold had been a great at selling the idea but the follow-through had always been terrible.

I prayed that Emmett was able to see this through and not get caught. Marlene had promised up and down that she would trash whatever she bought the moment she got it. I still hated the idea that either of them would spend time with an illegal substance in their possession. I shivered despite the heat in my apartment.  

But I hadn’t come up with a better idea. After another half hour in the cafe and my entire walk home, I was still blank. I had no idea who might be able to sell something like that and I didn’t have any contacts who might know. I knew Danny, but I wasn’t sure how happy he’d be if I came asking for a list of anyone who could possibly be selling cocaine.

I groaned inwardly again. Danny had called me back an hour ago but I had let the call go to voicemail. I needed a few more hours to figure out how to explain this whole situation to him and maybe to find a way around our crazy plan.

Emmett had promised he would do nothing for a few days, giving the killer time to cool down. If the very next day someone started asking questions about the uncommon type of cocaine that killed Francis, Emmett would be dead before he got out of whatever sleazy place he was in.

I racked my brain. I had thought about posing as the person searching for drugs, as either a buyer or the middle man. But I didn’t know the business well enough to fake being the middle man and I couldn’t let anyone dig up info on me to make sure I was a legit buyer. Marlene was in the clear, as both rich and spoiled. No one would question that.

I yanked my laptop on to my lap. My apartment was cozy, though I hated whenever Danny used that word. It had a big poofy couch and a recliner all facing the TV hanging on the wall. On the far side of the living room was a large floor to ceiling window with reflective glass. The kitchen wasn’t huge but I kept my mom’s old canister set on the counter and a few of her pie plates that some of her friends had gifted me when they learned I was back in town.

The kitchen counter was a brown marble top that had a cutting board built in next to the sink. I had convinced my maintenance super to replace my tiny faucet with a long goose neck that made cooking so much easier. I thought about heading over there and losing myself for an hour trying out a new recipe.

Instead, I buried myself deeper in the couch and clicked on to Marlene’s Facebook. Research had become so much easier with social media. I scrolled through her most recent photos. I was happy to see there were no selfies from any of our time together, the last one from a party about a week ago. She looked happy, smiling at the camera while dancing in a flouncy red dress. She looked the like the perfect crazy heiress, with her hair curly and messy, dark eyeliner rimming her eyes, and other brightly clad twenty-somethings dancing around her with neon cocktails in hand.

I sighed. She looked like she was having fun. Why did she feel the need to butt into my investigation and to get my approval on her actions?

I moved on, scrolling past pictures of her posing with a cup of hot chocolate, flinging a snowball at some guy, catching snowflakes till I hit fall photos with flannels and pumpkin patches. I shook my head. This girl was my opposite in so many ways.

I frowned at a photo of her family at some gala, dressed in long evening gowns and a tux. Her hair was tamed for once, slicked so it gently curled and the emerald dress popped against the bright red. And while she easily stole the attention, I stared at her parents.

Her father’s face was familiar. I had seen him in the newspaper periodically, either because of his business or his charitable work. His bushy beard always surprised me as a business man but his beefy build pulled it off. He stood a few inches over his daughter and wife, smiling over their heads at the camera.

His wife had red hair as well, though it was chopped into a short straight bob. She had a strong face, with sharp cheekbones and large eyes. Her blue dress offset her coloring well and she was smiling but looking off in another direction. I wondered why Marlene posted that one, with her mother gazing off into space.

I sucked in a breath, jealousy biting at me. What I wouldn’t give for that to be me, for that woman to be my mother, smiling and laughing and hugging me close. Moira was so full of life and so strong. I wished sometimes I was more like her or even more like Marlene. Too often, I could see Harold reflecting back out of my eyes and it terrified me.

I shuddered and clicked away.

My phone buzzed and I looked down. A message from Danny had popped up. “Pizza later? Working late.”

It had been a while since we had gotten pizza together, but it used to be common for both of us to grab a few slices at a local place down the road whenever we worked late. I smiled, glad to see the tradition would survive my freeze out.

I sent back a thumbs up and drug my hand through my hair. I could always ask Danny and get his advice without explaining the drug deal. I knew I had to tell him later tonight that I was still investigating but I couldn’t tell him everything. I was sure he could get me the info I needed but if I brought him in, he could easily be implicated if we got caught.

I needed him to have plausible deniability.

I sat up straight. My fingers flew over the keyboard as I cursed my slow brain. I hated to use the password twice in a week in case it red flagged it in a system and I lost access, but if I could figure out what the police knew, I could maybe convince Marlene and Emmett that there was another way.

It didn’t take long before I was scrolling past mugshots of anyone arrested for dealing highgrade. Most of them were still in prison and I could feel my frustration growing. If I couldn’t figure it out this way, I wasn’t sure my next step. Let Emmett go through with it. Disguise myself as an heiress and go with him despite the risk?

I stopped at a mugshot, blinking in surprise. I recognized that face. I scanned his information and smiled. He had been released for a lack of evidence on the drug charge but I had a feeling he would have my information.

I clicked on him and found the most recent arrest. I minimized that box, happy to see he was still in lock-up for another two nights. Next I pulled up the case file from a few years ago, hoping my suspicion was correct.

I stopped, rereading the sentence I was hoping would be there. “Suspects were in a public library when they made the phone call that led to Linda wiring them $10,000 but the surveillance tape was stolen.”

Harold was sly. He had this whole explanation of using a public place because it’s harder to trace, but it’s so much more than that. He had done this to every partner he’d ever had, usually without them knowing. He would find a place that had easy security, used an older system, and steal the tape as an insurance policy. If his partner tried to screw him over, he had a tape that would put them both in jail. Mutual destruction.

Now I simply had to convince Danny to let me see the man who attempted to attack me at a bar without explaining exactly why. I shut my laptop, happy to know that Bernie’s drunkenness was going to help me make sure my friends didn’t get themselves killed or arrested.

Tips and Tricks, writing

Guest Post: An Edit Vs a Re-Write: My First Draft Problem

By: Jeremy C Kester

In the spaces where I’ve done my research, I’ve found quite a number of other writers who would argue that in every story I do, once I complete my first draft I should crumple it up, throw it out, and start fresh. The idea is predicated on advice to ignore quality (or rather, not to let it get in the way of progress) when attempting to complete the first draft.

I can’t say that I am a fan of that method. It would be a waste to just re-do it all, similar to throwing all that work away.

Though I won’t dare say that the first draft of any of my stories is a work of pristine art, I was more in favor of strategic editing, lopping off chunks or adding where needed to bolster the weak parts of the story. I would argue that there are great stretches in what I write that is worth keeping. Basically, I believe that the above advice to completely re-write the book from scratch \ was more for when one’s first draft was really bad. Like really bad— like where a surgery is more likely to kill the patient than the disease itself.

Still, I never considered it. Even when my first drafts were terrible, I stuck with the strategic editing concept… that is until I have a book with over 170,000 words staring at me with a plot that indeed went awry somewhere in there. It would take so much work that I realized something: they were right the whole time.

There’re a few projects of mine, particularly in the last year, that I plowed through the writing to get the draft done. When I was struggling with plot, I simply ran through. Eventually, when I finished these stories, I found that they were a teeny-bit away from the intentions I had put forward initially. My inadequate planning bit me in the ass. There was too much wrong to fix with simple editing. Yet, I became determined to try.

Gravity 3 was like that. As is Gravity 4, Gravity 5 (note that I am revamping that saga anyway, but this only reinforces that), Of Earth and Ice (a sci-fi epic I am working on), Antlers (a novella that I am not fully ready to say much about yet), and a few others. I learned to write a lot, and write a lot I did; although, I ended up failing at achieving the real goals I wanted to get to with those stories.

Without my planning, without the skills I’ve been working on to better the prep work before I start a project, I would have to become comfortable with the understanding that a crappy first draft would act as a substitute. It would install a rough skeletal structure to hang a re-draft onto, allowing me to take on re-writing I said project with more confidence. The first draft is the rough outline I needed to begin with.

I am throwing a lot of these projects away now (metaphorically speaking). Committing to a re-write just seems… right. Sure, it would be a lot of extra work, but wouldn’t the degree of editing I would have to do to bring a bad manuscript back in line be even more?

 

Today’s guest author is the talented Jeremy C Kester. To read more of his works and support a great writer, check out his site jeremyckester.com.

Jeremy C Kester is an independent writer living with his family in DuPage County, Illinois. He works as an engineer with a polyurethane chemical company while he obsesses about writing. Petting cats is another hobby he would love to have more time for if he wasn’t writing, spending time with family, reading, and drinking coffee.

Sunday Story Segment, writing

Asena Ch. 9: A Coffee Shop Deal

Join Asena and Marlene as they dive deeper into their case with a familiar face making an appearance. If you think you know what might happen next or want to make a suggestion, comment below and you may just see your suggestion show up in the next installment! As always, thanks for reading and feel free to check out the rest of Asena’s story.

 

“Is that him?” Marlene asked, pointing at the snow-covered man who had just walked in.

“If you ask that one more time, I’m sending you to the car,” I grumbled. Emmett was unsurprisingly late and I hadn’t slept much last night. Danny had called and I couldn’t bring myself to tell him we were still investigating. The guilt had kept me tossing and turning all night. I had texted him this morning to see if we could grab dinner tonight but he had been busy. I frowned, hating the idea that he might find out through someone else.

“Wasn’t he supposed to be here at one?” Marlene sighed. We had sequestered ourselves in the corner of a coffee shop. It was quiet, there were no cameras, and we were far enough from campus that no students were camped out in nearby tables.

“Yup,” I snapped.

“Hey,” she whipped her head over at me. Her hat was still on, red hair sticking up with static. “If you don’t want to do this, then don’t. I’m sick and tired of you acting like I’m a whiny child. I’ve helped you a ton already and I feel like you’re not appreciating me at all.”

My eyes widened. Her outburst had been quiet enough that no one was looking at us, but thoroughly shocking to me. I knew I was on edge, but Marlene always seemed happy and bubbly and I never thought twice that she might be upset with me.

I wasn’t sure if I should apologize or defend myself and before I could decide, Emmett walked up.

“Asena,” he said, unraveling a knit brown scarf from around his face. “Who’s this?” He looked Marlene up and down, mostly checking to make sure she wasn’t armed, but the small smile told me he thought she was cute too.

“An associate of mine. Nothing to worry about,” I promised as he sat down at the rickety table across from us.

“An associate? With a wire?” He frowned at her and her scowl didn’t help soothe his nerves.

“Really?” I asked, annoyed that he would even think that. “She’s not a cop.”.

“I’m actually her partner on this case,” she said, glancing at me with a raised eyebrow as if daring me to challenge.

“She has some insight to the case and has been helping me follow some leads,” I answered and I felt her relax beside me.

“Is this still the Pembrook case?” he asked and shrugged his coat off. He was wearing a nice blue sweater and his hair was mussed from the wind.

“Kinda,” I said and I felt Marlene inhale.

“I thought the jewels had been found?” he asked. “Also, I think I was promised coffee.”

“What can I get you?” Marlene asked sweetly. I was surprised at the gesture but controlled my expression. Emmett didn’t need to know we were arguing.

He smiled at her and ordered a caramel latte. She took her hat off and set it next to her cup. “Be back in a jiff,” she said and walked over to the counter, leaning heavily against it and chatting up the barista.

“What’s going on, Asena?” Emmett whispered, leaning in close. “No games.” His brow was scrunched and I could see the worry oozing out of him.

“That’s Marlene Pembrook,” I said, deciding honesty was probably the best bet. “We’re following up on her case. The jewels were recovered but it’s looking like Francis was a patsy. She’s hired me to figure out who murdered him and the condition is that she joins in.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?

“Of course it is,” I answered, rolling my eyes. “But she’s pretty smart, she’s the one who caught our lead. And she threatened to go snooping around on her own if I didn’t help her.”

He grinned at me, the tension leaving his face. “And you couldn’t let someone get hurt when you know you can help them.”

“Hey, if I wouldn’t let you get hurt, do you really think I’m going to let a rich, young client?” I responded, taking a sip of my coffee.

I nodded slightly to let Emmet know Marlene was walking back up, a coffee mug in her hand. It was smart, not getting him a to-go mug because it gave us a better chance of keeping him here longer and getting more information. I smiled at her, not sure if she had done it on purpose, but after the past twenty-four hours, I wouldn’t put it past her. She smiled back and her happiness was easy to spot. Another wave of guilt hit me. I couldn’t believe how much my actions seemed to influence her emotions.

“Here’s your cup of sugar and coffee,” she said, setting it in front of him.

He laughed as she sat back down and took a sip of her own plain latte.

“What did I miss?” she asked, glancing between us.

“I was just filling Emmet in on the case a bit. I explained that you had found our lead,” I answered her and she beamed at the praise. I turned back to Emmett, trying not to roll my eyes. “We think Francis’ overdose was caused on purpose. Until we can somehow get the toxicology report, we aren’t sure if he really did intake too many narcotics or if someone gave him something that was too pure. Either way, we figured you might be able to help.”

“Asena, you know I don’t deal the hard stuff,” he answered, leaning back as he sipped slowly, blowing on the steaming milk.

“I know,” I retorted. “But I also know that you know most of the guys who do deal the harder stuff. Could you poke around a bit, find out if anyone was looking for some purer coke or recently bought a large quantity?”

“Asena, asking those kinds of questions could get me killed,” he answered, no longer smiling as he set his cup down.

“C’mon, you can sweet talk anyone. Are you really telling me you can’t casually drop that into conversation with a someone whose life revolves around it?”

“No, I can’t,” he answered, glancing around the cafe. “They know I don’t sell that stuff. Worst case scenario, they’ll think I’m a snitch for the cops and I’ll be found in some back alley. Best case scenario, I have a bunch of dealers curious as to why I’m asking questions. Sooner or later, they’ll start talking and realize I’ve been asking around. No matter what they think my reasoning might be, I’ll still be a dead man.”

“What if you were acquiring it for someone else?” Marlene broke in.

“I mean, maybe. Most know I’m not interested in getting into that so it’d be a hard sell. And I would need to have a real client. If my story didn’t come with a lot of cash to back it up, it would never fly.”

“Then this is me, wild heiress to a billionaire, asking if you can find me someone who is selling a pure form of cocaine,” she said in a whisper, her eyebrow raised and a smile playing around the corner of her mouth.

I bit my lip, unsure whether or not to oppose. This suddenly stuck both Marlene and Emmett in a possible line of fire. No longer was this an innocent question or two, this was a drug deal. If they didn’t get hurt from the dealer, there was altogether too much of a chance the police would find out. And there would go her PI days and mine.

“I’d need a lot of cash,” he repeated, frowning. He definitely hadn’t expected the offer. He already was halfway out the door in his head and the furrowed brow told me that he had no idea what to think,

“I have the cash, trust me,” she answered, leaning her chin on her hand. “I’ll give you ten percent of whatever it’s worth as a finder’s fee as well.”

“Twenty,” he replied leaning forward.

“Fifteen,” she answered firmly. I had a feeling she had haggled before.

“Deal,” he said and grinned. I wasn’t sure the street value but I had a feeling Marlene was handing over a lot of cash.

“Guys,” I started, not sure where my sentence would end.

“Asena, this is a good plan. And one of the only ways to keep Emmett safe. And I don’t mind giving up the money. Trust me, my family won’t notice the difference.”

I sighed deeply.

“Emmett, this is the only time I will be okay with you dealing anything hard.”

“Deal,” he replied. “I couldn’t get a deal like this again anyways, with a PI watching my back and that much cash to go with it.”

Marlene sat back, a small smile on her face. She was proud of herself and for a moment, I let myself be impressed by her plan. This girl might be valuable after all.

writing

Guest Writers Wanted

Are you a phenomenal writer with something interesting to say about writing? Do you have a short story or excerpt you would love to have published? Are you interested in writing posts to expand your audience?

If any of these apply, I would love to work with you. Reach out on my contacts page to talk more about collaboration!