Hello my fellow humans!
For the past.....er.... Well.... For a long time now, I've been toiling away on my short story collection "8 STORIES HIGH" It's been an interesting journey, one that is not quite over just yet. I've promised updates and solid Intel over the last few months, and all I can say is that things are moving along slowly but surely. I thought it would be nice to share a snippet of one of the tales contained in the book, "THE TELL OF WALTER JONES" My attempt to tell a classical murder mystery with a healthy helping of comedy and intrigue thrown in for good measure. Have a read below and sound off in the comment section, I would love to hear your thoughts! Until next time! THE TELL OF WALTER JONES (Preview Draft) New York at night is a wonder to behold; it's a kaleidoscope of color and a bustling metropolis of activity. Tourists amble along Times Square, rubbing shoulders with locals who just want nothing more than to avoid the hubbub and escape to their local watering hole. It seems as if every building on each corner is competing in a race to see who can touch the clouds first. Walk down Fifth Avenue and tell me if you can see the stars clearly, I'll give you a gold star for effort if your eyes are better than mine. In a place this big, there's A LOT of ways to slip through the cracks, ways to disappear, to be one with the sea of bodies going back and forth, blinded by routine. Even in New York, there are ways to commit sins among the unknowing. . . . The cab ride was uneventful; I sat silently listening to the rain assault metal while the cabbie drove dutifully onward. There was a faint dank smell that invaded my nostrils, and it seemed to be coming from the front passenger side. I craned my neck to get a view of the seat (I always ride in the back, I can avoid inane conversation that way) in an attempt to identify the source of the smell, but I couldn't see anything that would give off the distinct odor that was making itself at home in my nasal passages, so I gave up. It wasn't a big deal anyway; we'd just about arrived at the destination. The cabbie slowed and pulled up to the curb and I peered out the window. The Clayton Hotel shone brightly through the rain, a beacon of absolute class and luxury. It was a thin looking, concrete building that stretched high up into the night sky and with this weather, it gave off the impression that the Hotel didn't end, it just continued up and up until it reached orbit. "Thanks." I muttered and tossed a few notes to the Cabbie, he started to reply but I was already out and wading through the thick downpour. I made my way up the slippery steps to the front doors, where a tired looking doorman was leaning against them, he was smoking a cigarette. As he saw me approaching, his heavy-lidded eyes widened slightly to get a better look at me. I knew I was a sorry mess. My coat was soaked through, my fedora was dripping and rumpled at the front, it had been a while since I’d shaved and even longer since I’d slept more than three hours at a time. "Evening, sir." The doorman spoke up over the cacophony, "I take it your here to see the body?" "What makes you say that?" I grunted a reply. "All you detective types look the same," He grinned, displaying a set of crooked teeth, "Rumpled coat, old looking hats, grumpy disposition." He had a cockney accent, which reminded me of my ex-wife. "Your observational skills are apparently second to none Mr...." I trailed off, waiting for the man to introduce himself. "Garrett," He announced, dropping the cigarette and grinding it out with his heel, "John Garrett." "Detective William Martin." I touched the tip of my rumpled fedora and nodded slightly, "So I take it you discovered the body?" "Not me sir," Garrett shook his head, "The bellboy in the foyer was the unfortunate one to do so," He leaned in towards me and lowered his voice, "He seems pretty shook up, so I'd suggest going easy on the lad." "Anything else you know?" I probed. "Not much, except that there's one bloke inside that seems a bit out of place." Garret answered quietly. "How so?" I questioned further, interested to hear what Garrett had to say. "Well, first off, he's definitely one of you guys, but if he's from around here, I'd eat my hat." "Like you?" I countered, acknowledging his accent. "I've lived in New York for over ten years now sir." Garrett beamed proudly. "Just can't seem to shake the accent huh?" I quipped at the man. "Something like that," Garrett smirked, "Anyways, this guy is definitely from London, but all the other coppers seemed to defer to him. He was ordering the other coats around and stuff. Didn't really seem to want to be here though. I'm not too sure if he's still in the building but I'd keep my eye on him if I were you." "Thanks for the advice Garrett." I smiled thinly while reaching into my coat pocket to fish around for some loose change. "No need for a tip squire." Garrett smirked, "That was on the house." I nodded and touched my fedora again before moving to the doors. Who was this London detective and why was he ordering around the others? I certainly hadn't heard anything about this. I made a mental note to ask Sergeant Willis about this development. That was if I didn't run into this mysterious London detective first.
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About Elliott
Elliott Thomas is a native Sydney dweller who loves to write. No genre is off limits. That's all you need to know, carry on. Archive
March 2018
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