The Baltimore Drive-by, Part III: Femme fatale, my ass!
Fictional characters John McFetridge and Declan Burke set out from Toronto to Baltimore for Bouchercon. Why not pull a few armed robberies to pass the time? Then they meet up with Peter Rozovsky and a whole lot of folks with crime on their minds.
It took discipline to punch like that: upper arms still, forearms whirling like a Wankel rotary as she danced lightly on the balls of her feet. All the power came from her elbows and the deadly backhand flick of her wrists. I didn't know why I was there, but I liked watching her work.
"Femme fatale?" Thwack. "Femme-effing fatale?" Thwack. Thwack. "You know what a femme fatale does? She brings the world crashing down on any man who comes near her." Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. "Sometimes she brings it down on herself, but let me tell you: I'm not bringing it down on anybody. You want to save yourself trouble? Look in that box you ripped off from Burke and McFetridge." Thwack. Thwack.
Burke wore a red T-shirt and blue jeans. He hunched forward, hands jammed in his pockets, moving fast. McFetridge held the rolled-up Leafs jacket in the crook of his elbow, the Tim Hortons bag half falling out of one pocket. He ambled and shambled but still kept up with his friend somehow. He put a hand on Burke's shoulder, and they stopped.
McFetridge indicated a door, and Burke shook his head. McFetridge held up one finger and ducked into the doorway. Burke shrugged, leaned against a pillar, and lit a cigarette.
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(Read all of "The Baltimore Drive-by" so far here or here. And remember: This is fiction. Almost none of it really happened.)
© Peter Rozovsky 2008
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It took discipline to punch like that: upper arms still, forearms whirling like a Wankel rotary as she danced lightly on the balls of her feet. All the power came from her elbows and the deadly backhand flick of her wrists. I didn't know why I was there, but I liked watching her work.
"Femme fatale?" Thwack. "Femme-effing fatale?" Thwack. Thwack. "You know what a femme fatale does? She brings the world crashing down on any man who comes near her." Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. "Sometimes she brings it down on herself, but let me tell you: I'm not bringing it down on anybody. You want to save yourself trouble? Look in that box you ripped off from Burke and McFetridge." Thwack. Thwack.
Burke wore a red T-shirt and blue jeans. He hunched forward, hands jammed in his pockets, moving fast. McFetridge held the rolled-up Leafs jacket in the crook of his elbow, the Tim Hortons bag half falling out of one pocket. He ambled and shambled but still kept up with his friend somehow. He put a hand on Burke's shoulder, and they stopped.
McFetridge indicated a door, and Burke shook his head. McFetridge held up one finger and ducked into the doorway. Burke shrugged, leaned against a pillar, and lit a cigarette.
=============================
(Read all of "The Baltimore Drive-by" so far here or here. And remember: This is fiction. Almost none of it really happened.)
© Peter Rozovsky 2008
Labels: Declan Burke, John McFetridge, The Baltimore Drive-by
posted by Peter Rozovsky at 4:21 AM
8 Comments:
How many parts to this, Peter?
gb
You're seeing 'em more or less as I write 'em. I'm introducing characters and hinting at action in each segment, and the big test will come once I've run out of characters to introduce and have to focus on action all the way. Then I'll see how many part there will be.
For now, I have one in the can, one substantially written, and notes on a few more. One of those is a big climactic scene, though, so it won't see the light of day for a while.
So it'll be a feature on the blog for a while, then.
Cool!
gb
Must resist saying "that's not a feature, that's a bug!"
It could be a long-running feature, yes. If it starts crowding out my other posts, I might spin it off into a new blog, the way Declan did with Lilyput's World. So think of this story as my baby.
Linkmeister said...
Must resist saying "that's not a feature, that's a bug!
Good gravy, an IT professional with a sense of humor!
Wow, femmes (or the lack of them0 and fisticuffs - sounds like a perfect recipe for a Hindi(Bollywood) movie. Growing up on a heavy diet of such movies, I liked it - pacy and, uh, patchy?
Thanks a lot for the honor for the memory-blog. Coming from you, it means a lot.
"Bollywood" movies have been pretty prominent in American awareness in recent years. The only clips I've seen, though, involve music and gorgeous dancing.
Interesting that you used the term "Bollywood." I was unsure if the term had cultural currency in India.
I urge anyone who reads this to visit your memory blog here. I would suggest, among other things, that in stirring readers’ memories, it could serve as a tutorial for would-be writers who are unsure where to start.
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