The Color of Greed (Raja Williams 1)
Page 18
“You know, this is getting to be an annoying habit of yours,” said Raja.
“It’s the bubbles. They tickle my nose.”
“Not that. I’m talking about you saving my life all the time.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Yes, and for good reason. A lesser man might feel his masculinity threatened.”
“Good thing you are not a lesser man.”
Raja chuckled. “I suppose you are right.” Then he added, feigning helplessness, “I guess I’m stuck with you.”
Vinny raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got that wrong, Raj. I’m the one who is stuck with you.”
“True dat, Vinny. True dat.”
~~~
Following is the Prologue of C’est la Vie, the second novel in the Raja Williams series.
C’est la Vie: Prologue
Margaret Browning strolled along the Rue des Écoles, enjoying a holiday in Paris which her husband Phillip had been promising her for the past two years. Usually Dr. Phillip Browning’s academic commitments as ranking professor of literature at King’s College London in Westminster took precedence in their lives, leaving little time for holiday. However, a hastily convened conference in Paris on a newly discovered written work by nineteenth century French author Guy de Maupassant, and his wife’s persistence had finally won out. Today Phillip was somewhere inside the Institut de France, giddy over the possibility that a de Maupassant story had gone undetected for over one hundred thirty years and reeling with the opportunity to be one of the first to study it. Such a once in a lifetime happenstance overwhelmed and absorbed the professor completely, dimming the rest of the world and leaving his wife Margaret free to shop on her own. The day before, a small antique shop had drawn her interest, but a scheduled dinner with her husband’s colleagues had delayed her chance to explore it until now. As she neared the shop, she phoned Phillip, catching him waiting for the museum preservation room to finish preparing the next batch of documents he was to study.
“Margaret, I trust you have found something to entertain you?” said Phillip. He well knew how excited his wife was to be in Paris.
She was about to launch into an animated rundown of the places she had visited, when she spotted his rye humor. Without missing a beat, she said, “Why yes, Phillip, although I may have to hire an extra cab to carry all the expensive antiques I have purchased.”
Philip smiled. He and Margaret knew each other too well. “Where are you now?” he asked.
“I’ve just arrived at that shop you pulled me away from yesterday. They will surely have some bargains ... Oh dear.” The shop had all the curtains drawn together and the sign on the door read FERMÉ. Margaret looked at her watch, hoping it might be a short dinner break. Then she cupped her hands and peeked in through a gap in the window curtain. “Oh, dear lord,” she said.
“What is it, Margaret?” asked her husband, hearing the alarm in her voice.
Margaret never heard him. Her phone had already dropped to the sidewalk. Inside the shop, she saw a man strapped to a wooden chair. Two men held him roughly by the shoulders. Another man with a tattoo on his neck stood in front of the victim, alternately firing questions at him in French and pistol whipping his face.
Margaret could do nothing but stare, frozen by the sheer brutality of the scene. Her husband continued to call her name from the phone lying at her feet, but it was a faraway dream.
Finally the man with the tattoo forced the barrel of his gun into the other man’s mouth and pulled the trigger, splattering blood and brains on the men holding him.
The loud blast snapped Margaret from her trance. She backed up into the street. A small blue car screeched its tires, barely avoiding her, and the driver laid heavily on the horn. Margaret turned toward the car and watched the driver’s mouth move angrily as he passed by. Then Margaret remembered what she had just witnessed and she looked back to the shop, hoping that no one inside had noticed her.
An arm yanked aside the window curtain and she was face to face with the tattooed man. The evil in his gaze cut her to the bone. As adrenalin took over, Margaret turned and ran headlong across the busy boulevard, careening off the hoods of several cars before reaching the other side. She looked back and saw two men dart out of the shop across the way, guns drawn. She knew they were coming for her. With nowhere to run, she stood helplessly, resigned to a certain death.
Suddenly a blue and white police van she had not noticed swerved over to the curb in front of her and stopped. The side door opened.
“Montez! Montez!” said the officer in the van.
Needing no translation, she darted inside. The door slammed shut and the van sped away into the flow of traffic.
“Thank you so much,” said Margaret, to the two uniformed police officers who were in the back of the van with her. “You saved my life. Those men—” Her voice trailed off.
“You are safe now. What did you see?”
“I don’t know. A man with a tattoo.”
“Could you recognize him?”
“I will never forget his face. He shot a man. He killed him.”
The policemen spoke to each other rapidly in French.
There was an explosively loud crunch, and Margaret was thrown violently into the wall of the van. The van rocked and spun around, skidding to a stop. Woozy from a bump on the head, Margaret slumped to the floor. She tasted blood. One of the policemen was lying next to her, his head twisted at an odd angle.
She heard shouting from the front, then gunshots. The other policeman opened the side door and stepped out, disappearing to the rear. More gunshots, then nothing.
A long ten seconds later, a man in a black ski mask appeared in the side door opening and climbed into the van. When he reached down toward her, Margaret passed out.
Buy C’est la Vie now.
About the Author
Jack Thompson is a professional writer, finding voices in a number of different genres. So far he has written a wide variety, including children’s stories, fairy tales, science fiction, paranormal romance, political thrillers and mystery detective stories. He’s even written a book of poetry. As an avid reader he has enjoyed an even wider variety from classic Greek literature to modern horror.
According to Jack, whether reading or writing, what makes a story great is how well it communicates to the reader. Whether presenting him with a hero he wishes he could be or a villain he chooses to hate, the characters must relate to the reader on a personal level. A reader will leave a good story in an improved condition. He may have learned something new about the world or himself, or simply been well entertained. That’s why Jack writes.
Other Kindle Titles from Jack Thompson:
C’est la Vie (Raja Williams Series, Book 2)
The Rand Principle (novel/political thriller)
Godmachine (novel/science fiction)
Lyrics for Living (book of poetry)
A Trick of the Eye (short story/adventure)
Blue is for Boys (short story/science fiction)
The Companion (short story/science fiction)
Hangtime (short story/science fiction)
Contact Jack
email: jack@jackwrites.com
website: JackWrites
twitter: @jack_writes
facebook: Author Page