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Fell: To cut down, or kill.
Jack: Old slang for cash money.
After leaving the military, Jack Egan is a nice guy whose only skillset is killing. Desperately in need of cash, Jack decides to “kill for money” on his own- not just following orders anymore.
Miranda fell for Jack. Unfortunately when she finds out what he does for a living, she splits. But not before Jack inadvertently sets off a mafia killing spree of which Jack, Miranda, and an innocent thirteen-year-old girl are to become victims. Now Jack’s new mission in life is to save his ex-girlfriend, protect a frightened kid, and deliver some payback to the mafia.
Fell: To cut down, or kill.
Jack: Old slang for cash money.
After leaving the military, Jack Egan is a nice guy whose only skillset is killing. Desperately in need of cash, Jack decides to “kill for money” on his own- not just following orders anymore.
Miranda fell for Jack. Unfortunately when she finds out what he does for a living, she splits. But not before Jack inadvertently sets off a mafia killing spree of which Jack, Miranda, and an innocent thirteen-year-old girl are to become victims. Now Jack’s new mission in life is to save his ex-girlfriend, protect a frightened kid, and deliver some payback to the mafia.
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Fell For Jack
Notes on the Fell for Jack series:
Fell for Jack was written after a long hiadas from writing. Oddly it was the first novel I completed. Being a longtime fan of Mickey Spillane, Dashiel Hammett, and Raymond Chandler, The detective novel has always been influential in my writing style, however, it can be difficult to write in this tone. Choppy and quick seems to be the style I ended up with. But I happen to like choppy and quick and to the point, Jack does not mess around, and the writing reflects that. As this book started off as a writing exercise, the second and fourth chapters seem slower to me than the rest. However 1800 words were removed in attempt to flow it along with the rest of the novel.
The Mike Hammer novels always got to me. The harsh, unlucky in love, nothing to lose, and always close to death Mike Hammer who had a love hate relationship with every friend he ever had just seemed an amazing character. I wanted to be Mike when I was 12, but I wanted to write like Mickey when I was 20.
So when I started writing Jack, I sort of had it in the back of my mind to write a modern day Mike Hammer. It turned out very different, but the influence was there.
However much Jack Egan has influenced me, he truly seemed an instrument to get to another character for me. The character I have had in my head for a very long time with no way to get her out. No way to invent her. She just dwelled there alone in my head waiting for me to introduce her to the world. And thanks to Jack, I finally found a way to do that.
Josie has been brewing for some time. She came to me in a game and then a dream.
The Outlaw Josie Walen is the second book in the series. And there is a third in the works with a working title Sevenson. Sevenson is the name of an assassin that would be considered the exact opposite of Jack. He doesn’t care at all about the who or the why. He just wants to kill and get paid. And he is extremely fun to write. Although I never had him in my head until after I had written Josie, so maybe that is the way it goes. I have to get one of them out of my head before the next arrives.
Fell for Jack was written after a long hiadas from writing. Oddly it was the first novel I completed. Being a longtime fan of Mickey Spillane, Dashiel Hammett, and Raymond Chandler, The detective novel has always been influential in my writing style, however, it can be difficult to write in this tone. Choppy and quick seems to be the style I ended up with. But I happen to like choppy and quick and to the point, Jack does not mess around, and the writing reflects that. As this book started off as a writing exercise, the second and fourth chapters seem slower to me than the rest. However 1800 words were removed in attempt to flow it along with the rest of the novel.
The Mike Hammer novels always got to me. The harsh, unlucky in love, nothing to lose, and always close to death Mike Hammer who had a love hate relationship with every friend he ever had just seemed an amazing character. I wanted to be Mike when I was 12, but I wanted to write like Mickey when I was 20.
So when I started writing Jack, I sort of had it in the back of my mind to write a modern day Mike Hammer. It turned out very different, but the influence was there.
However much Jack Egan has influenced me, he truly seemed an instrument to get to another character for me. The character I have had in my head for a very long time with no way to get her out. No way to invent her. She just dwelled there alone in my head waiting for me to introduce her to the world. And thanks to Jack, I finally found a way to do that.
Josie has been brewing for some time. She came to me in a game and then a dream.
The Outlaw Josie Walen is the second book in the series. And there is a third in the works with a working title Sevenson. Sevenson is the name of an assassin that would be considered the exact opposite of Jack. He doesn’t care at all about the who or the why. He just wants to kill and get paid. And he is extremely fun to write. Although I never had him in my head until after I had written Josie, so maybe that is the way it goes. I have to get one of them out of my head before the next arrives.
Sample Chapter from Fell for Jack:
We’re devils and angels
Which one will I be today?
-Social Distortion
1- Aftermath
Central Street - Bangor, Maine
Burnt gunpowder had mixed with the mist in the air and created a thick smell that stuck to the inside of my nostrils. The street lamps seemed to glow an odd shade of yellowish-white, like stars mixed with rotten eggs. The temperature had ironically warmed after the sun had dropped below the snow-covered buildings, streets, and earth, and the slowly melting snow had seeped into vapor. I always wondered what caused mist as apposed to fog and when to call each one what it truly was, but standing here looking at the blood splattered face of a thirteen-year-old girl, it didn’t really matter right now.
“Hurry,” I told her, and started to jog. She kept up.
We reached the Jeep and I let her in with the lock remote.
I drove. We went back towards her uncle’s house as fast as I could drive in the conditions. The highway was fine but the unplowed back roads were thick with slush because of the odd temperature change.
She didn’t ask where we were going. She didn’t talk at all. She just stared out the window.
I looked at her for the first time. I knew she was thirteen from the file I had been given. She had on a nice purple dress and a black velvet coat, her hair was strait and long and she let it cover her face. It was too bad, she had a pretty face.
She was a cute kid, normal looking. She was probably one of the most messed up people on the face of the planet right then, but she looked like every other teenager. Well, except for her Uncle’s blood splattered across her face and the brain matter in her hair.
I opened the center console and found a yellow Wendy’s napkin. I handed it to her and she took it and blew her nose. I laughed and pulled out another one, telling her to wipe her face. She looked at me quizzically and pulled down the vanity mirror to inspect herself. She didn’t even blink at the blood, just started wiping her face with the napkin.
The blood had dried and it smeared a little but was not coming off so I pulled out a half empty water bottle from my sack in the back seat and handed it to her.
“Here, use this,” I said to her. She blotted water on the napkin and started working on the blood spots, “Out damn spot.” I said.
She looked at me with little expression, then gave the slightest of smiles, but said nothing. She went back to cleaning her face and I went back to watching the road.
I pulled into a gas station to fill up and after pumping the gas I asked if she wanted anything. She shook her head. She had just eaten a few hours ago with her aunt and uncle, so I figured she was good. Then, as if I had mentioned the food aloud, she leaned forward and puked all over the passenger side floor of the jeep. I walked around to her side and opened the door. She got out with a look of shame.
“Here,” I handed her a twenty, “Go get a sprite to settle your stomach, and some crackers or something. I’ll clean this up, okay?” She nodded but said nothing, and walked towards the store.
I cleaned the vomit up the best I could and she was back by the time I was done with a sprite, a coke, two Hershey bars, and a pack of peanut butter crackers. She handed me the coke and one of the chocolate bars. I thanked her and we both got in the jeep.
It was strange. This kid that had been through so much; molestation, the death of both parents, and now had just witnessed her uncle and his wife die right in front of her, had just given me a candy bar.
We arrived at her uncle’s house and I told her to go inside and gather her things and put them in the jeep and wait. I went around and collected all the equipment I had left around the property when I’d had to leave so quickly.
“You alright?” I asked her before starting out. She said nothing but gave me a look that said I should know she was not alright, “Okay then. Here we go.”
I explained to her that I had another car waiting for us at a rest area not too far from where we were. Then I called John and left a message for him to call me back.
We arrived at the rest area and quickly changed cars. The equipment all went in the trunk of the Lincoln I had rented through a fake ID and had someone pick up and drive here for me.
I decided I needed to clean up a bit so I went into the empty rest stop’s bathroom and did the best I could at getting blood off everything. The bathroom had one of those revolving cloth dispensers for drying your hands and I cut off a decent length and wrapped my wounded arm after cleaning it out well. My ribs were bruised badly, but I did not know what to do about it. I looked around and was happy to see a machine on the wall that sold condoms and aspirin. I bought three packets of pills and downed the six pain relievers using water from the sink. For now, it would have to do.
The trip back to Chicago was filled with frustration and pain. First and foremost, I had lost a lot of blood and had not slept in a long time. It was getting dangerous to drive. I was also dealing with a number of gunshot wounds, and although only one had drawn blood, the others were more painful. I needed a drink, bad, but I could not allow that in my current condition. Unfortunately, when I had pulled over to sleep for a bit, John called and ruined my day even worse.
“He’s dead,” John told me. It took a few moments for me to figure out who “he” was.
“What happened? How did they track him down?” I asked.
“They just did. I don’t know. But they killed him, and now they are after everyone involved. Is the girl safe?”
“Yeah, her aunt and uncle are gone, but she’s right here sitting next to me.” I informed him.
“What? She is with you? In your car?” He was astounded.
“Yeah. What was I going to do, leave her there? I was sucker-punched, already thinking I had killed them all. The last fucker posed as an employee and I didn’t make him. There coulda been more, and even if there weren’t, they will more than likely come after her again right?”
“You are crazy, you know that?” he sounded tired, “So what are you planning to do with her now?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it.” and I hadn’t. I had just acted. I knew I could not leave the kid standing there over her recently departed aunt and uncle. Plus she did not seem like she much wanted to stay there.
“Well, you might want to start worrying about your girl friend. If they found him, they sure as hell will connect you to her and then she’s toast.”
Jesus Christ I was an idiot! I had not even thought about Miranda ever getting hurt. She was kept separate and had nothing to do with any of this in my mind. The kid’s stupid mother had come to my home and ruined both our lives. But I couldn’t put the blame for Miranda being in danger on her. It was totally my fault. I had put her life in danger the second I met her. I should have never gotten involved with her, or anyone else for that matter. How could I be such a fool?
My heart rate increased and my speed did as well. I had been staying at or under the speed limit until then. Getting pulled over for speeding would be a bad thing with the arsenal in the trunk and the kid who may or may not be on a police BOLO (Be On the Lookout for). But the thought of anyone hurting Miranda was enough to make me ignore caution. I needed to get to her, and fast. I could live without her, but I could not live with getting her killed! That was not going to happen! I would die before I let that happen. She loved me and trusted me (well, before she found out I was a killer anyway), and she did not deserve to be involved in any of this.
“You there?” John was still on the phone.
“Yeah, sorry,” I said, “What are you going to do now?”
“Disappear, my friend. It is something I am rather good at. So if you need anything, now is the time.”
“So am I out of a job then?” I asked.
“You still want to continue in this line of work?”
“Maybe. It’s all I know. You going to change careers or something?”
“Give me a few months, I’ll get in touch with you and we can discuss going into business together,” He said, “It could work out nicely. That is, if we are both still alive.”
“Right,” I smiled, “Well, I’ll see you later, man.” I hung up.
The snow had stopped and the salt trucks had been over the roads. The side of the highway looked like it was covered in piles of coal instead of snow. Everything was grey and white at the same time, and it wreaked cold. I was not certain if my blood was thin or I was just cold or if I was tired of all this killing. The red blotches of snow in the street in Bangor remained in my vision as I drove.
I turned to the kid and said, “So what’s your name?” and I knew what it was already. I just had not heard her speak, ever, and it was bugging me. Unfortunately she just looked at me.
“Bob,” I said, “I’m going to call you Bob,” She still just looked at me, “You know, like ‘Silent Bob’.” She smiled and looked forward, “Bob it is then.”
I continued to talk to the kid for hours as we drove. I called her “Bob” the whole time. It kept my mind off the dead people and the pain. She never said a damn thing and I was getting used to it. She was responsive, though. Usually it was a shoulder shrug or a smile or frown or her classic quizzical look with a side-glance, one eyebrow up, hair in her face.
I called Mike and told him to meet me at an El parking lot with new armor and 8 full clips of ammo for the Springfield. I thought for a brief second about trying to pawn the kid off on him, but I knew better. It would get them both killed.
When we got into town I told the kid I had work to do and she nodded her head that she knew. We checked into the Hyatt and I left her in the room with orders to stay there. I told her she could order room service, but it would require her speaking. She just flicked me off. I laughed and told her I would bring pizza back with me.
I had written down the address to my warehouse and information on how to locate the money I had stashed there in case I never came back, and put it in an envelope. I told her not to open it unless I did not come back by morning. I wrote the number to the room down in case I needed to call her but I figured she probably would not answer it if I called.
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