So, my first novel is tentatively entitled "Fool's Gold" though I am looking for a much better title than that. As promised, here is the excerpt. It has not been edited in anyway from its original Rough Draft form except to add one paragraph at the beginning. So, take it in that manner. I will share a link to the novel in its entirety on fictionpress.com a the bottom of this blog entry. For those of you that wish to "beta-test" the book feel free to head on over there.
Please share you comments and reviews if you have anything to say! I hope you enjoy and Happy Reading!
Note that this material is DEFINITELY not public domain. It is COPYRIGHT Adam King 2013. However, you may all share this excerpt as much as you like as long as you properly attribute it and maintain the copyright notice, please.
Prologue
Before Pyrite
came in and pulled our city up by the roots life was good. I mean, I was
homeless and on the streets, but life was good. We got by and never really
starved. Showers were far in between as were clean sheets. Still, those things
are for the privileged. We certainly weren’t that and life was still good.
Everything began to change when the man in the suit came to see us.
He sat down on
the sagging couch. We all exchanged looks. Nobody sat on that damn couch. For
one thing it smelled awful. Second, it had bugs. We only kept the thing around
for appearances. That tarp-walled house needed to look comfortable. Our real
comfort was in the protection from rain and wind. The cement of the overpass
above kept rain away. Old blue tarps hanging from clothesline poles and
basketball hoops kept out wind. We had a pretty nice setup for homeless really.
There were even doors and windows fashioned from doubled up pieces of tarp.
I looked to
the newcomer; grinned at his ignorance and idiocy. The guy wore a suit to the
slums for fuckssake. His gray houndstooth jacket was offset by bright cuff
links and silver Rolex. A gray fedora-type hat made him all but a stereotype of
organized crime. A red tie stood out against a black shirt. This man probably
couldn’t help us, but it was worth trying. He supposedly had connections to
some new synthetic drug. Designers were all the rage in those days. Ecstasy was
old news, people wanted some new shit.
“What you got
for us?” I said, perhaps a bit rougher than I should.
“Something
new,” was all he said. He looked to Meggs. In that instant I really hated him.
Sure, Meggs was the oldest. She ran things from behind the scenes, keeping all
us youngsters from going too nutso. I was the face of the Crew. I should be
respected by getting direct attention.
“What in particular,
my friend?” Meggs asked.
The guy
hesitated, reluctance was written all over his frame. He fidgeted and looked
around the dirt-ridden house. I looked at Meggs and rolled my eyes.
“Well, miss,”
he began, “it’s a sort of chemical made in a lab…”
“We were told
it would get people high,” I cut across.
“It is a
psychoactive substance, yes. It’s cheap and easy to make and there are
legitimate companies interested in marketing it. We, however, would prefer to
keep it quiet and not flood the market.”
“That’s where
we come in?” Meggs.
“Yes, of
course.”
“What’s our
cost?”
“Nothing
initially, just distribute it for us. Our cut will be 33%; you need the money
more than we. We know you do not have…” here he cleared his throat. I hated him
even more. At least have the guts to call it what it was: we were dirt poor. “…Much
to offer in terms of monetary gains for startup. We have our own ways of making
money anyway.”
“Alright, but
there must be a catch,” Me, butting in again, adamant he should recognize my
place.
“No catch. Well,
other than this. The very principles of the chemical are…well, a bit dangerous.
It is exceedingly addictive and over-use leads to violent outbursts. Still, one
must be on the verge of overdose to get to that level. This drug, luckily, isn’t
one that people usually want to repeat using right away. Its power is such that
at least a few hours rest is usually desired. Still, I could not, in good
conscience, neglect to mention this.”
“Shit, meth
does all that other than make you not want to use it again,” I said. Meggs looked
at me, stern. I pursed my lips and looked back to the man. He was finally
acknowledging me.
“Yes, that is
true. This, however, is more of a mental drug. It is a stimulant, but it causes
more introspection. It isn’t a party drug in the sense that cocaine,
methamphetamine, and ecstasy are,” he said, grinning.
Meggs and I looked
at each other and at the other two Crew members.
“Thank you for
coming down here, sir. We are much obliged. Are there other groups your company
is interested in employing for these purposes? Or could we have a day to think
it over? We make it a point not to make these kinds of deals without the whole
family being here,” Meggs said, the epitome of politeness.
The man’s eyes
pinched the slightest bit. He didn’t like the situation, but it was clear there
weren’t many options.
“There are
other factions we could contact,” he said, “but they are all gangs. We would
prefer to invest in one of the more fringe-groups, such as you. The more
law-abiding people, though that, of course, is used loosely. So, yes, I see no
issue with coming back down here tomorrow at this hour. Will that be sufficient
time?” He smiled, but we could tell it was a little forced. This guy disliked
dealing with our lot that much was obvious.
“Oh, of
course! That will work splendidly!” Meggs said, smiling more widely than the
visitor. Her voice mimicked his affluent tone.
The gentleman
relaxed noticeably, nodded twice, then shook our hands and left the house. We
all looked around at each other and laughed. Once he was out of earshot we
laughed louder. That couch was disgusting. It would be a shock if the man
didn’t bring some fleas home to his wife and kiddos. That was our revenge for
his disdain. It was a small thing, but satisfying.
Meggs tipped a
wink at me and smiled.
“Sorry for the
stinkeye bit, Zippo. This could be big money though!”
“I know. I
just hate those snooty bigshot corporate sellouts.”
“We all do,
girly.”
I sighed and
nodded. Then, clapping my cousin Noffy on the shoulder, I flounced down onto
the queen mattress we shared. My electric green hair flopped. I hadn’t bothered
to gel it up into its customary mohawk. It hung down one side of my freckly pale
face. The green clashed terribly with my pink shirt and yellow jeans. That was OK
though. I always preferred to stand out, even sorethumb-like.
“We’re in the
money now, eh Noffs!?” I asked, jubilant to play off his somber appearance.
He stared
straight ahead, a crooked little grin just pulling at one lip corner.
Glasseyed, zombieish, and gothic in his dress, Noffy was the antithesis of my
flamboyancy. My older cousin had been a chilled out pothead while I was still
in third grade. His calm demeanor balanced my hotheaded attitude. Black hair,
dyed that way as the brown roots testified, hung down, greasy, over a turned up
collared shirt and a tweed jacket. I hated that jacket, leather elbow patches
and all. Whenever Noffy wore it I made sure to poke him in the ribs and call
him “Professor.” He didn’t care. He didn’t seem to care about anything.
“I guess.
Still, man, what’s money really?” he asked.
I rolled my
eyes and tousled his hair. That’s the one thing he really hated.
“Oh lighten up
you fuckin’ beatnik.”
He sighed and toked
up a joint. I flinched away from the lighter. Jerk was paying me back for
touching his hair. I couldn’t stand open flames. Everyone thought it was the
height of irony that my nickname was shared with a lighter brand.
“What’s light
but a lack of darkness Zipps?”
“Most people
say that the other way around, bro.”
He nodded.
“I’m not most
people.”
I nodded,
emulating his high. I took the joint and pulled on it.
“Yea, man,
we’re all one though didn’t you know?” I said pitching my voice husky and slow.
He laughed; he
loved it when I tried to be a hippy surfer pothead.
“Yea, dude, I
guess. Most people don’t know that though,” he said.
It was my turn
to laugh. This was good kicks. I passed the roach back and looked around. Meggs
had stepped out while Noffy and I shared banter. She probably had some walking
to do. I was sure she’d be thinking about the deal on her own before we all
argued about it. Zag hulked in the corner, leaning against a precariously
tilting tarp wall, muscles dragging the plastic outward. Usually he would be
more involved, but he was on shrooms that morning. His pupils were hubcaps as
he stared around the house.
“Yo, Zag! You
doin’ OK over there?” I asked.
It took him a
second to find the source of my voice. When he finally looked at me he just
nodded vaguely and giggled. He sat up more straight.
“I almost
melted into the wall there, man, you saved my life,” he said, collapsing into a
true fit of laughter.
I couldn’t
help but laugh with him. Noffy passed me the joint and I took a couple huge
hits. Coughing, I wiped my eyes, tears eked out the corners. I was laughing as
hard as Zag and I was only stoned. Even Noff joined in. This was even better
kicks than the suitguy.
“What you
seein’ out there in the cosmos, bro?” Noffy.
“Man, I see
the universe.”
“Truth,” Noff
muttered.
“I guess,” I
said, chiming in.
The two boys looked
at me, Zag with his strawberry straw hair and patched denim. They laughed
harder than ever. I don’t know why, but apparently a chick joining the
conversation was funny as cold shit on a penguin’s ass. I laughed right along
with them, it was fuckin’ funny I guess.
Those were the
good days. It was before everything got real complicated and after we’d settled
into our family. It was just the five of us. We’d carved out a good little
slice of hell and were OK with it. That overpass shanty we called the Cave was
just right. Our Crew fit in just cozy enough to stay warm in the winter but
with enough space to chill out in the summer. The windows stayed open from May
to October usually and we slept outside a lot. We lived in the armpit of California
and summers were fucking hot.
When I look
back on that year or so of the good times I feel good. Sure, it’s sad those
times are over, but it was a major period in my life. Those months shaped me
more than my entire broken childhood. My pierced lip, constantly changing hair
color, and shredded, ridiculous Lite Brite clothing still sit in my closet even
after all these years. I’m in a real house now, but sometimes, when I see the
A/C bill in July, I really miss that little dumpheap. More than that, I miss
the Family. We were tighter than any crew around. All that would change sooner
than we expected. Something about our ages made us think we’d always be living
that way. The only one that may have seen this for foolishness was Meggs. She
was always the wisest one, though Noffy seemed more that way from outward
appearance. Yea, I really miss those days.
If you made it this far then I thank you very much for reading! It is wonderful that people seem interested in reading this and have supported me thus far in my fiction writing endeavors! Here is the link to the full text of the rough draft, all 119 pages of it. The link will only be live for a limited time as I will be removing the novel from all internet places during the rewriting and (fingers crossed!) publishing phases. Oh, feel free to skip the prologue as you've already read it here! =) Thanks again! You are all the reason I continue to write.
