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Author Topic: First Chapter of my Action/Adventure novel  (Read 2373 times)
Stormm
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« on: July 24, 2006, 07:15:42 PM »

                                                                       
Here's the first chapter of an action/adventure I'm trying on for size.  It's about an innercity martial arts club that winds up declaring war on the drug cartels and gangs.  They end up financing a major corporate effort at waging a secret war with the loads of drug monies they confiscate.  They even buy an old deisel submarine at an auction and rig it up to attack drug runners in the Carribean.  I got the idea from a latino friend who said he always wanted to be a pirate on the Carribean, and I started thinking how that could come to pass.


                                                                              WANNABE A PIRATE
                                                                                       PART ONE
                                        Do Rags And Don’ts


   Tom Cat Murphy took his place in the fighter's circle.  This time it would be all of the advanced class against himself.  His kid brother, Marty, was a part of this group now.  The tickle of adrenaline fluttered in his stomach.  He lived for moments like this.  It made him feel alive.  At six feet, even and an athletic 190 pounds, deep green eyes twinkled merrily at his opponents below a short shock of curly black hair and fine arching brows.     
               
                The Master barked and Tom dropped to the floor, catching himself on his palms spreading  his legs with a snap, toppling the three men behind him and leaping to his feet.  Showing their determination that they would take him out of the game this time, the students in front of him wasted not a second, closing with multiple flurries of punches and kicks.  Contracting his body into a protective crane stance, he barely managed to deflect all the blows and used the force of their momentum to launch himself into a backwards somersault towards the rear corner of the kwoon. 
   
               With a cry of delight, the class rushed to take advantage of their  cornered prey.     

              Executing a long and wide inside crescent kick, he struck one or two and caused the rest to back off about a foot or two as he continued his spinning arc to face the corner he was backed into.  Springing into the wall at about waist level, he pushed off to launch himself into the adjoining wall as the team rushed his last position into the now crowded corner. 
   
              Having gained altitude in the wall bouncing maneuver, he dove over their heads and came down in a crouch behind them where he decimated their ranks with a series of sweeps and kicks that sent them into a tangled, struggling mass in the tightly packed corner.  Grunts and growls gave way to exhausted laughter as the class disentangled themselves from each other to face the Master and himself.
   
             "We really thought we had you there," Seth said while straightening his gi.
   
             "You did," Tom explained, "right where I wanted you."
   
             The Master clapped his hands twice sharply and the class arranged themselves in a rough semicircle on the mats before him.  All eyes were locked on him as if he might disappear at any moment, which was not an uncommon occurrence here.  Half a head taller than the Tomcat, he cut an imposing figure with his long pale braid and piercing steel gray eyes.  Tall and solid as a utility pole and as insubstantial as mist.
   
            "Obviously Tom knows the strategic advantage of seeking the corner in this exercise," the Master said in his lecturing tone.  "But who, of the rest of you can tell me some of the benefits he enjoyed?"
   
             "He limited the areas we could attack him from to manageable proportions by using the corner at his back,"  Seth replied. 
   
              "He also drew us into a tight spot with an exit strategy for himself,"  said Marty.  "He forced us to crowd and get into each others way."
   
              "Very good, Marty," the Master said beaming.  "You're getting the knack of this even faster than your older brother had.  His pride in you is justified.  T.C., what have you to say for yourself?"
   
               "The adage you've worn into us all has stuck with me,"  Tom replied with a grin.  "To expect the unexpected and then to BE the unexpected.  I expected them to attack with unrestrained enthusiasm and they did.  I did the unexpected by allowing myself to be cornered and encouraging a blitz.   I did the unexpected by not staying trapped and then using their momentum to trap them.  It worked as I expected."
   
              The class groaned at the pun and tossed their safety pads at him as the Master looked on, watching him bat away the playful projectiles with aplomb.  Clearing his voice and clapping his hands, the Master called for their attention once more.
   
              "A good job by everyone," Master declared.  "Now class dismissed.  Senior students need to meet with me afterwards for a short meeting, but the rest of you may go.  Good night." 
   
             The class stood in unison and gave a martial bow.  The Master returned in kind and then pandemonium broke out as the members headed for the changing rooms while the senior students stowed the training gear to its proper place.
   
            "I think your kid brother is up for another promotion,"  the Master said in an aside.  "He applies himself well."
   
             "Thanks, Master," he replied.  "I think the wisest thing I had done for him was to get him out of that gang scene in Boston and move here to study with you."
   
             "I am humbled," the old man said.  "When I met you there, I sought only to save you from yourself and in the doing, you brought yet another fine young man out of the darkness with you.  Words cannot express how proud I am of the both of you.  How you are feeling about your efforts for him is how I feel for the both of you."
   
               "Then, you must be a very happy man," Tom replied with a grin.
   
              "Don't tell anyone," the Master said.  "It amuses me for the rest to think of me as a cranky old man."  The old man gave him a surprisingly strong, playful swat on the shoulder.
         *         *         *
   Marty Murphy got out of his gi, stowed his gear away in his locker and walked out of the kwoon onto the streets of Rochester.  The Master had implied that he might even excel the Tomcat someday.  That was heady praise as he knew nobody better than his big brother Tom.  His freckled face stretched into a broad and self satisfied grin as the breeze ruffled his curly, chestnut colored hair and cooled his brow.  It was a lovely June evening and the sun was just setting when he met a couple of his high school friends leaving a corner store and walking towards the neighborhood. 
   
                Picture the pair as a black version of Mutt and Jeff, except Jeff is humongous.  Freddy is six foot four and rail thin, and this is accentuated by his love of loose fitting, colorful clothes.  Fat Wallace is about eight inches shorter and if there were a Buddha of Transcendent Technology, he'd be him.
   
                "Hey, Double M,"  Freddy said and high fived him,  "You headin' for the hood?"
   
                "I sure am,"  he said returning a series of rhythmic slaps and grips like a street dance.  "Mind if I join your troop along the way?"
   
                "What troop?"  Fat Wallace asked indignantly.  "There's only me an'  Freddy."
   
               "You just so much man," Freddy gushed with a friendly poke to his corpulent friend's ribs, "that you a troop all by yourself."  Wallace slapped Freddy's hand away and did an agile two step jig backwards laughing.
   
               "So, you gonna help me with that science homework tonight," Marty asked, "or will I have to tough it out by myself?"
   
               "I said I'd help with the calculus,"  Freddy said.  "Fat boy here, covers the science scene, but we in with you.  We was just buyin' the juice and cookies to settle in for about two hours of study with you.  You gonna teach us some of that kung fu of yours anytime soon."
   
               "I'll share a little as I can," Marty replied,  "but you really should join the kwoon and get the best you can get." 
   
               "That old white man is just a bit too scary for me,"  Freddy said.  "Besides, I'm a lover, not a fighter."
   
                "That's not the kind of information you want to get out should you ever land your skinny, little, black butt in jail someday,"  Fat Wallace said rolling his eyes upwards and feigning an attack of hemorrhoids.
   
                "That's disgusting,"  Marty replied scrunching up his face.
   
                "Okay, I'm thinking about taking lessons now,"  Freddy said, casting a sidelong glance at Wallace,  "'cause I'm pretty sure the old man is not known for kissing the boys and making them cry."
   
                "He'll make the bad boys cry alright,"  Marty said with a laugh.
   
                The boys walked another block in playful banter,  rounding the corner to see a group of thugs in do-rags congregating in front of an abandoned house. They called themselves the Ghost Dogs.   No doubt about it, this was going to be trouble.
   
                 "Do you think he'd make these boys cry a little?"  Freddy asked out of the corner of his mouth.
   
                 "I think it's a matter of time before Master takes notice and decides he doesn't want them breathin' his air,"  Marty replied under his breath.
   
                  "And I think it's time you little dweebs started paying tolls for the privilege of walkin' on our turf." Darryl Dawg said, strutting into their path.  "It's not like you've been good payin' customers, now, is it?"
   
                 "This ain't a rich hood, man"  Freddy responded.  "We ain't got no money."
   
                 "How stupid do you think I am?"  Darryl asked, indignantly.  "You're carrying groceries.  You got to have money."
   
                 "We don't think you're stupid,"  Marty replied, stepping in front of Freddy.  "We don't exactly think this is a study group of rocket scientists either.  But what we both need to live and thrive in this hood is to each mind our own business if you catch my drift.  We don't want no trouble from you, and you don't need no police taking notice of your activities here.  Silence is golden, right?"
   
                 Darryl Dawg stared into Marty's eyes with a cold and calculating hatred.  For himself, Marty returned the gaze unflinching and hoped the thugs would see a little reason and leave well enough alone.  It would be a short term solution at best.
   
               "Yeah,"  said Darryl, discreetly reaching behind his back,  "Silence is golden... like in 'dead men tell no tales.'"
   
                In a blink, Darryl whipped a nine millimeter, semi-automatic pistol up into Marty's face, he twisted away and kicked at Darryl's wrist causing the gun to fire wide of him.  Following through with a quick spin, he caught the street thug firmly on the side of the jaw with a spinning hammer fist.  Darryl went cart wheeling into the sparse hedge in front of the drug house.     
   
               Freddy gave a whoop of approval and another gunshot split the air from behind him them.  These were the last things that  Marty heard.
   
               For once, the cops and the ambulance got there in mere minutes.  Someone had the foresight to dial 911 when the confrontation had begun.  Most of the Ghost Dogs scattered at the sound of sirens.  Freddy and Fat Wallace knelt by Marty in shock.  A large portion of the left side of  Marty’s face was missing from the bullet’s exit wound.  There would be no homework done tonight.  The friends looked at each other searching for an easy answer as to how much their lives would be worth if they made any statements to the police and what they would be worth to themselves if they didn’t take some kind of action on behalf of their friend, Marty. 
   



**** This gets T.C. Murphy and the kwoon started on thinking how to get the neighborhood back under control.  But for every house they take down, two others rise in their place and they have to figure out how to launder all this dirty cash into something usable... which in turn gives them ideas for waging a bigger war.   Whatcha think?

   






































« Last Edit: July 24, 2006, 07:25:03 PM by Stormm » Logged

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« Reply #1 on: November 15, 2006, 04:58:33 PM »

It's a good start.  You could go places with this.  I'm not too sure about the submarine angle, though... I understand that you're going for a pirate thing, but that part just sounds a little far-fetched.  It would have to be well-supported by the rest of the storyline.  Good luck with it!   afro
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