It's a pity that stag isn't here anymore to mind this thread, which IMO is a worthy one, and so I'll do my bit to keep it from slipping into the Marianas Trench of unseen, unread threads in the "Off Topic" section. I'm hoping my friend---both on AJB, and outside of it---thesecretagent, AKA novelist A.P. Bateman, will also look in on it from time to time and provide stuff for the working or aspiring writers who spend time on this site.
Here's a snippet from Chapter 4 of the in-progress "Storm Maker," the follow-up to "Blood & Ashes," featuring private eye Oscar Jade in 1942 Miami Beach, Florida:
When you spend any length of time on a boat, especially when tied up to a dock, you become accustomed to the rhythm and routine of the sounds and motion: the gentle nudging of the craft against the fenders, the creaking of the mooring lines as they pull against the cleats, the barely-there slapping of calm water on the hull whenever a wake finds its way into the marina, the occasional hum of the bilge pump. Any sound that interrupts this pattern brings a pause, especially if you aren’t expecting company. And then you tend to pay close attention.
It was that kind of sound: a footstep on the deck, perhaps, accompanied by a subtle but unmistakable interruption in the rocking of the boat.
Oscar Jade’s right hand darted toward the bunk, and slid beneath the pillow. Waiting there was a blued-steel snub-nosed Smith & Wesson ‘Military & Police’ .38 Special, a weighty and welcome presence in the palm of his hand. Jade smoothly drew back the hammer until it made a decisive click. Wearing only his boxer shorts, he readied the weapon and slowly nudged the stateroom door open and peered down the passageway toward the lounge. He waited for another sound. Nothing.
Jade held his ground just inside the stateroom doorway, weapon ready, and tried to figure who it might be. Not Billings; the cop always announced himself before he stepped aboard—precisely because he didn’t want to be shot dead by surprise. He considered a list of possibilities. Some of them were overdue. It was about time. Then come on! Let’s see what you got.
The boat rocked gently at its moorings. Seconds stretched into half a minute. A line of sweat trickled down Jade’s right temple, ran along his jawbone and formed a drop at the tip of his chin. He wiped it against his bare shoulder, and kept his piece aimed at the doorway that led out to the fantail.
Finally, a pair of black trousers and spit-shined black leather wingtips came into view, then came a three-piece black suit, a blood-red necktie, starched white shirt collar and a glimpse of a hard face topped by a black fedora with a grey band. Jade waited until the man’s body filled the doorway to the lounge, presenting a big target with many options, before he barked—in a loud and deliberately harsh voice—“Right there, fella!”
