As the story developed, however, I fell in love with it, and at 30,000 words or so, refused to hurry it or stuff it with empty word count. I bagged on NaNo, intending to work on After Life through the winter. I didn't do that, but the time away from it gave me a chance to daydream about what was going to happen, and I did get back to it. Most nights I write some more on it, most days I think about it to the exclusion of all other creative projects. Since I wrote "some more" again last night, I thought I'd share an excerpt. Not exactly what I wrote last night, as that would be a spoiler, but some scene I really liked ...
Candace Rogers ("Roj") is dead, but still trying to save the life of her boyfriend, Matt Trapester. Garrison is her crooked boss.
They were in Lodi in a matter of seconds, in an instant. Obviously there is some advantage to following an angel, Roj thought. The cafe was before them, Garrison within, and a person sharing a table with him who had an athletic bag at her feet. "It is filled with money," Desai said.
"Lovely," Roj replied. "Did he give it to her, or did she give it to him?"
"She has brought it to him," Desai answered.
"She smokes. I can smell her. She must have a lighter on her somewhere." Roj floated about the woman, sniffing, sensing, even without her senses, sensing. With gentle surreptitiousness, she eased a butane lighter from the woman's purse, and then began to slowly, oh, so slowly, to unzip the bag to expose the money, quietly so that the woman and Garrison would not notice.
"You'll keep that Pest off our shipments," the woman said in a commanding tone of voice to Garrison. "We still think he ought to be under ground, you know."
"He's off the force," Garrison said. "Totally off the deep end. Nothing he can say will hold in a court of law, the psychiatrist assured us of that. And we have a couple people making sure he has plenty to drink, at the bar he likes, and at home."
"You bastard," Roj snarled. "I've been too easy on you."
"Roj. Garrison's people have been giving Matt liquor to keep him from being killed. Listen to that."
"Why would Garrison change his mind? Because Max was getting too strong for him? I don't care why. Watch this."
The athletic bag full of money was open. When Garrison and his contact looked out the windows of the restaurant to the west, Roj took a bottle of olive oil from the setting of the empty table next to them and upended it into the bag.
Near the windows, a woman in an expensive tweed suit knocked over a carafe of red wine with an inadvertent wave of her arm.
Roj took the opportunity of the convergence of waiters at the window table to quietly drag the bag of money several yards away, give the oily packs of bills a quick toss like a salad, and then light the mass on fire.
At another table, a woman screamed as she saw the flames, drawing gazes back from the broken glass and red wine and clumsily mopping waiters. Both Garrison and the woman gaped at the burning athletic bag for an instant before shouting, "NOOOO!" in an impromptu duet. While Garrison dragged out his jacket and began flogging the bag, Roj flew to the ceiling and plied the lighter on the sprinkler system sensor.
The waterworks came on, diners screamed and ran for doors, and the manager ran into the room calling 9-1-1 and pointing at Garrison, trying to put out the flames, and his lady friend, who simply stared, her lower jaw dropped in disbelief.
A police car screamed into the parking lot, lights blazing. Two officers ran towards the front doors. "God dammit!" shouted the woman and sprinted, even in high heels, for the kitchen.
"Stop her!" screamed the manager.
Oh, and Desai is an angel. I love playing cops and robbers.
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