Just a taste

Here’s a snippet of my novel, The Escher Effect — a tech thriller with all the action of The Bourne Identity and the sinister transparency of Julian Assange’s WikiLeaks. Keep in mind this is my burn draft (the draft before the first draft). I’m just getting ideas on the page at this point. But I wanted to share. Enjoy.

Auggie came out of the bathroom zipping up his well-faded Levi’s. His oversized Harley-Davidson belt buckle held back his untucked cowboy shirt. Escher threw a beer at him. It was off the mark, forcing Auggie to dive across the room to catch Escher’s speedball PBR. He belly-flopped onto an IKEA type coffee table. The collision launched a bubbly pink Lava Lamp, exploding all over Marialyce’s bedroom door. Escher and Auggie looked at each other and then at the door.

The pink goo’d door swung open. Marialyce, in just her black panties, leaped out. She quickly scanned the room and pointed a gun at Auggie. “Whooooooa. Whoa. Whoa. Whoa,” chattered Auggie. “Eeeeasy, Marialyce. Easy.”

Escher stepped around the cluttered breakfast bar and inched toward Auggie, still flat on the floor. “Let’s all catch our breath,” said Escher. “We were just messing around. Sorry about the table and the… the lamp. Please, put the gun down. Please Marialyce.” 

The midday sun cast a bronze glow on Marialyce’s petite, half-naked body. Her left arm was wrapped in a fresh white bandage. Escher could see two smaller scars, the size of pennies, just above her right breast. She finally lowered the gun and whipped her head forward, then back to get her wet blonde hair out of the way. With a tough-girl smirk, she slammed the door closed. Escher flopped on the couch in relief. Auggie swept the table splinters into a pile with his foot. His old, brown leather Harris boots looked as if they’ve done this domesticated dance before. With the PBR can still clutched in his fist, Auggie tapped the top three times and sunk into couch next to Escher. “Goddamit, Esch. You’re gonna get me killed one of these days.”

Escher massaged his brow with slow, deep strokes. He replayed the morning in his head. Nothing made sense. A short airy belch from Auggie brought Escher back into the moment. “So how is Simon gonna help us?” said Auggie.

“Simon is a freak about this kind of shit. He’s good at puzzles and shit, I don’t know. I mean, fuck he’s like a genius or something. Remember when he said spies were using newspapers to send secret message to other spies? Fuckin’ creepy.”

“This isn’t a puzzle Esch. People are trying to kill you. Kill us. I’m sorry Escher, I don’t think Simon can save us.”


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