Purchasing Information

Author:	Raven Davies	Format:	eBook/paperback
Publisher:	Friction Fiction Books 2011	Copyright:	2007
Size:	330 pages
ORDER PAPERBACK	ISBN: 978-0-9866742-1-1 through www.Lulu.com	PRICE:	$24.66 US
ORDER EBOOK	ISBN: 978-0-9866742-0-4 Kindle: from Amazon Nook: from Barnes & Noble Kobo: epub version for tablets, Kobo, Sony, Vox,        tablets, desktops, ereaders, smartphones	PRICE:	$12.95 US Prices vary

Preview

...After a ten-minute introduction, a pep talk, and a shaking of hands, Warren had two strangers out of his office and on their way down the glass elevator. Trevor sucked in his breath and held it for the entire trip down the thirty-four floors; his back firmly braced against the metal door. He would be ready when the silent opening made its move. Unafraid of heights, he had scaled and repelled many a mountain cliff with heavy equipment in tow, but his hands and knowledge had checked the harnessing thoroughly, unlike the free-fall elevator mysteriously attached to the exterior surface of the looming tower. He never took his eyes off his new partner, a diversion to thwart the feeling of an impending crash.

An unusual young man in appearance and countenance, Phoenix Thornton-Jones had his gloved hands pressed against the see-through shell, enjoying the sensation of flying and the panoramic view he had never seen, except once on the way up. His naïve wonderment charmed Sloane, who watched the diminutive figure silently from the safest position, knowing a smile enhanced the remarkable face at the sight. Reaching ground, both men exited the building, the larger man heading toward traffic to engage in another altercation with a treacherous yellow vehicle. Feeling a presence behind him, he turned to see a befuddled kid looking up and down the street, and then down at his toes, mimicking a hapless tourist without a decent map in hand.

“What’s up, kiddo? Did Graham give you the name of your hotel?”

“No, sir. Maybe you could recommend one. Don’t know of any, or what I’m supposed to do. Thought we could go someplace and discuss our next step.” The younger man did not look up to face the giant-sized man. He could not; he could not directly face anyone, but for a handful of very close friends.

“We’ll wave down a cab, drop you off someplace respectable, and then I’ll carry on to my apartment. While I sleep, you can settle in.”

“Okay.” Again, Thornton-Jones did not look up, but jumped to attention when asked to hail a taxi. Considering the items he carried, one arm seemed maneuverable enough to lift for attention, but he missed his first attempt. A second wave meant another miss, and he heard Sloane sigh heavily behind him.

“Step aside; you’ll break trying this. I don’t know if my own body can handle much more of New York’s transportation system. Watch my bags, particularly the metal one.” Trevor set his luggage at the edge of the curb, indicating to his new sidekick to move into position next to the distinctive case of valuable camera equipment, and to stand guard over his own costly gear. Tens of thousands of dollars now sat on the sidewalk for the taking, if not for the two men keeping an eye out as to their precise location. Phoenix stood exactly where told, his toes clinging to the edge of the cement rise, a good viewing point to watch a lunatic venture into bumper-car traffic.

Sloane picked his oncoming target, and as he had done at the airport, stopped the vehicle by slamming his upper body down hard against the hood from the side. Further frenzied insults peppered the unflappable photographer, while the younger man took the cue, opened the back door immediately, tossed in two backpacks, gently loading the three important cases of working gear, and then scrambled into the narrow remaining space. Without hesitation, but a little cursing over a possible rib injury, Trevor climbed into the front seat; an action seldom taken in the formidable city.

“Hey, man, what you doin’? You ain’t s’posed to be sittin’ next to me; ‘sides, you could get yourself killed pullin’ a stunt like that. Man, you are one crazy dude. You gotta be nuts.” The cabby, in the Peruvian hat with ear warmers, gruffly snarled.

“I’m bolts; the one in back is nuts.” Sloane’s quick humor invoked a snicker from the rear, but the driver rolled his eyes and asked for a destination from Mr. Bolts.

“Mott Street, Chinatown, but we have to find Mr. Nuts a place to stay first. Hey, kiddo, did Graham give you expense money or a credit card?”

“No, I didn’t think to ask.” The voice sounded embarrassed. Obviously, the fledgling journalist had little business sense, and probably did not have the remotest idea regarding expense accounts, or even how much he would be earning.

“Do you have cash for a hotel, dinner, etc. etc. etc.?” Trevor tried to speed up the conversation with his best Yul Brenner imitation from The King and I, while praying, to the silver-clouded sun above, to speed him home and into bed.

“Some. Enough for...”

“...a burger and a scummy motel in another state. Shit. We’re being played, my friend, or our publisher’s becoming senile.” Sloane leaned against the door of the cab, rubbing his temple on the right side.

“I’ll be fine. You’re tired and need rest. Just drop me off here.” Rejection echoed in the soft, raspy voice; the hesitation accompanying it increased Trevor’s bafflement.

The older man had lived on his own since sixteen, sent away to school and college by a caring, but antiquated English born and bred father. He had raised himself with little regard toward other’s concerns, except for his small family and a few favorite lovers and friends. Drawing into himself only, today he needed to conjure up some honest compassion and quickly. With a lens between himself and Thornton-Jones, he would see the reasoning behind the man’s nervousness and probably every detail of his life. A photographer was what he was and how he viewed the world--through his camera--to separate himself from the reality. “So, there’s the rub, as Shakespeare wrote in Hamlet; I think. Okay, decision made; you’ll come home with me, Warren’s little darling; and we’ll play his game of trick or treat. Once I’ve had my power nap, we’ll get you sorted out...”

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