«A Day In The Life» by Harley Fox

A city built on corruption.
Who will save their souls?


Santa Espera is a dirty,
sprawling metropolis. The streets crawl with crime, drugs, and forbidden love.
At the heart of the city is a monolith; a vast building that stretches hundreds
of feet, employing thousands of people.


PharmaChem.


The city's main source of economy and only provider of pharmaceuticals, both over and under the counter.
The man who runs it, Will Silver, is the same man who brought this derelict
city back to life. He's the man who controls 99% of its wealth. And he's got plans for the future.


Merryn. Jake. Katie. Lance.
Trista. Flynn.


This is a glimpse into a day
in their lives before our story takes place. Whether it's by trying to survive,
working a tough job for an even worse boss, or searching for happiness between
bedsheets, these six work hard to keep on living. Their fates will soon
intertwine. But whether it's for the better or worse remains to be seen.


A Day In The Life is a
prologue to the Santa Espera series. It is a standalone novella. It contains
swearing, violence, sex, and gang-related activity.


~~~~~
PG Excerpt ~~~~~


I hear a combination of footsteps and giggles coming down the alley, but it only sounds like one person. I glance up at the clock-he's actually on time. I'm surprised. I pick
up a new rag from my workbench and wipe the grease and polish from my hands. As he approaches I hear a hard snorting sound, followed by more giggles. My eyes
narrow and I reach behind me, touching the gun that's tucked into my belt.


The guy appears in the
doorway to my garage. If it weren't for the fact that I'd been expecting him, I might not have pegged him as the same guy. Today he's wearing a custom-tailored
suit, his hair gelled and styled. His shoes look like Italian leather and he's
got a Rolex on one wrist. But his eyes are glassy and dilated, his face is dripping with sweat, and there's a white powdery residue just under both
nostrils.


Oh yeah, this is the same
guy.


“Hey! Motorcycle
Man!” he shouts out, his voice too loud for the small space of my garage.
He darts his head around, looking in all directions before settling back on me.
“You got my bike ready?”


I nod to the machine sitting
mere feet in front of him and he looks down, his expression changing to one of bewilderment.


“Whoa! This thing looks
brand-new!” he shouts. He starts walking around it, admiring my work. My hands clean, I toss the rag back onto the workbench and take a step forward.


“You really did a number
on this machine,” I told him. “You gotta be more careful when you drive. A lot fewer people are gonna get hurt that way.”


“Yeah yeah,” he mumbles, still looking closely at the bike. Suddenly he straightens up,
focusing on me again. This time he's so close I can almost smell the sweat
coming off of him. It smells stale, like gym gear left in a locker for too
long. “So, uh … how much did I pay you again, for this?”


My eyes narrow just a bit as I regard him.


“Three grand,” I
say.


The guy nods. “Mm, yeah,
right. Three grand, three grand.” I watch him closely, my entire body
tensed. “Mm, yeah, you know, it uh, it sounds like you're doing pretty
well for yourself then.”


I shrug. “I'm doing all right.”


He smiles. “Mm-hmm,
yeah? Well uh, here. Let me give you a tip for all your hard work.”


His hand reaches down and across himself, dipping inside of his suit jacket. But before he can bring out his gun I have mine already in my hand. I grab onto his wrist with my other
hand as I bring the barrel of my gun up to his head. He freezes, not moving,
not trying to pull away. I stare at him as he stares at the gun pointing at him.


“Ah ah ah,” I say in a low voice. “That would be a bad idea, now wouldn't it?”


The guy swallows, and then
nods his head.


“You don't want to make
some sort of mistake that you might come to regret, now do you?”


The guy is about to nod, but then shakes his head instead.


“Give me the gun,”
I say, and he doesn't resist as I slide my hand down to his, taking the weapon
out of his grasp. I bring it up so it's in my eyeline.


“A revolver,” I say to him, impressed. “Nice piece.”


Using my one hand I flick
open the cylinder and empty the bullets out onto the ground where they land in a metallic waterfall. Now empty, I close the gun up and lower it back down,
putting it into his empty hand.
“Now put it away,” I say, and he does,
tucking it back underneath his jacket where he got it. “And leave.”
And he does, all the giggling having gone out of him as he turns around and grabs onto the handlebars of his bike.