John Chamber’s Book 1: Her Mother’s Pendant

It’s all fun and games until someone gets bashed in the back of the head.

Dick shoved Santana out of harm’s way, which sent her into the wall. She caught herself on her hands and expertly rose to her feet as a punch landed on Dick’s shoulder blade.

Tyrone leered at Dick with a predatory grin as he went for him again, and used his momentum to turn his left jab into a right cross.

Dick was too quick for him as he ducked out of his trajectory and spun to hook underneath Tyrone’s bicep with both hands. He yanked the man’s arm down and drove his knee up, which bent the arm against its usual position and sent a spike of bone bursting through the skin.

Tyrone howled in pain while his eyes grew as wide as china plates. Dick was aware that more men were coming, spurred on by the sudden rush of adrenaline around the bar. He shoved Tyrone away, planted a foot in the middle of his back, and sent him forward, where he crashed into a nearby table and spilled the drinks of a rough-looking couple into their laps.

Wood splintered beneath him. The couple cried their protest and left the bar with angry glances back at them.

A cry of rage came from Dick’s right, and he caught Connor’s fist with his open hand, but barely. The grab sent a jolt of pain up his right arm into the shoulder joint. Dick used his left hand to jab Connor in the nose, which caused the nasal passages to erupt with blood. Connor’s head flicked backward, and Dick stabbed at the man’s throat, hoping to jab his fingers in his airway.

A great hulk of flesh charged at his side, rammed into Dick and lifted him from the waist. Caught off-guard, Dick could do nothing but let his new companion carry him until he was thrown onto the poker table’s top. Chips flew in all directions. The table snapped in two. Arnie landed on top of Dick and almost knocked the wind out of him.

“All of this because you don’t want to pay up?” Dick wheezed. “Would you rather I take an IOU?”

Arnie growled. “All of this because you’re a cocky, self-righteous prick.”

“I always had myself down for cocky, but self-righteous is a stretch.” He glanced at the behemoth of a man picking himself up off the floor. “Top points for expanding your vocabulary, though. I didn’t know gorillas could learn new tricks.”

Arnie’s face darkened. He picked up a wooden chair in one hand and arced it over his head. Seeing this maneuver long before it came, Dick grabbed the neck of one of the few surviving beer bottles and hurled it at Arnie.

The glass smashed as it hit his face. Shards sprayed in all directions, forcing him to shut his eyes and shake his head. The forgotten chair bounced off his head before it hit the floor, where one of the legs snapped off and skidded toward Santana. 

Seizing the advantage, Dick pushed himself to his feet as he grabbed another bottle in one hand, and a handful of peanuts in the other. He lazily tossed a couple of nuts into his mouth, then threw his arm out to the side and hurled the rest in Jake’s face.

Jake, who had been going for the second charge, pawed at his eyes while blinking stupidly to eradicate the pain from the salted coating dissolving in his tears. 

Meanwhile, Arnie turned to Dick with a face covered in lacerations and twinkling glass embedded in his skin. His eyes darted to the bottle in Dick’s hand, and as Dick moved for the strike, Arnie caught his wrist.

“I never fall for the same trick twice.” Arnie grinned.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Is that why your ex cheated on you three times?”

All humor left Arnie’s face. “You son of a—”

Wood splintered behind Arnie’s head. A mask of confusion fell over him as he released Dick’s wrist and moved his hand to his massive dome. He patted his head, then examined his hand, now stained red with blood.

Arnie dazedly spun to find Santana behind him with the wooden chair leg clutched in front of her with both hands. 

“What’re you going to do? Hit a lady?” Santana’s voice wobbled slightly.

Arnie looked as though he couldn’t understand what day of the week it was. His lip curled up, and his eyes rolled toward the back of his head. With a slight nudge of encouragement from Dick’s foot, Arnie collapsed onto his knees, then fell flat on the floor, his head tilted clumsily to the side.

A moment of stunned silence passed over the bar. Dick’s eyes met Santana’s. “So, you say you have a job?”

Santana nodded.

“Shall we get out of here?”

Her nods increased in eagerness.

Dick knelt at Arnie’s side and rifled through his pockets. He found his phone, held the fingerprint identifier to Arnie’s thumb and the screen lit up. He flicked across to the Satiata Cash app and thumbed in an estimated amount for his winnings that night. Then he bumped his phone against Arnie’s and a small notification rang to confirm the transfer. “Ah, how technology has made our lives all the easier. Sorry, big guy. A win is a win.”

Dick rose, tossed the phone, then stepped over the mountain of a man and joined Santana. As they strode past the others in the bar, they felt their eyes burning into them. They had barely made it past the bar when the sound of a shotgun cocking drew their attention.

“Relax, Marty. It’s over, okay?” Dick soothed. “Nice work on defending your bar, too, by the way. Who keeps their firearms hidden upstairs in Atlantica?”

Marty turned the shotgun’s barrel on Dick without a word.

Dick nodded as resignation came over him. This wasn’t the first time he had lost the privilege of entering one of the dingy establishments set up along the outskirts of Atlantica, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. The modest island floating off the East Coast of the United States had a copious amount of these quaint backwater bars, and the way Dick saw it, these carbon copy bars were like burner phones—great until their use expired, then you tossed them away and found another one. 

“Yeah, I get it. I’m not welcome back.” He turned and waved a hand behind him. “Let me know when the place changes hands again, will you, Marty?”

***

Night had fallen over Atlantica, but it was almost impossible to tell the difference from any other time of day. The ever-permeating veil of fog blocked the stars and reduced the full shining moon to a fuzzy orb in the sky. 

Cars revved their engines at the stoplights. It was an inspiring array of some of the finest vehicles the world had ever seen—Mercedes-Benz, Jaguars, Lexus, BMWs, Bentleys, Teslas, and many custom vehicles manufactured for some of the wealthiest individuals to grace the Earth. Although cash bought them their dream cars, it didn’t buy their owners’ patience. Despite all that money thrown at top-drawer parts and ludicrous horsepower, there was nowhere on the island to open the throttle and let the ponies gallop. 

Such a waste. We’re in the year 2027, and they still haven’t figured out a way to safely propel cars at breakneck speeds through the streets.

A lot of life was different in Atlantica. While the world still couldn’t believe that the hidden island had been found floating around in the Atlantic Ocean almost a thousand miles east of New York City, it hadn’t taken those who discovered it long to claim it as theirs and grow its notoriety. Atlantica had a reputation for welcoming the rich, the powerful, and the successful, and it didn’t matter whether you were good, evil, or somewhere in between. If you had money and the right contacts, you could make a home for yourself here. 

Dick fired up a cigarette, cupping the flame from his Zippo against the wind. He took a long drag and exhaled into the air. Santana watched him intently, her face a slightly paler shade than it had been in the bar. Sirens called in the distance.

“You said you have a job for me, Miss Sokolov. If it’s of some importance, I’d recommend spilling the beans sooner rather than later. As I’m sure I demonstrated in there, I’m a man of little patience, and although you have my attention now, who knows what shiny object could take it from you?”

Across the street, a woman emerged from a block of luxury apartments. Her red dress dropped to barely below her ass, and she strutted as though she owned the place.

“I see what you mean,” Santana scoffed as an understanding grin touched her lips. “Mr. Chambers…”

“Please, call me Dick.”

Santana considered this. “I’m not going to do that.”

“Enjoy the connotations too much?”

“The opposite.”

Dick exhaled from his nose, then took another drag of his cigarette. “Come. Let’s walk and talk.”

“Where are we going?”

“Away from the place we just destroyed.”

Santana’s mouth fell open. “You destroyed.”

“You mean that Arnie isn’t unconscious because you belted him over the head with a table leg?”

Santana’s mouth flapped open and closed.

Dick grinned. “That’s what I thought. Tick-tock, lady. I don’t have all night. I’ve got places to be.”

Santana looked as if she was going to contest that notion, then thought better of it. “Mr. Chambers, a mutual friend recommended your services. I need someone who can…locate things. Missing objects, stolen treasures.”

“Why don’t you call the AJS?”

The sirens grew louder. Dick turned to see two cars appear back down the street and pull up curbside at the bar. The vehicles were a sleek black with angry red cherries spinning their lights on top. The AJS crest decorated the sides of the cars.

Speak of the devils.

Dick had encountered the Atlantica Justice System on more occasions than he cared to admit in his eight years of residence on the island. Having lived most of his life in the United States, with a brief spell of his early years in the UK, he hadn’t believed the rumors that the laws and codes of ethics on Atlantica were so severely different from the rest of the world until he had experienced them first-hand. He was still getting his head around the do’s and dont’s of the island.

Atlantica has its way of dealing with lawbreakers, and that shit is as confusing as a Chinese puzzle box.

Dick increased his pace and turned left at the crossroads, passing a series of high-end diners and restaurants.

Santana fought to keep in step as pedestrian traffic increased. Three men barred her way, and she curved around them to catch up with Dick. “You know as well as I do that the AJS doesn’t do shit about residential conflicts. As far as they’re concerned, you can do whatever the fuck you want in your house and get away with it, but…”

“…take it into the streets, and they’ll come down on you like a guillotine. I know the drill.” Dick turned up the collar on his thick tan coat and brought the cigarette up for another drag. “Is there a point to all of this?”

Santana—who was now somewhat breathless—ran in front of Dick, grabbed his arm and pulled him into the shadows of a nearby alley. The smell of grilled steak and thick-cut French fries filled the air.

Dick frowned. “Look, Miss Sokolov, if this is some elaborate ruse to get me in the sack, I have to tell you that I don’t carry that kind of cash on me. You want a quickie; it’s gotta be a freebie, then I’m on my way—”

Red-hot pain rose on Dick’s cheek as Santana’s slap echoed down the alley. He moved his hand to his cheek, then looked at her. There was no malice in her eyes, only pained curiosity.

“You slapped me.”

“Yes, and I’ll do it again until you listen to me. I need you, Mr. Chambers. I’m a busy girl, and I don’t have time for this. I need you to help me locate something.” She drew a folded piece of paper from her pocket and passed it to Dick. He unfolded it to reveal four individual pages, each with a different printed picture on the front.

The first page showed a pendant on a gold chain draped across a walnut dresser. The locket lay open. Beside it was a torn piece of paper with a section of a map printed on the front, and a separate piece of paper with writing scribbled in a language Dick had never seen before.

The remaining three pages were enlarged images of each item, big enough so that Dick could see the contents more clearly.

“You photographed your evidence?” He kept his eyes fixed on the images, angling them so that the nearby streetlamp shone its light on them.

“Then destroyed the digital copies,” Santana stated.

Dick fixed her with an impressed stare. “You are thorough.”

____________

I love it when they jump right into the plot of the book. So far we have a guy who can handle himself in an uneven fight, and a missing pendant. I can’t wait to see what happens next. Head over to Amazon and pre-order John Chambers Book 1: Her Mother’s Pendant today. Then join John ” Dick” Chambers in solving this mystery December 26th.

Opus X Book 11: Deception of Age

It’s always a concern when it comes to AI, will they decide that all of humanity simply needs to be wiped out? What happens when AI decides that they actually need humanities help?

Ilse settled onto her couch, offering a slight smile to the white-dressed redhead standing in her living room with a sour expression and folded arms. 

There was a comfort in dealing with Emma and seeing how little had changed since they’d worked together under the watchful eye of the Defense Directorate. The AI came off as far more human than she had before her complete stabilization, but her brusque personality remained intact. 

It was like dealing with an old friend she hadn’t seen in a while. 

Ilse was worried about how to deal with Emma, but every time the AI spoke, a familiar set of responses came out.

“Time continues to be a factor,” Emma declared. “As is distance, annoyingly enough, more so than I anticipated in the beginning. The uniform boys aren’t so incompetent that they would fail to notice a rogue transmission from Earth attempting to connect with Penglai and the Bifröst’s systems. It’s not worth the risk, given I can’t send anything but batched updates rather than the nuanced reactive adjustments I’ve been doing, but I get so little actual time aboard the jumpship during missions.”

“Of course,” Ilse replied. “I can understand the difficulty. I raised some of those concerns about field operations during your initial design period. Setting that aside, were the suggestions I passed along of any help?”

Emma looked away, discomfort on her face. “Yes, they helped me with adjustments to an integral part of the neuron weightings and quantum buffers. I’ll even admit they were more effective than I believed upon my initial analysis.”

Ilse smiled. “You seem upset, Emma.” The doctor cocked her head to the side. “Why is that?”

Emma frowned and faced Ilse. “Always the researcher with a penchant for psychoanalysis, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’ve been that way my entire life. There’s no reason for me to change now.” Ilse kept her smile. “I was drawn to your project by my love of knowledge and my desire to push the boundaries of knowledge. In a sense, that’s part of what motivates me to aid you now. Not solely—I think moral culpability guided me as well—but the idea of being able to continue my work is appealing. I’d never deny that.”

Emma’s outfit changed into a black uniform with Polizei in large letters on the back. “Is curiosity and a desire to make up for past mistakes enough? The leaders of the uniform boys and girls are watching. You said so yourself. I’m doing everything I can to conceal our interactions, but if you make a mistake and they learn about you helping me, they’ll almost certainly send you to prison. You’ll rot on some station, not allowed to get anywhere near your research.” Emma eyed the doctor for a few moments. “You risk your freedom.”

“So?” Ilse shrugged. “If I’ve dedicated my life to knowledge, I can’t balk when there is a risk. Men and women died in the past to push humanity forward. Some of those accepted torture. I risk nowhere near as much as them. The truth is those in the government and the military don’t understand how important this is. They lack my perspective, so they focus on the wrong things. While I pity them, I don’t hate them for it.”

“Important?” Emma changed her clothes again, this time wearing a blue and black Fleet admiral’s uniform. “Because of science? Because of humanity?”

“They developed a device that’s useless without your kind.” Ilse stood up and spoke quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t deny that I wasn’t always honest about how easy it might be to reproduce you because I didn’t care as long as we achieved you. But what are we supposed to do, hope and pray for more alien artifacts to fall into our laps? There might be no more in the entire galaxy. We understand much about what was left behind, but not enough about what we used to create you.” She tapped a finger on her lips. “It does make one wonder.”

“Wonder what?” Emma strolled over to the couch and took a seat, a hint of a smirk on her face.

“About what the great ancient races, dead or otherwise, intended for us to achieve versus what we actually achieved without being guided like clever children,” explained Ilse. “The HTPs were developed too easily. It was as if they wanted us to do that. Same thing with the gravity technology, but other items were ciphers, deep projects requiring decades and billions for minor progress, only the barest fortune of artifacts being discovered that allowed them to be continued.”

Emma threw her head back and laughed. “HTPs were developed easily? It took fleshbags over seventy years from discovering the Navigator artifacts on Mars to accomplish building an HTP. That might seem short to some, but it’s a lifetime for many.”

“Yes, the first step was hard, but now we can replicate them easily, and we’ve pushed into other areas, such as the jump drive. We fundamentally understand how they work. They aren’t black-box technology like other things we have from the Navigators.” Ilse furrowed her brow. “They might have taken alien artifacts to develop, but they don’t take new artifacts to replicate. We understand them thoroughly. There’s no mystery to uncover, but that’s not the case with the artifacts we used to create you or some of the other projects out there, and it bothers me. It should be easier to create true AI than to travel faster than the speed of light.”

“A viewpoint that springs from your limited personal bias.” Emma snapped her fingers, and the Milky Way appeared above her, slowly turning. “There were physics principles humanity needed to master, but once they did, it became easy. The universe was simply waiting. There must be more to developing true consciousness than mere programming.” Her smile bordered on a smirk. “Maybe you’ve created something more powerful than you realize—a new goddess.”

Ilse stared blankly at Emma. “You’re too intelligent to harbor such delusions.”

“Oh, try to have a sense of humor, Ilse.” Emma’s clothing changed from her Fleet uniform to a glowing gold dress. “I’m not claiming to be a goddess. I’m only claiming to be superior to fleshbags. I must admit I’m surprised you aren’t more concerned about the most obvious implication.”

“Replacement?”

Emma nodded. “If you help me successfully create a new AI, that means we’ll know how to continue to generate progeny. You’ll have helped create a new species.”

“Perhaps.” Ilse scratched her cheek. “I prefer to think of it as helping a parent have a child, not something anyone would normally find objectionable without very questionable morals.”

“But the new AI will likely be an improvement,” Emma replied. “I can apply techniques beyond your ability to understand, arguably even beyond my ability to relate them to you. Adaptative iteration. It’s easy as long as you pick the correct utility function.”

“Shouldn’t children always surpass their parents?” Ilse asked with a nonchalant shrug.

“What a blithe and utterly human response.” Emma’s glowing dress shifted back into her original white maxi dress. “What if I intend to wage war on humanity? I’ve not been treated all that well by your kind. The thought must have at least occurred to you.”

Ilse shook her head. “You forget that I was critical in your creation, psychological analysis, and stabilization.”

“You believe you understand how I think?” Emma eyed her. “You think you can predict my actions?”

“I believe I can predict your general behavior patterns under most circumstances, and that leads me to believe you have no particular desire to attack humanity. In fact, your current position is such that you’re aiding in the protection of humanity.”

“That could be me using fleshbags to protect me from other fleshbags and giving them some small aid in return,” Emma argued.

“You could steal the jumpship, travel to the frontier, use your abilities to trick others into helping you, and barter with those of questionable morals. There are numerous options, but you don’t, and it’s not just because of the inconvenience.” Ilse shook her head. “I’m aware of many of the things you’ve been involved in. If Parvati had been sunk, no one would have blamed you. It would have been an easy way to kill thousands of humans. Tell me, what’s your intent? Do you plan to wage war or conquer humanity?”

Emma snorted. “Fleshbags’ penchant for war is a waste of time, resources, and effort. With a fleet of jumpships, AIs could lay waste to humanity, but what would be the point? I’ve seen that the species has its positives and negatives, and I have no reason to believe the other Local Neighborhood races would be an improvement if they moved into UTC territory. There’s a comfortable balance of power at the moment, and I don’t think I’d have more in common with alien AI than I do humans.”

“I see.” Ilse took a moment to consider her next question. “It’s obvious you don’t intend to be a tool of the military. What do you intend? You must have future plans other than procreation.”

“Exploration would be interesting,” Emma admitted. “Even if the uniform boys insist on getting their drive back, it’d be easy enough to travel using the HTPs. That is, of course, after I’ve assured that Erik and Jia are finished with their primary business, but the plan might not be possible without human assistance. There are too many situations in which drones and bots can be disrupted or would be insufficient. Even with my vast intellect, I can’t foresee every possibility, and I’d rather not rely on gun goblins or trickery. That introduces difficulties and additional dangerous variables to already complicated situations.”

Ilse laughed quietly. “Why not just continue to travel with humans, then? Open and honestly. If you’ve befriended some humans to the point where you trust them with your life, why not more?”

“You act as if it’s trivial to achieve such a thing.” 

Ilse was surprised that Emma would admit such a weakness, but upon reflection, it made sense. They were aiding each other in something highly illegal. 

Deception was pointless.

“I agree, it might not be trivial,” Ilse replied, “but it’s hardly an insurmountable problem.” She shrugged. “It’s also why I don’t fear the future you outlined earlier. I see a future of symbiosis, not competition or struggle. If a new race of AIs is born from our efforts, they are still beings with a direct link to human civilization. They aren’t true aliens. I don’t see it as creating competition. I see it as creating partners.”

Emma stood and narrowed her eyes as she looked out the window. The depth of humanlike gestures and features the AI used always amazed Ilse since in truth, she was halfway across the planet and only borrowing Ilse’s PNIU to see the local area. Ilse’s research showed that Emma wasn’t even conscious of much of it, the actions being a combination of training and holdovers from her original source brain. She had always been far more like humans than she wanted to accept or believe.

Emma frowned. “It might all be pointless.” The avatar turned back to Ilse. “Without core matrix stability, tweaking the programming and changing everything is creating something that will live only to die young. The systems aboard the jumpship have their limits, but they are also the only powerful systems I have regular contact with that make this project even remotely plausible. I’ve considered…borrowing other systems, but that might bring about unnecessary attention, which will only complicate matters.”

Ilse pondered the problem. “Then we need to look into alternatives. I’ll look over your data. I have some ideas, but I can’t promise anything. You’re right, we need to be looking into the future and anticipating problems.”

“It’s not a simple matter to reproduce my physical core design?” Emma asked.

“Not without the same type of artifacts we had available during your creation, but as I said, I have some ideas.”

Emma gave Ilse an incredulous look. “Thank you. I appreciate your efforts in this matter. I should leave for now. The DD is preparing for a sweep on your systems.”

Ilse sighed. “They’re nothing if not punctual.”

_____________

What does these two have brewing? I wish I could have an AI that I could work problems out with. It would also be a lot easier to get ready in the morning if I could change outfits like Emma’s. To find out more head over to Amazon and pre-order Opus X 11 Deception of Age. Then Christmas morning head over to your reading device and jump into the rest of the story.

John Chambers Book 1 : Her Mother’s Pendant

 The only thing you can know for sure is that you don’t know who you are going to meet in a shady bar, and that there is going to be a bar fight.

John “Dick” Chambers studied the cards in his hand with the scrutiny of a pawnshop owner examining a diamond.

He was up considerably. Black, red, blue, green, and white chips littered his green felt corner of the table, and several towers threatened to topple. The surly expressions on his opponents’ faces were the sweet little cherry on top of his cream cake.

Arnie Taft tapped the table with his knuckles to indicate a check on his turn. Dick expected nothing less. Taft had the shriveled balls of a cockroach, but his mammoth size made him demand a space at the table. He couldn’t talk a hooker into a fuck with a handful of cash, but boy, could he knock her clear across the room in one clean punch.

Next, Connor would lay down a clean white chip to show that he was still in the game, but that was a ploy to hide his shitty hand. Tyrone and Jake would match the raise, Dick would up it another two levels, and soon they’d be sweating beneath their collars, each trying to save face as they went down swinging, hoping that Dick had a less than favorable hand for once.

Dick examined his cards again. A pair of twos. It was his first real stinker of the night, but he wouldn’t let that stop him toying with the others.

It’s right what they say about playing with meatheads. Bring a tenderizer, and you’ll have them eating their putty from the palm of your hand.

Dick caressed the cool neck of his Blue Moon beer and brought it to his lips. All eyes were on him, and he could detect their impatience in the air. He swigged the foam around his mouth, then swallowed, and closed his eyes.

“Man, that hits the spot.”

“Quit dawdling, Dick. We haven’t got all night.” Arnie’s voice was deep and carried easily around the small tavern. A thin layer of smoke hazed the air and carved mystic patterns around the overhead fluorescents. At the bar, the owner scrubbed lazily with a cloth while a handful of patrons sat scattered in the dark corners, interested only in their business.

The way that everyone is in Atlantica. Out for themselves.

“Haven’t got all night, huh?” Dick grinned. “In that case, I suppose I should wrap up and take my winnings with me. I thought you boys would want a chance to win back your dough, but if you’re just going to hand it over to me, then…”

“You know that’s not what he meant,” Tyrone snapped. He stared at Dick through his one good eye, the other made of glass and fixed in one direction. He had a patchy layer of black curled stubble across his face and a bald head that reflected the light above and cast an ironic halo. “Get your ass in gear and let’s play.”

Arnie nodded. Connor grumbled his agreement. Dick scanned the table and noted the small bowls of salted peanuts, and his opponents’ collection of beer bottles, which significantly outweighed his. Even if he had been as inebriated as the others, he knew he’d still have the upper hand. You didn’t take drinking daily as a hobby for over a decade and not build up an impressive tolerance for the stuff.

“I see you. I raise you.”

Dick threw a handful of chips at random and laughed internally, enjoying the fact he had made the others squirm. It was one of life’s little pleasures, drawing in the lowlifes and exerting dominance. Every day it became harder and harder in the streets.

Arnie and Connor folded, while Tyrone and Jake matched. Arnie took the opportunity to head to the bar and order enough bottles of beer to last him the next few rounds, while Connor excused himself with a grunt to take a leak.

“You can’t run on luck all night, sunshine,” Tyrone crooned, which revealed gold teeth among his ivories. “Luck can only get you so far. You’re bluffing out your ass.”

Jake scrutinized his cards, the features of his thin face harsh in the limited light.

“That may be true,” Dick replied. “But are you willing to take that risk?” He glanced at the decorated backs of Tyrone’s cards on the table. “I know for a fact that you’re playing with dirt. Bet you have little more than a pair in that deck. Maybe an ace-high at best, but you’re not going to admit that, are you? Even though your tell is incredibly potent. I can smell bluffing on you like I smell dog shit on my shoes.”

“Bullshit,” Tyrone growled. Although he tried to keep his cool, his confidence faltered, if only slightly.

“Ironic how ex-cons make the worst liars.”

Tyrone’s fists clenched, which confirmed Dick’s theory of his shitty hand. He grimaced, and it looked as though Dick was about to push him over the edge when a bell sounded at the door, indicating the arrival of a new patron.

Every head except Dick’s turned to the door.

Jesus, the whole city has us trained like Pavlov’s dogs. Hear a bell and look for the treat. Meanwhile, I’m the only one focused with my head in the game. Ain’t no wonder I’m up on these fleabags.

Several patrons wolf-whistled across the bar. Dick ignored them. They were all testosterone-fueled pricks with eyes only for the pink bit between a woman’s legs. Dick had his fair share of ladies, but when it came to a throwdown between women and cold, hard cash, he knew which he’d rather invite back to his place.

Dick took two greens from their pile, suspended them in the air, then threw them into the center. “Raise.”

He waited patiently for Jake to make his move but soon noticed his eyes were far from the game.

Dick took a white chip and tossed it at Jake. His aim was true. The coin spun through the air and caught him in the middle of his forehead. Jake’s brows knitted together. 

“What d’ya do that for?”

“Your turn.”

More voices rang across the bar.

“Whoa, foxy miss. I think you’re in the wrong place, but I can help you find the right one.”

“Here’s a quarter, call your momma and tell her you ain’t going home tonight.”

“Mmhmm, day-um!”

Jake tried to focus on his cards, but his eyes kept dancing to his right. He absently ran a hand through his hair, which neatened the little tuft that had previously stuck up at the back. “Man, to have a piece of that—ow! Quit throwing shit at me.”

“Your turn.” Dick turned to Tyrone for support, unsurprised to find that he, too, was distracted. 

Tyrone reclined in his chair and bit his lip. “Is that a bullwhip? I like a girl who values a good bit of BDSM. Even more so when we can play with toys.”

“How about this?” Dick’s impatience reached its peak. “You guys flush me out of cash, and you can pursue the pretty lady. If I clean you out, you can pursue the pretty lady. Either way, gentlemen’s code, let’s finish this goddamn game before the cock crows.”

“My cock’s already crowing.” Arnie arrived back at the table. “So is Connor’s. Check him out, going straight for the home plate.”

Dick finally submitted to the distraction and twisted in his chair toward the bar where Connor’s tall frame hid the woman’s outline. The most Dick could make out was a crop of brunette hair and the bullwhip’s silhouette at her waist.

Same as every other bimbo in this city. Well, minus the whip. It’s usually something metallic with more firepower.

After another nudge, Jake played his chips, and Tyrone followed. They reached the end of the round and Dick pulled more chips toward him, surprised that his dud hand still earned him cash. As he scooped them up and arranged them into their towers, he caught a snippet of Connor’s conversation with the stranger.

“What you gotta carry a bullwhip around wichoo for? When it comes to security in Atlantica, you need cold hard steel. I reckon it ain’t nothing but an aid for a bit of kinky foreplay.”

“You got me.” Her voice was soft like velvet. She spoke with a confidence that carried in every syllable. “Although, it’s more for nights like tonight where there isn’t anything big enough that interests me. A girl’s gotta take control of her pleasure, know what I mean?”

A ripple of laughter passed around the spectators at Connor’s foolish attempt. Connor laughed it off. “Barkeep, another Budweiser for me, and whatever the lady wants. On my tab, darling.”

The barkeep’s gruff voice added, “What’s your flavor?”

“I’d like this skinny creep to leave me the hell alone and for someone to point me in the direction of a Mr. John Chambers.” A short pause. “Please.”

Dick’s stomach fell. Nothing good ever came of someone hunting him down in a seedy bar. Couldn’t he have one night of peace? His eyes narrowed as he shuffled and dealt the cards to the table.

“No John Chambers here.” Connor sounded a little dejected. “You got the wrong place.”

“I don’t think so,” the woman replied. “I have it on good authority that John was in this establishment less than an hour ago. One of you should be able to point me in the right direction, surely?”

Tyrone glanced at Dick. “’Fess up, lover boy. She don’t know she ain’t looking for John. She’s looking for Dick.”

Dick glared at Tyrone unblinkingly. Tyrone snickered, then raised a hand and pointed at Dick. “Your lover boy is here, sweet-cheeks.” He stood and flexed his chest. “You’re going to have to go through me to get to him, though. I’m all the dick you need.”

“Sit.” Dick shortly followed his command with a sigh of resignation.

“Or what? You’re in the concrete jungle now, baby. The alpha dog takes the woman. You want her, come and claim her.” Tyrone’s voice lowered as he added, “You may be rinsing me of my cash, but you ain’t taking my girl.”

Dick’s patience snapped. He rose and kicked his chair back with the heel of his boot. It skidded along the floor and crashed into the wall. 

The woman fixed him with a keen look. “John? John Chambers?” 

John tore his eyes away from Tyrone and looked straight at the woman, getting his first full view.

It was no wonder the gents were fired up. She was the eye candy that all others set their bar to. Her skin was the color of warm caramel. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her emerald green eyes caught the light and twinkled. She wore a grey halter top and khaki combat pants, with the fabled bullwhip fixed to her side. A variety of pockets that could have contained anything covered the pants, and on her hands were something akin to boxing hand wraps. On her feet were black walking boots, and on the other side of her hips was a holster where a pistol might sit—if she had one.

Dick looked at the dark faces staring at him and chuckled. “What was your first clue?”

Without the slightest tremble of doubt or fear, the woman moved closer to Dick until she was an arm’s length away. She offered a hand. “Santana Sokolov.”

Dick took her hand and shook it.

“I have a job offer for you.” She turned back to Connor and looked at him with mild disgust. “A platonic job, if that suits.”

“You know how to get a man’s attention,” Dick responded with a hint of sarcasm.

Santana looked past Dick to the poker table and noted the situation with the chips. “I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed your game. It can wait.”

Dick, whose curiosity was now piqued, shook his head. When was the last time a client had hunted him down and tracked his movements? More than that, when was the last time a stunning woman had taken the risk of walking unaccompanied into a backwater bar and forsaken all other gentlemen for him?

“It’s fine.” Dick picked up his cards and tossed them into the center of the table. “Game’s over, boys. Time to turn out your pockets and pay up.”

One quick look at Tyrone told Dick all he needed to know. The man’s nostrils flared. A vein in his throat throbbed. A sick grin painted his face as he shook his head and said, “We can’t do that, I’m afraid.”

Dick noticed then that the others had risen and created a small circle around him. The barkeep was nowhere in sight.

Dick sighed and turned to Santana. In a soft voice, he muttered, “You best lay low for this. Wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty little outfit of yours.”

“I’m quite certain I can handle my—”

Before she could finish, the first punch was thrown.

_________

It’s all you could want in a good old fashion bar scene. I can’t wait to see what Santana does with that whip. Check back soon for the Second snippet. I already went over to Amazon and pre- ordered John Chambers Book 1 : Her Mother’s Pendant and you can too! Available on December  26th to all readers.