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A Day In The Life (Book 0 of "The Santa Espera Series")

A Day In The Life (Book 0 of "The Santa Espera Series")

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A Day In The Life (Book 0 of "The Santa Espera Series")

126 Seiten
1 Stunde
Feb 16, 2018


Santa Espera crawls with crime, drugs, and love. At the heart is PharmaChem, a pharmaceutical giant. Will Silver owns it, controlling 99% of the city's wealth. And he's got plans for the future.

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

This is a time before our story takes place. The fates of our heroes will soon intertwine. But whether it's for the better or worse remains to be seen.

~~~~~ 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.

Feb 16, 2018

Über den Autor


A Day In The Life (Book 0 of "The Santa Espera Series") - Harley Fox

A Day In The Life

Santa Espera Series Prologue

by Harley Fox

Copyright 2018 Harley Fox

Edited by Jersey Devil Editing

Cover Designed by Silver Heart Publishing

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is intended for adult audiences only. All sexually active characters depicted are at least 18 years of age. All sexual activity is between consenting, non-blood related adults. All characters and activities appearing in this work are fictitious. This book does not endorse or encourage illegal or immoral activities. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Content warnings: This book contains swearing, sex, and gang-related activity.

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.


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.

~ ~ ~

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I rub the cloth over the shining frame and new casing of the motorcycle. I’m hunkered down next to it, getting rid of any last grease, fingerprints, smudges. My gun digs into my skin and I pause for a moment to adjust it inside of my belt. That done, I go back to wiping, and once it’s at a place I like I stand up, admiring my handiwork.

Two solid days of repair work. That’s what it took to make this thing look like it does right now.

Which is a far throw from how it looked when that guy brought it in here.

I was working on another bike some girl had brought in. She needed her wheels realigned, which was an easy enough job. I told her it would be an hour and she left to go run some errands as I worked on it. I was halfway through the job when I heard the telltale sounds of footsteps coming down the alley toward my garage.

That’s strange, I thought as I glanced up at the clock. She’s early.

But it wasn’t her. Instead it was someone else, a guy, walking his bike up to me. And one look at the thing was enough to see why he was walking instead of riding.

The frame was dented; the wheel spokes were busted and the front wheel was way out of alignment. The handlebars were scuffed, one of them bent back. And there, smeared along and covering half the side, was something mostly dried but still somewhat thick and wet. Something that should’ve been inside somebody’s body, instead of painted across the side of a bike. Something dark and burgundy that couldn’t have been anything other than blood.

The guy with the bike didn’t seem like he was the one who’d provided the new color. His clothes were torn at the seams and he had road rash all down one leg, but nothing major. That blood wasn’t his. I took in the sight of him as he turned his way from the alley into my open garage. When he looked up at me I saw his eyes were glassy, his pupils huge in their sockets.

Hey, he said in a cracked voice. Are you open? I need my bike fixed up.

I opened my mouth to speak, not sure which part of this I should address first. I settled on the obvious:

Are you all right?

He seemed genuinely surprised at the question. Huh? What? He laughed, a strange sound. Yeah, of course I’m all right. Never been better. I just … my bike needs fixing. I was taking this corner and the sun was in my eyes, and I guess I must’ve turned the thing a little too hard and, whoops! Next thing you know my wheels are sliding out from under me and I went careening off into the sidewalk! It was okay though, nobody was hurt. My bike got pretty scuffed up, though, so I need you to fix it. Can you do that?

I raised my eyebrows and nodded at the large reddish-brown stain on the side of his bike.

Nobody was hurt? I asked. He looked confused for a second and had to lean over to see where I was indicating.

Oh! Fuck. No, he said, straightening up. That’s, um … that’s nothing. Don’t worry about that. I just need you to clean it off and fix up my bike, okay? How about it? What do you say?

This guy was bad news, I could tell. Strung out on something—crack, meth, hard to tell—and obviously in the need to get rid of the evidence. Part of me didn’t want to take the job. Just turn him away and not risk having any cops come down on me for destroying evidence.

But another part of me knew I could squeeze this guy, and that he would pay. And Lord knows I needed the money.

It’ll take a couple of days, I told him. And it’ll cost you. I ran the numbers in my head, rounding up and adding more to boot. Three grand, up front.

Deal, the guy said, letting go of his bike and walking forward as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. The bike started to lean and then crashed to the ground, shattering the sideview mirror which somehow hadn’t yet been damaged. He didn’t seem to notice.

I watched as he opened up his wallet and pulled out a wad of cash, counting out hundreds. Damn, I thought. I should’ve gone higher. Ah well, three grand is three grand. He reached the amount and handed it over, pocketing his wallet as I pocketed the cash.

Two days? he asked. I’ll come back Tuesday morning, how about that?

That works, I told him. How about ten?

Great! he said, and he turned and walked past his fallen motorcycle as though nothing were there at all, leaving my garage and going back the way he had come.

I looked down at the poor and mistreated thing, shaking my head. Jesus Christ, I muttered. Walking over to it, I picked it up and wheeled it to the side of my shop, leaving it to sit before going back to the wheel alignment job.

The girl came back and paid for the work, taking her bike with her. Now it was time to set to work on this thing. I’ve been doing this for years, but nothing I’ve done so far rivaled a job this intense. I started with the obvious—washing away the blood, with plenty of bleach—and then took the thing apart, scrapping anything seriously destroyed and putting aside anything I could salvage.

The work was long and hard, and it took me the rest of that day and well into the night before I called it quits. When I finally locked up my shop and crossed the alleyway to go home it was almost midnight. I walked into the kitchen to find a note on the counter:

Hey big brother! I made dinner for both of us but I saw you were still working and didn’t want to disturb you. I left it in the oven. Enjoy!

I smiled, putting the note down and taking out the plate of chicken casserole Emily had put together. She’s a sweet kid. I just wish things could be better for her.

I was hungry and I ate the meal in about five minutes, then I had a quick shower and went to bed. The next morning I went back to the garage and started up on the bike again. Now that the majority of the work was done, it wasn’t as bad of a job. I took my time and made sure everything was tightened correctly, that everything was in working order. About halfway through the

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