My first guest blogger of 2019 is Stephen Jared. Stephen is an awesome, New Pulp writer and storyteller. I urge you to treat yourself to his writings, you won't be disappointed.
Thanks Stephen, for joining us here at Stormgatepress.com.
I grew up when Steven Spielberg
and George Lucas were releasing their early films. In interviews, especially
while promoting Indiana Jones, they kept referencing classic movies. I soon
wanted to know everything there was to know about classic movies. Thanks to VHS
tapes, which were new at the time, I watched a lot of old movies when I was
still very young.
The Jack Hunter adventures are a
series of stories set in the 1930s and 1940s. Whether Shanghai, Cairo, or
wherever, a lot of research goes into the settings. There are three stories so
far (a fourth is completed), and my intention is to show some flexibility with
the tone. In other words, some will be comedic, some may be more romantic,
others may have elements of espionage, etc.
Solstice Publishing has made them
available. If you purchase The Elephants
of Shanghai you get the first two stories in one book. The latest is The Chameleon Thief of Cairo. I’ve been
extremely fortunate with cover artists. Paul Shipper illustrated the first two,
and Elizabeth Yoo illustrated the recent one.
Here are samples from The Elephants of Shanghai and The Chameleon Thief of Cairo.
—Stephen Jared
@stephen_jared
Shanghai 1942
Wang’s
eyes swung to the side, while every other inch of him remained motionless. “A
map of supply routes will be delivered to your room tonight,” he continued. “I
have secured a boat to take you to Hong Kong. It can be ready whenever you
like—”
“Tomorrow
morning,” Jack eagerly stated.
Soaring
to a feverish intensity, the crowd shouted and whistled as a strikingly
beautiful Chinese woman stepped across the stage to a microphone that looked to
be pleading for her touch. She wore a tight silk dress with a high-rising slit,
scandalously exposing a thigh. A stiff upturned collar wrapped snugly around
her neck. When she began to sing, the room was hers, as if she had cast a
spell.
Noticing
the overexcited look on Johnny’s face, Wang said, “They call her Summer
Sometimes. She has a weakness for underworld figures.”
Thunderstruck
by good fortune, Johnny caught Jack’s eye. He winked. He fidgeted and twitched.
He pulled on his ears and nose, tugged on his ill-fitted suit, and mimed rowing
a boat toward the stage.
Explaining
to Wang, Jack said, “It’s his favorite song.”
Melting
at the sight of the singer, Johnny chewed on his hands. The singer’s movements
were sensual, teasing, and deliberate. It wasn’t until the second chorus that
she slowly lifted her thigh out in the open, parting her silk dress like a
curtain and electrifying the crowd with a touch of eroticism.
Soon
the tune closed. Summer Sometimes bowed to rapturous applause. Demurely, she
crossed the stage, taking her leave. Diamonds glistened with graceful
movements. She raised a slender hand, acknowledging the demand for more, but
left without hesitation, offering a glimpse of selfishness when it came to her
seductive charms.
Johnny
continued with his wild gyrations, slapping his hands ferociously. “Oh, boy!
Oh, boy! Get a load’a that doll!” He whistled sharply, as loudly as he could.
The
band continued playing. Stardust
enchanted the crowd even absent its lyrics.
All
eyes remained on the stunning vocalist as—
She
walked to Jack’s table.
Wang
was the first to rise and greet her. Extending a hand, he offered his
compliments. “A delightful performance, Miss Sometimes.”
Even
as she presented her hand to Wang, her eyes were solely on Jack. Her exquisite
perfection, all the more so up close, was panic-inducing. She smiled a small
smile. Her cheeks were bright wonders of unblemished softness.
Feeling
a rush to his head, Jack said, “I’m Jack.”
Summer
shook his hand. “I know.”
Cairo
1948
Chetan
Livrés & Café sat on a large avenue, flanked by Moorish arcades. Outside,
an elderly merchant sold postcard-size paintings of ancient Egyptian life. The
bookstore’s neighbors sold wristwatches, pocket-watches, and modern European
clothes. A man wearing a linen suit flicked a cigarette to the feet of the
merchant before entering. Jack and Clancy followed, finding a charming mess of
books overwhelming shelves, climbing walls, and sitting scattered in stacks all
over the floor like buildings in a miniature city. They moved carefully through
the disorderly maze toward the back where a courtyard allowed patrons to socialize.
Coffee and food items were served.
“See
anything interesting?” Clancy asked.
“Was
he a collector of books or just a reader?”
“Both.”
“Then
he was here. How about we sample the coffee and get to know the staff?”
Before
the next hour passed, Jack and Clancy came to realize that not a single member
of the Chetan staff spoke English. The coffee, however, was wonderful.
According to a menu at each table, the coffee beans were imported from southern
Arabia, ground locally, and blended with cardamom. They also ate from a plate
of delicious sweet dates filled with goat cheese. There weren’t many of them,
and so they discussed what else they might try. They settled on sweet cakes
covered with coconut syrup. A second round of coffee came too.
Jack’s
attention was eventually drawn to a man, seated alone and holding a folded
newspaper. The man kept darting eyes at them. The man’s suit was rumpled, as
though not cleaned in weeks. His stubble was more than a day old. When he noticed
Jack watching, he raised his coffee and smiled. Jack returned the stranger’s
greeting with a smile of his own.
“You
are Americans?” he asked in Arabic-accented English.
Jack
nodded, offered their first names, and then invited the man to their table. “A
great pleasure to meet you,” he added. “Your name is …?”
“I
am Kalem. You search for something other than books?”
The
silk tassel on his tarboosh swayed as he sat, and all his words smelled of
decayed teeth. He had a peculiar way of speaking. He shoved words from his
mouth without lip movement, and as he did so, his bulging eyes swept the room
with unrestrained suspicion.
“What
makes you ask?” Jack replied.
“I
sorry. I speak foolishly. Do not mind me. You are businessmen?”
“We
could be open to business. We’d need someone to make introductions.”
“I
do not know anyone, not anyone with money.” Kalem flattened his palms on the
table, leaned in, and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “Please, do not mistake
me. I am not one of the disgruntled who speaks of liberating us from the
wealthy English infidels. I am just a simple one, a happy-to-get-along
Egyptian.” He straightened his back again and nodded, pleased with the
definition he offered of himself.
The stories and settings remind me of classic movies, Stephen. Down to the linen suit.
ReplyDelete