A Crowdsourced Novel
Read it here – Say what comes next.
The burlap bag restricted his breathing and chaffed his face. Trying not to panic, Frank brought to mind mystery novels, movies, crime shows—anything that might help him know what to do. He sensed occasional headlights and the movement of the big car. Memorizing every turn, he listened for clues to pinpoint their location. Crowded between the two goons, he counted seconds, minutes, and sweated freely.
His cell phone—it might ring and he didn’t want it taken away. He slid his hand slowly into his suit pocket and silenced it.
The car stopped. The engine went dead. By his count, a twenty minute ride, probably north of home. The sound of an overhead door rolling closed. The car door opening. The sudden flash of light through the burlap fibers. The bag abruptly pulled from his head. The gravelly voice of the larger man. “Get out of the car, Mr. Speck.”
Frank Smith didn’t argue, didn’t try to claim his true identity. He merely obeyed. He found himself in a mechanic’s garage, the last of four bays. The man shoved him and he backed into a greasy tool bench.
The older man’s cultured tones. “Not so rough, Gort. That’s no way to treat our guest.”
What happens next? TAKE YOUR TURN [click here]
HOW TO PLAY–This is an interactive story based on Nate’s game in my novel. You get to say what comes next:
1.) KEEP IT SHORT – It’s easy to play Nate’s game. Just enter your idea as a comment like, “their jeep drives off a cliff.” Don’t worry about form—just suggest the next step in the story. I’ll pick one, write it, and post it as a scene in serial form.
2.) KEEP IT CLEAN – I hold the veto pen. Since this is an experiment, I get to add rules as we go along.
3.) SHARE – Your posts are a precious gift to me. Maybe you’ll help write my next novel. Maybe we’ll just have a great time. I take you at your word that all ideas are your own original thoughts. No criticism. No arguments. No lawsuits allowed. Let’s have some fun.
5 responses to “ROYA FETOVA – 2”
They lock him in a trunk and take him far away.
The two men took Frank into a small, dingy office where they tied him to a swivel chair and placed a gag in his mouth. The older man, Gort, said, “Mr. Speck, we need to report to the boss that you are now here safe and sound. Sorry to leave you tied up, but it should not be more than an hour—ninety minutes tops. The men turned off the lights and locked the door. Frank sat in the dark and wondered who the heck is this Speck guy and how did this mix up happen? Unfortunately with his hands tied he could not reach his cell phone. It finally occurred to Frank, maybe I should pray.
A young mother with her twin boys and beagle stopped in for a 3000 mile oil change. She could not be turned away because she had let the car get to 3452 miles and her husband told not to come home without having the oil changed
Tony Ferragamo ( alias James Speck, alias Frank Smith) was holed up in a rent-by-the-week flophouse in a seedy part of Chicago. He had skipped out on the Federal Witness Protection Program two moths ago. He was going crazy living as James Speck in Burlington, Iowa. Tony had first gone to St. Louis and it was there he “borrowed” the identity of Frank Smith. His former career as an enforcer for a small-time protection racket gave him the street starts to know where to buy a stolen identity. A few hundred bucks got him a Social Security card, driver’s license, and credit card in the name of Frank Smith. He didn’t much care what problems this might cause for the real Mr Smitth.