Entry Nickname: From Gutters to Galleries
Word count: 80K
Genre: Upmarket Fiction
If she could find a better paying job than the Museum of Fine Arts café, Mia Clarke wouldn't have to keep selling drugs. As a single mom, it kills her to help people throw away their dreams—especially Tris, her former partner in both love and graffiti art. When he stops by the café for a couple of grams and accidentally leaves behind a gorgeous painting, Mia anonymously enters it into an online art contest, hoping to help him turn his life around.
Soon, the image goes viral, sparking a widespread search for a troubled loner with a singular gift. But not everyone searching for Tris means him well. A posh art dealer with a trail of disappearing protégés and his sights set on his next mark, a social network moderator obsessed with the anonymous contest entry, and a groundskeeper required to evict the homeless are all closing in on the abandoned utility room under a Charles River bridge where Tris has been staying.
Weighed down by her guilt over being both Tris's dealer and the one person who can help him find the recognition his talent deserves, Mia vows to quit selling drugs and to fight to save the man she wishes she didn't love—for herself, for him, and for the daughter he never knew he had. With pursuers closing in on his doorstep, Tris must shake the heroin in his veins and leave his old life behind or risk losing not only his life's work and the person he loves, but the very life to which he clings.
The Museum of Fine Arts was humming. Patrons clopped around on marble tile toward the new Vermeer exhibit, loners sketched landscapes in their spiral pads, and tour guides directed groups between potted ferns from the European galleries to the Americas. An odd tang of coffee and parmesan wafted from the café on the first floor.
Mia Clarke wiped down table five, the edge of her full-sleeve tattoos peeking out from beneath the black uniform shirt cuffs buttoned at her wrists. She brushed a strand of pink hair behind her ear. As she rushed to take an order from a customer at the next table over, a different kind of customer stepped into the café.
She saw Tris out of the corner of her eye. He was hard to miss.
His dirty blonde hair was matted and fell past his shoulders like a neglected houseplant, its tendrils winding their way through his overgrown beard. Glancing around the room, he found an empty chair and slid into it. Their eyes met and she raised a finger for him to give her a minute.
Finishing up with her customer, Mia approached.
"Hey, Tris. Can I get you a cup of coffee?"
He sat hunched over the table, his eyes unreadable. "No thanks. Just a fruit cup."
A thin sigh escaped her lips. "How about a muffin or something?"
She knew he didn't care about the fruit. He came for the heroin she slipped inside.
~ VERSUS ~
Title: The Henchman
Entry Nickname: Stands By Until He Doesn't
Word count: 97,700
Genre: Literary Thriller
Rye wants to get through the night without getting his ass kicked, arrested, or shot—after all, he’s in his good suit. As a henchman in a ruthless gang, Rye isn’t optimistic. Contending with bent cops, hitmen, vigilantes, and even the occasional hero usually puts a guy in in the hospital or worse. His best hope of survival is looking the other way and not getting attached.
Gwen lives in an apartment full of unpacked boxes—the remnants of the normal life she abandoned to search for her missing sister. Spending her nights in bars canvassing for information, Gwen stumbles into Rye at his favorite dive. Despite his doubts, Gwen draws him into her hunt.
As Rye helps Gwen, he sinks deeper into the New York City underworld, where his boss, Brian King, jockeys for power and pursues a troublesome young hero. With each body Rye helps King bury, Rye puts another piece of his humanity into the ground.
When Gwen’s quest puts her in King’s sights, he abducts her. But before Rye can act, he’s confronted with the gang’s darkest scheme—a crime so heinous, he can’t look away. Now Rye must choose between saving innocent lives or the woman he’s come to love.
I should’ve worn a different suit. But it was an important meeting, so I wore my best one. Now I was standing in a drizzle, among the dumpsters in a dark alley strewn with trash, hoping it wasn’t getting ruined. If they had told me that I’d be out there with the garbage, I would’ve worn something that would blend in. Maybe something off the rack. But there I was in a thousand-dollar suit. So were Vlad and the two Korean guys that Ko had out there with us. Four guys, in a back alley, in thousand-dollar suits. If a cop looked down that alley, he’d have all kinds of probable cause. Probably because one of the Korean guys was carrying a submachine gun. And wearing sunglasses. At night. In the rain. Then again, any cop who passed this alley was probably on the take. Maybe he’d even have an umbrella he could lend us.
Vlad lit a cigarette, then held it in his cupped hand so it wouldn’t get wet. Water beaded on his shaved head. He held the pack out to the rest of us, but I waved him off. The guy with the sunglasses took one.
“You guys know how long this is going to go on for?” I asked.
Nobody answered. Sunglasses took a drag.
“If this is going to be a while,” I said, “we should put someone at the street end of the alley. Right now, an entire SWAT team could be down there and we wouldn’t know.”