Urban Fiction Unleashed

Out of the Two comes One - Part Ten

2012-02-24T09:38:00.000-08:00

There are many situations that began as though it would be just another day. But like it often is for me as a police officer who is also an active Christian, the true battle was happening beneath my level of immediate awareness. I once had a neighbor, to which I’d been witnessing to about the Lord, and one day at the end of a very long shift, I looked up to see him standing against the wall. I hope you never experience this, but believe me when I say, it is a very bad feeling to look up and see a person that you’ve entertained in your home and been entertained in his, handcuffed and lined up on the wall of the condemned.

This image brought to my mind the day when all the unsaved would be found standing before the Great White Throne, and I wondered how many people I knew who would be in that fateful crowd. Too many times, as I execute my duties on the streets, meeting with several people from all different levels of our society, the image comes back to me again.

When I confront a violator, whether it be for a mere infraction or a felony offense, it always amazes me that some are defiant up to the end, while others admit their fault and are really sorry. Now, I’m not the county magistrate, and I am truly not God, but I can see how much better it is when we freely admit our guilt and seek forgiveness rather than arguing for why we should not be held accountable for our violations. Remember the real-time life lesson I referred to earlier? Well, think about it. If we can be found guilty and condemned for breaking the mere law of man, how great an offense it will be when we, if we are unrepentant, have to stand before God. Remember, I’m not the judge and I’m not God. I’m just a cop who is also a Christian looking forward to the end of shift. Think about it….Just saying.

Out of the Two comes One - Part Nine

2012-02-17T16:14:00.000-08:00

I guess the only struggle—the one worth actually fighting about is the one we most often overlook: the human struggle. I saw it first while growing up in the dusty red dirt streets of my Selma, Alabama hometown, but failed to recognize it as such. I saw it again when I joined the U.S. Marines, but thought it was just boys being boys. Then in becoming a peace officer, I saw this struggle in a whole new light.

On becoming a police officer, if you will remember my mentioning in an earlier post, one of the first things you experience is the heavy badge. You get this belief that you’re great—that you’re awesome. Not unlike the young Marine who believes he can take on the entire U.S. Army and Navy alone, with one arm tied behind his back just to make the fight fair. Well in transitioning into that world of good guys verses bad guys, cops verses robbers, I saw this human struggle again. This time in the faces of the wives, husbands, children, mothers and fathers who were left to try to put life into some form of normal once their loved one had decided to cross that line.

I watched as young brides kissed dirty glass windows, because the lips of the person they loved were on the other side. Women exposing themselves to hands that would never caress them, and children crying for a daddy they might never know. This was the same struggle seen in the faces of the empty-eyed deputies who slept in the bunkroom because he or she could not face going home to the person they vowed to love forever. Or hearing the latest gossip of two married officers caught having sex in the parking lot just outside the HQ.

This…is the human struggle.

My point—it wasn't until truly seeing “people” in the light, or rather the darkness of their fallen condition, consumed and blinded by sin and its effects, was I really able to see myself in the proper light. For after all, I too am human and have my part in the human struggle. Think about it….Just saying.

Out of the Two comes One - Part Eight

2012-02-14T10:52:00.000-08:00

As a peace officer I am constantly asked to make moral decisions, decisions where my judgment is the sole basis on what action I should or should not take. For instance, on a routine traffic stop, do I issue a citation or do I give a warning? Even in the matter of a misdemeanor arrest, do I take my arrestee to jail or do I issue a citation and release them in trust that they will show up at court?

A misdemeanor is a secondary level offense where the punishment is limited to a maximum of one year in county jail and up to $1,000 in fines. On the other hand, a Felony is the highest level of offense where the violation is punishable of any fine amount and can result in sentencing of a minimum of one year in State Prison up to life, and or death as deemed appropriate by the court. The lowest level is an infraction and is only punishable by a fine. So there it is the three levels.

In my 22 plus years of service, I have never had to shoot anyone in the line of duty. However, while working in Southern California, I was once involved in a group of officers that took on random gunfire as a part of a local New Year’s Day celebration: No one was hit and no suspects were ever identified. But, with that said, to shoot or not to shoot is a question I had to answer over two decades ago. This, like any other, is just one of many moral decisions I have to make on a daily basis. If you think about it, it is not too unlike what each of you are called to everyday: to decide the right or the wrong of any given matter. Think about it….Just saying.

Out of the Two comes One - Part Seven

2012-02-08T08:46:00.000-08:00

The question of the spiritual is one that often comes up. Let me assure you, it is very real. This is perhaps the one juncture where my two worlds have their greatest overlap. When you think about it, aren’t all the moral questions, the questions of right and wrong, questions of the heart— not the heart in the romantic sense, but in the sense of judgment, of truth—of what we see ultimately as being right or wrong.

There was an occasion when a gentleman had been booked in for a rather heinous crime involving the rape and torture of a child. This man was demon possessed. He would often sit in his cell and have conversations with his unseen host. Now, I know there is such a thing as being mentally ill, but a person who is truly enduring a psychotic episode does, not respond to the verbal command to stop. Verbal commands have little effect in derailing either auditory or visual hallucinations.

This particular inmate was self-destructive and violent. He was known to cut himself and use his own blood to paint his cell walls and write inscriptions on the walls. On this particular day in question, he had taken his reinforced plastic lunch tray and snapped it into several pieces—pieces that could be used as a weapon. It was my job to escort the doctor into the cell in order to administer his medication…i.e., something that would make him sleep.

Because it was my job and pleasure to be the one wearing the badge, I entered the cell approximately three minutes before the doctor. When I entered, this man was growling and cutting himself with a shard from the tray. I stood a safe distance away for him, which was only about five feet in this small cell, and addressed him. I began by saying, “I know you know who I am, and I know you know who Jesus is.” Then I told him that because he knew who Jesus was, I knew he knew he could not touch me. I then told him that he was bound by the power and authority of the name of Jesus, and that he was not allowed to speak or interact as long as the doctor was in the cell…that I only wanted to hear from and speak to the real person whose body it was.

He immediately sat and the growling stopped. He then looked at me with the most pitiful eyes I’d ever seen. Just about that time, the doc walked in and did his routine. On the way out he thanked me for my ability to work with the mentally ill. I laughed and told him the same story I just told you. He nodded, giggled, and walked away shaking his head.

I turned and looked back up at the cell I had just secured behind the doc and myself to see that same inmate raging at an unseen guest, cursing at the world. Of course a few minutes later, he was sound asleep, curled in a ball on the floor. But the point of the story is yes…oh yes, the spiritual is very real ….Just saying.

Book ReviewBook ReviewBook Review

2012-02-06T18:01:00.000-08:00

Book Review: Reflections in Silhouette: Poems by T.L. Cooper

The last time I read poetry Ronald Regan was still in his first term as president. Now comes T.L. Cooper’s Reflections in Silhouette and as I read her sometimes haunting and sometimes light and lyrical stanzas, I found myself caught up in the spirit of reflection. In pieces like “Today I Remembered” and “Hands”, T.L. captures the readers in a wreath of emotions both turbulent and free, forcing one to observe the pain and the triumph intrinsic to the human spirit.
In Reflections, T.L. creates a safe place from which the reader can observe the journey through the dark recesses too often ignored by those who wished evil didn’t exist in the world. Brave enough to lower the curtain into her own heart, T.L. gives the reader that certain leverage where one might be able to find the strength, upon reflection, to go forward into the bright sunshine of their own new day.

Ray Ellis, Author of N.H.I.(No Humans Involved) & D.R.T.( Dead Right There)

A Special Post on Bullying

2012-02-03T15:47:00.001-08:00

Bullies: Too Frighten to Unveil

When the topic of bullying was presented to me, several images immediately came to mind; some from over the course of my career in law enforcement and others from my life. From this collection, I would like to share a piece of my own story.
I grew up as a black child in Jim Crow’s South. I remember going to the ticket window at the local movie theater to purchase tickets to see Disney’s, “The Love Bug” and having collected my tickets having to exit the building, walk around to the rear and making my way up the back stairs to the balcony…the Colored section. Even with a child’s heart, I realized this was bullying.
Yes, but not from an individual, rather from a system that was set on the perceived dominance or stronger power based determined to keep the smaller brother disenfranchised. As I grew older and experienced more of the world, I began to see this was true on many different levels: the middle school in- crowd, the high school jocks, and, in the workforce, the chosen inner circle. Even in the world of writing, there is the perception of the “haves” and those of the “will-have-nots”. Bullying is nothing new. And like in the world of my childhood of invisible walls and see through ceilings, we have but to join together and persist in righteousness- or resisting the efforts of the bullies- to see the triumph of the perceived “Little Brothers” .

Ray Ellis, Author of NHI (No Humans Involved) & DRT( Dead Right There)
http://authorray.blogspot.com
http://www.linkytools.com/basic_linky_include.aspx?id=126056

Best selling author Vincent Zandri's review of D.R.T.

2012-02-01T18:46:00.000-08:00

“Ray Ellis’s DRT or Dead Right There is one of those rare crime novels that not only keeps you teetering on the edge of your chair, but reminds you that the jagged line between good and evil is as narrow and painful as the razor’s edge. Penned with blood red imagery and the haunting grace of an old poet, this young author is sure to thrill legions of fans for years to come.”

--Vincent Zandri, bestselling author of The Innocent and Scream Catcher

Out of the Two comes One - Part Six

2012-01-30T09:19:00.000-08:00

The one thing that is always true of my duel professions is that there are always intersections where the two worlds are poised for conflict. (You know what they say about phrases with the word always in them…they are always false. Smile.) The experience that gives substance to the lie is my working in the jail. Whenever a new inmate arrived, especially when that inmate was charged with a particularly horrible crime, I was challenged to be something different than that which was common around me. Where my fellow deputies might give into a lower impulse…nothing illegal, but still lower than what would be acceptable to the Lord, I would have to forgo that impulse.

There was an occasion where on one night an inmate came in and was offensive in almost every way you might think, even to the point of his attacking a fellow deputy. At this point, it was my duty to stop the threat while assisting my fellow officer. The hard part was in having to stop before I went too far. The impulse to give into anger, to become the punisher rather than the administer of justice. Conflict.

The question of how to institute the higher law of grace and mercy where doing things “the normal way” would not be questioned. On most of these occasions this conflict did not register with anyone else, for the battle was solely within myself. Do I apply that control-hold for that one extra heartbeat; do I ignore that inmate’s reasonable request just because of what he’s done or who he might be? These are the battles I fought and still fight. But then again, in reality, it is the battle we all fight: Will we do the right thing when it is time for the right thing to be done? Conflict….Just saying.

Out of the Two comes One - Part Five

2012-01-27T13:16:00.000-08:00

One of the more common questions I’m asked is how do I blend my two worlds into one. The question is generally posed as if there really did exist a separation between the spiritual and the secular; as if I could be one person at work and another at home and church.

It became one of my constant goals to be congruent— to have my words and actions agree with my testimony. This brings to mind a day that I failed.

On a crisp Saturday morning the shift progressed as usual. I was working in the medical ward. In this ward there was a particular block where those inmates with contagious diseases were housed separate from other sick inmates. On this particular day there was one inmate, who being rather obstinate, provoked me to wrath. [Smile] In police-talk we call this heinous crime Contempt of Cop, and in most jurisdictions, it is considered a serious felony.

Well, after being repeatedly disrespected, disobeyed, and challenged—yes, I lost my temper. I stalked out of the control booth and stormed up to the inmate’s cell and snatched open the door. At this point I challenged the man to the fight he had been begging me for all morning. But, like with most inmates, once the door opened, his glass-courage evaporated. Glass-courage is that courage an inmate has when he is locked safe behind the cell door glass.

When I walked into his cell and stood over him, I could see the fear in his eyes and only then—once the eyes of all the other inmates and the nursing staff and the other deputy—did I mention I had been telling this deputy about the love of Jesus? Back to the story. I finally heard my partner calling me over the intercom and reminding me that this inmate was not worth my job.

Then the truth of the matter settled over me. I had put my testimony on the line. It seemed the Lord was always using the situations of my day to teach me about Him and about myself….Just saying.

Out of the Two comes One - Part Four

2012-01-23T09:05:00.000-08:00

When asked what stands out about wearing the badge while living in the light of the empty tomb, what comes to my mind is an event that taught me more about the nature of grace than all the lectures I’ve heard on the subject combined.

It was early in the shift. I can’t remember what season, but I think it might have been summer— either way it was Southern Cal and all the days are beautiful. Two days prior to this, I had received a novel as a gift and discovered it to be one of those that I just could not put down. On the morning in question, I’d brought the book with me to read on my breaks. During the morning count, it fell to me to run the count on the first floor in booking. While making this round, I came across a single male inmate sitting in a cell designated for at least 20 persons.

When I opened the cell to confirm this inmate’s identity, I saw that he was reading a copy of “my” novel. No, not the one I’d written, but the one I was reading at the time. During this early stage in my career, I was still enamored with my shiny new badge and I couldn’t see how anyone of “these people”— these inmates, could have anything in common with me.

Time stopped.

I stalked to where the inmate sat reading a tattered copy of “my” novel and snatched it from his hands. Fear washed over the young man’s face as his color drained. He went rigid on the stone bench. “Where did you get this?” I demanded.

The inmate stuttered, “I-I-I found it on the floor. I didn’t mean to do nothing wrong, sir. I’m sorry. You can have it. I don’t want no trouble.” With that, he stretched both palms toward me as if to push me away.

In the breath of that moment, I realize the truth of the statement, “Except for the grace of God, there go I.” I just stood there and looked at the fear on the man’s face, shocked at the anger in my voice.

I stopped. I prayed. I repented. Then I gave the book back and apologized.
I left that cell a humbled man. The point? The only difference between us and “those people” is God….Just saying.

Out of the Two comes One - Part Three

2012-01-19T10:27:00.000-08:00

I remember when I was a child we lived right up the hill from a ditch…The ditch. My grandmother always told me to stay away from that ditch, or I would fall in. Well, being the full-blooded American youth growing up in the 1960’s South, you might well imagine that I took that admonishment to heart.

Well, it was not so different from when I began my career in law enforcement and continuing my walk with the Lord. As an ordained minister, I was always aware of my reputation: What we call a testimony in the church, and the effect it would have if I failed. The key was to not play around the edges of trouble. There were many times when I had to walk that thin line of not giving into the impulse of anger or just plain dislike, but I knew I was being watched; watched by not only my fellow officers and staff, but watched by the Lord.

This reminds me of one morning in particular. My oldest son was two years old, and I had just kissed both him and my wife good-bye for the day. I made my way to briefing, and as I sat there, the duty sergeant gave us the details of our day’s assignments. Mine? I was tasked with watching an inmate that had been booked in overnight and was currently on suicide watch. What was so hard about that you might ask? Well, this particular inmate had killed his two-year-old nephew after molesting him and then partially decapitating the small body and hiding him in a trash bag. As the sergeant gave me instructions to watch this man, to guard him, to make sure he didn’t kill himself, I wonder aloud, “Why should I stop him?”

Immediately I knew I was wrong. The sergeant stopped, looked up and said to me, “Because you are one of the few people here that I can trust to do it.” As the team filed out, I sat there for a moment and talked to the Lord about it. I made my peace with the fact that I was not to be his judge, but rather his jailer. I was not to be his jury, but rather his guard. I had looked down and found that I had been standing near the edge of that “ditch.”

This is what it was like to work in the jail and walk with the Lord. At times, I did it quite well and soared over trials. At other times, I had to fight through…and sometimes I failed. But then again it’s kind like Grand-Ma said, “If you play around the edge of that ditch, you gonna fall in.” I did. You want to know something else? Ditch mud really stinks….Just saying.

Out of the Two comes One - Part Two

2012-01-16T09:31:00.000-08:00

As I’ve said before, I began my law enforcement career working as an Orange County Deputy Sheriff; station 18 for those in the know. It was while still assigned to my JTO (Jail Training Officer; the senior officer responsible to assure that you make the shift from academy graduate to functional field officer.) — that I first realized I would have to earn my right to hold my testimony in Jesus Christ and still be accepted as a viable field officer. However, most challenges I experienced were presented on a subconscious level; people just being who they are and expecting me to be like them.

One of the first challenges an officer has to overcome is whether or not he/she will engage in battle. Now it is true, most officers over the course of their entire career, very few will ever draw their weapon as an act of aggression. However, as a jail-officer, that same officer will have to go hands-on in a combat status at least once a week on average. My first challenge came during my second week of training. In those moments, you don’t have time to stop and pray for a Godly mindset, so one is best served by being prayed up and prepared ahead of time.

There are two stations where a fight was most likely to happen: Uncuff or Court Transfer. Uncuff is where new intakes arrive at the jail, and the booking process begins. In this stage, inmates have just come off the streets, transferred from state prison or other city or county jails. On the other hand, Court Transfer is where inmates, already housed in jail, were brought down and transferred to and from court while still in custody.

Now, another thing that was very real in the jail was that the different ethnic groups had to be kept separate. Well, actually, the Whites and the Mexicans had a truce that held up in lock-up, while the Blacks and Asians teamed up to create a precarious balance that allowed the jail to operate just this side of chaos.

Back to my challenge: It was in Uncuff where a transfer inmate decided to challenge me. He knew I was a rookie, and as such, had not been tested. If he caused me to cower or back off, he gained points in the jail. If I prevailed, then I made my marks with my JTO. This all happened in a moment, kind of like scripture — in twinkling of an eye. You either pass or fail. No retest.

I passed.

Then comes the self-examination where I had to check my heart before God. Did I say or do more than was necessary? Did I, even in the heat of combat, say or do anything that would be displeasing to my God. After assuring that I had not lowered my standards, came the act of living with the praise. Not giving into the power and adulation that is inherent to wearing the uniform is a battle I had to fight every day, not so much with others but rather in my own heart. The fight was actually easier to handle….Just saying.

Out of the two comes One:

2012-01-13T14:34:00.000-08:00

Back in 1989, as a very mature 26 years old, I was both ordained into the ministry and sworn in as a deputy sheriff in Orange County, California. I joined the staff of the Eagles Nest Christian Ministries – under the leadership of Dr. Gary Greenwald as his leader of Youth Ministries. At the same time, although several months apart, I pledged an oath to uphold the laws of the great county of Orange under the leadership of then Sheriff Brad Gates — not to be confused with his distant relative, Daryl Gates, who was the chief of the Los Angeles Police Department.

Since that time, people often ask me how I can do both jobs and not confuse their missions or become hypocritical in the service of one or the other. For me this has never been an issue. You see, I see myself as a Christian first; Christian before a law enforcement officer, Christian before husband, or father; and here it is: ¬¬Christian before a Blackman in America. Christ first, Christ always, Christ only.

This reminds me of the time when I was testing for the position of sex crimes investigator. My supervisor, which shall remain unnamed, pulled me aside to voice his concerns. In his typical fatherly tone, he expressed his concern that my being a Christian would disallow me to see anyone in a bad light, thus inhibiting my ability to judge rightly a sex offender as evil. He saw my Christianity as a hindrance to the performance of my duties.

I took pleasure in explaining that my faith is what gave me the proper understanding of the true nature of what it meant to be man: That all of us were evil by nature, and it was only the grace of God that set any of us apart. Well that was almost 10 years and many hundred investigations ago. Water under the bridge as we say.

In this new post, I would like to explore with you my journey through this blended world of mine. As in all things, I would love to hear and share your thoughts. Out of the two worlds came one unique perspectives; it makes for a wonderfully exciting adventure. Come along for the ride and let’s see what we see….Just saying.

Here's a sneak peek of DRT

2012-01-12T09:59:00.000-08:00

Wet snow looked like a spilled cherry snow cone spreading from beneath the man’s downturned face. Detective Nate Richards of the Treasure Valley Metro Police looked down at the body stretched out on the ground at his feet. A quick glance suggested a single blow to the side of the man’s head had ended his life. Nate shook his head, dislodging snow from his loose curls, the white flakes contrasting against the coffee-colored tone of his skin. He shivered, I hate winter. Nate looked up, momentarily drawn by the halo that encircled the streetlight as its russet glow illuminated the night sky.
His partner, Detective Chris MacGilvery, worked a short distance away, talking to the on-scene patrol officer. The unbroken surface of the snow, pristine in its whiteness, made the whole scene eerily bright. MacGilvery cupped his hands and blew into them, attempting to thaw them out, his gray-blue eyes reflecting the light from the snow. He had been assigned as Nate’s partner when Nate’s previous partner, twenty-year veteran Sabrina Jackson, retired after being shot in the line of duty by a rogue cop.
Looking up with the memory, Nate flexed tight muscles in his jaw and stooped to better examine the body. Remembering his scripture reading from that morning, Hebrews 9:27, “And it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment.” Nate wondered where this man’s soul was now.
He looked over the crime scene, trying to decipher its secrets. Shaking his head from side to side, he considered the snow. It was not helping; no footprints led to or away from the body. The snow will have to be collected and sifted for possible evidence. He rubbed gloved fingers across his chin.
“Mac,” Nate called out, “witnesses?”
“None. A man walking his dog found the body and called it in.”
Nate made his way over to Chet Baraza, the patrol officer in charge, and looked in the direction of the sirens sounding in the near distance. “I guess we can tell the paramedics to downgrade,” Nate said, extending a hand to Baraza.
The group of patrol officers laughed. Baraza chuckled and shook Nate’s hand. “He’s DRT. Dead right there, man; this one’s not going anywhere on his own. He must’a dropped like a sack of potatoes. Farrumph!” the officer said and gestured as if dropping a heavy load.
Wheels crunched in the snow as the paramedic van pulled up and rolled to a stop just outside the crime scene. The overhead lights flashed brilliantly against the snow, perforating the velvet drape of the night sky. The already too bright landscape sparkled like an oversized diorama as the red and white lights of the van played against it. The driver, a middle age balding man, stepped from the van. “What’d’ya got?” he asked nobody in particular.
Nate dipped his chin toward the body. He looked back at the driver and shook his head from side to side in a slow sweep.
Pulling on rubber examination gloves, the paramedic bent over and examined the four-inch gash in the temple of the victim, paying particular attention to the jagged edge. He stood and whistled, blowing air through pursed lips. “Wow, that’s…,” he began. “That’s…that’s bad.” He looked over his shoulder at his partner who was quickly pulling gear from the van. “Bag it, Jeff, this one’s DRT. Better call the coroner, Nate.”

Mac finished talking to the witness and, after getting his contact information, released him to leave. Turning to face the group of officers, he jogged-skidded his way back across the thin sheet of ice on the street to join Nate and the others near the body.

Nate locked eyes with Mac before they both turned to face Baraza. The veteran street cop pulled his note pad from his breast pocket and frowned as he prepared to check his information against what the detectives already had.
“The old guy,” he said, indicating the RP (reporting party), “called in a medical assist man down at about twenty-fifteen hours… just after the first call came into dispatch about what sounded like a single gunshot being fired.”
Nate looked back at the body of the unidentified man lying face down in the snow. “Anybody pull I.D. yet?”
“Naaa, it was obvious he was dead. Thought we’d wait for five-one to call it, and of course you guys.”
“So, you’re a doctor now, Baraza,” Mac chided.
Baraza frowned, feigning injury. “You don’t need an M.D. in front of your name to know you can’t live with a hole like that in the side of your head. I’m thinking long gun, .22 caliber maybe.”
“That much damage from a twenty-two?” Mac asked, arching a brow.
“Heavy load, low velocity at close range,” Baraza finished. “Maybe a tumbler; of course it’s just my guess. But I’m only a lowly street cop, not like you bright boys up there in Criminal Investigation Division.” He smiled sarcastically and, with a tap of his fingers, tucked his pad back into his jacket pocket.
Nate cupped Baraza on his shoulder and pushed him, causing him to slide on the ice, barely managing to keep his balance. “I’ll see you in the morning, wise guy.”
Baraza laughed. “Heck, we’ll be back for morning briefing before you even finish your paperwork.”
The men laughed, and Nate turned his attention back to the dead man belly down in the snow. Looking up, Nate saw the coroner’s van pulling into the intersection. The deputy coroner, a tall dark haired man in his mid to late twenties, got out and prepared to bag the body.
“Hold on there, cowboy,” Mac called to the deputy coroner.
Nate waved a hand to get the coroner’s attention. “We haven’t finished here yet—crime scene’s still mine.”
“Works for me, I’ll wait in my wagon. Too cold out here for me anyway,” he said and hefted his bulk back into the van.
Flipping open his cell phone, Nate called the on-call crime scene tech. Rosie answered on the second ring. “Hey, sorry to bother you this early.”
She cut him off. “I’m already en route. Got in late and heard the call go out. I should be on scene in about—Now.” She honked her horn as she parked her van across the street from the crime scene. Rosie, a fifty-something Hispanic woman, was almost as tall as she was round, with a personality just as big. She was a no-nonsense, fresh-off-the-streets type girl.
Bumping the van door closed with her hip, Rosie opened her bag and began to set up her camera. “What do you want?” She asked over her shoulder.
Nate and Mac smiled knowingly as Rosie sorted the varied baggies and evidence containers. “Better get everything. We don’t know what we have yet,” Nate answered.
“You can get me the heck out of here,” MacGilvery added sarcastically and glanced over at Rosie.
As Rosie began to create a photo log of the crime scene, recording the location and placement of items of interest, Nate and Mac stepped back to consider what they had discovered. A half hour passed, and Rosie signaled that she had finished with the preliminary photos and was all set to begin evidence collection.
“Ready?” Nate asked.
“Nope,” Mac said joking.
“Oh, shut up,” Rosie cut in. “We’re ready.”
“Okay,” Nate began, “I’ll walk the route. You watch Mac and Rosie you—”
“I’ll stand by for collection and tagging. It’s not my first ride on this train you know”
Nate smiled.
Standing near the head of the body, he looked at the scene again. Studying the body’s position, Nate moved around it, trying to determine the victim’s direction of travel at the time of attack. Beginning at the corpse’s feet, taking slow steps moving in a spiral search pattern, he progressed outward from the body. Nearing the head again, he stopped, feeling something hard beneath the toe of his shoe. “Mac…I think I got something.”
Nate knelt down and retrieved a small rectangle shaped piece of plastic from beneath his right foot. Reading the writing on the side of the object, he recognized it to be a sixteen-gigabyte thumb-drive.
Holding the thumb-drive between his index finger and thumb, Nate dropped it into a small evidence bag held by Rosie. She cut her eyes at him. “Next time use rubber gloves, Sherlock.”
He exchanged glances with Mac. “What’d’ya think?”
“I think you should wear gloves.” He cleared his throat and chuckled. “I don’t believe in coincidences,” he answered. “Let’s get it back to the lab, and see what the boys in cyber tech can do with it.”
Rosie didn’t smile. “Let’s just get it dried out, and see if there’s anything on it.”
Nate nodded and continued the swirl pattern outward to about ten to twelve feet from the body. Mac tracked his progress from the side, looking for anything that Nate may have missed.
Nate positioned himself near the shoulders of the body, directing Mac to the opposite side near its knees. “Okay, let’s roll this fellow over, and see who we have here.”
Aided by the cold and rigor mortis, the body rolled easily and rocked onto its back like a saucer settling into place. Its hands and arms splayed, frozen above his head. Blue eyes stared unseeing through ice crystals into the night sky.
“Whoa,” Nate said, “you know who this is?” He reached into the dead man’s pocket and retrieved his wallet. Opening it, he passed the ID to Mac.
Mac forced air through pursed lips. “So, justice finally caught up to old Bobby.”
“When did he get out of prison, anyway? I thought he got fifteen to life on his last jaunt to State.”
“Yeah, fifteen, but only two fixed. He must have made parole.”
“Only two years for child rape.” Nate shook his head. “Maybe he should’a stayed in prison.”

See what readers on Amazon are saying about NHI!

2012-01-09T14:05:00.000-08:00

5 out of 5 stars “New Nate Richards fan! Ok, so I love a deal, I like knowing I got value for money spent...that being said this book is a treasure. I'm a Kindle owner and devout book reader; book buying has become compulsive, so I am ALWAYS looking for a deal. That is how I found this little GEM!!!!. The story is fresh... the emotions between the main characters are "oh" so real. Nate Richards is sexy but saved, he's not over the top religious, but he knows GOD. The author did an awesome job of not "selling" religion by making this a "Christian book"... Nate Richards' faith is a much a part of him as his skin color, it's simply who he is. This feels like what Walter Mosley did with Easy Rawlins ...I love a good detective story!!!The way this one ended, I am hoping for more installments from Ray Ellis and the adventures of Nate Richards....write on... Buy it, READ it, you won't regret it!”

4 out of 5 stars “Well on your way! As a first book, this book was amazing. As a new author, Ellis did an outstanding job developing characters that will easily become favorites across a series of books. I think the characters were developed in such a way that the reader can connect with. This book, like so many other others manages to get its hooks into the reader, to the point that the reader wants to finish it. Very well written, both in plot and setting. I am looking forward to the rest of the series, to see where Ellis takes these unique characters. Ellis is definitely well on his way to becoming one of the great authors of today.”

Special review: NHI Chapter One

2012-01-06T10:55:00.000-08:00

Chapter One

The body of the teenage boy lay face down in the gutter, his bandana, his colors, still clenched in his fist, floated in the water beside him. Blood mixed with rain raced in a gurgling stream down the drain, splashing noisily as it made its way to the river.
What had it gained him? What had he proved? These were a few of the questions that flashed through Detective Nate Richards’ mind as he studied the crime scene. Summer rain washed over Richards’ lean frame, soaking his loose brown curls to the scalp. Flexing a muscle in his jaw, he lifted a hand to wipe water from his face. The street light reflected off of his cocoa-colored skin, twinkling in the early morning darkness. “Who’s calling the scene?” Nate asked the group of four uniformed officers standing near a row of patrol cars, their overhead lights casting a rainbow effect on the wet pavement.
Three of the four uniformed men walked toward Nate. He looked between the men and, finding the corporal stripes, directed his comments to them. “What d’ya’ got, Benson?” he asked, reading the nametag that went along with them.
“Another one down; one less to worry about shooting me in the back,” Corporal Chad Benson muttered under his breath while using his hand to squeegee rainwater from his short blond hair. He chuckled to himself as he walked past the body headed for his patrol unit. He glanced at Nate as he passed.
“Does the phrase crime scene integrity mean anything to you, Benson?” Nate said.
“What’s your problem?” Benson said in a harsh whisper. “It’s not like it means anything. They breed like rats down here. Who cares if they kill each other off? We’ll have two more by week’s end. Mark my word. And it won’t even make a difference.”
The two uniformed officers, with Benson, smiled at their team commander’s remarks. One of the men stared at Nate, holding his gaze for an extra heart beat longer than necessary before turning away. Nate made a mental note to remember the men’s names.
“Stow it. Now!” Nate cut his gaze to a woman sitting on the curb rocking and hugging herself. The dead teen’s mother. Grabbing Benson by the shoulder, Nate pulled him off to the side. “You can’t see?”
Benson snatched his arm from Nate. “What?”
“You okay, Bens?” one of the other officers called and stepped toward Nate.
“Johnson, right?” Nate asked, making sure he had the man’s name correct. “Is this the way you run a crime scene?” Nate had directed the question to Benson.
Looking down the desolate street, Nate pointed to the nearest intersection. “Block that off and get some cones out in the street to keep paramedics and everyone else from driving through my crime scene.”
Johnson looked at Nate but didn’t move.
“You got a problem with that, patrolman?” Nate asked.
“Go ‘head,” Benson said, stepping between the two men. “Look, Detective, we do just fine. You take care of your stuff, and I’ll take care of mine.”
Without responding, Nate turned away from the officer and approached the woman, hoping she hadn’t overheard Benson’s comments or noticed the patrolmen’s cavalier attitudes.
Shielding his notepad from the rain with his arm, he checked the comments he’d recorded there. He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Fuentes? I’m Detective Nate Richards, Treasure Valley Metro Police Department. I need to ask you a few questions.”
The woman raised her dark eyes like dead pools, lifeless and cold, to meet Nate’s expectant gaze. “What does it matter? We breed like rats anyway, right?” She pulled her jacket collar tight around her neck and turned away from him.
So much for her not having heard, Nate thought. He stooped to meet the woman’s gaze. “Mrs. Fuentes…”
“Miss. I’m not married. But I guess that’s okay when you’re only a Cricetomys emini, huh?”
Struck by the woman’s beauty, Nate thought she didn’t look much older than a teen herself. “Miss Fuentes,” he began again, “A what?”
“A pregnant rat,” she said, anger coloring her voice.
Nate broke eye contact for the briefest of moments but watched her gauging her movements. “I apologize for the officer’s crudeness. There’s no excuse for his behavior. I also assure you that his is not the general attitude of the police department.” Nate was sincere in his response but knew avoiding an officer complaint was a good idea as well.
The woman stood abruptly. She looked again at her son lying dead in the street, took a breath and seemed to gather herself. “Can I take him now?”
“I’m sorry Mrs.—Miss Fuentes, but the body can’t be released until the coroner has been called and finishes his examination.”
“You gonna cut up my baby? You gonna cut him open and play around inside him? For what? We know what killed him. The bullets killed him. Just let me take him and put him to rest.”
Nate looked over the woman’s shoulder at Officer Benson sitting in his patrol unit out of the weather and wished that it was Benson standing in the rain having to explain the bad behavior instead of him. Benson sat leaning back in the passenger’s seat stuffing the last of something into his mouth.
“Miss Fuentes, I’m sorry, but certain things have to be done and then—”
“I don’t care. You want to assure me you don’t see my son as some kind of second class citizen? You find the man who killed him, and you make him pay.” She walked away, her shoulders heaving as she struggled against the sobs shaking her entire body. Stopping a short distance away, she leaned against the wall and stood there absorbed by the shadows.
Nate stormed over to the patrol car and pulled open the door. “Benson, you’re a pig.”
Benson looked up, a smear of mayonnaise stuck in the corner of his mouth. “What? What’d I do?”
Nate looked in the direction the woman had disappeared. “You couldn’t see the mother sitting not fifteen feet from you? What were you thinking?”
“NHI, man. Why should I get all bothered over nothing?”
Nate clenched and then relaxed his fist. He inhaled and blew out his breath in one explosive sigh, water vapor springing from around his lips. Without speaking, he turned and walked away. Kneeling beside the body, he began his investigation while fighting to control his anger at Benson’s callous behavior.

Urban Fiction Unleashed: Free Preview of DRT: Dead Right There (First three...

2012-01-04T17:58:00.000-08:00

Urban Fiction Unleashed: Free Preview of DRT: Dead Right There (First three...: DRT: Dead Right There “And be not afraid of them that kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him who is a...

Free Preview of DRT: Dead Right There (First three chapters)

2011-09-17T22:27:00.000-07:00

DRT:
Dead Right There

“And be not afraid of them that kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul: but rather fear him who is able to destroy both soul and body in hell.”

Jesus
Matt 10:28 ASV

“A man who does not have something for which he is willing to die is not fit to live.”

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
Civil Rights Speech
Chicago Tenement

Chapter One

Wet snow looked like a spilled cherry snow cone spreading from beneath the man’s downturned face. Detective Nate Richards of the Treasure Valley Metro Police looked down at the body stretched out on the ground at his feet. A quick glance suggested a single blow to the side of the man’s head had ended his life. Nate shook his head, dislodging snow from his loose curls; the white flakes contrasting against the coffee-colored tone of his skin. He shivered, I hate winter. Nate looked up, momentarily drawn by the halo that encircled the streetlight as its russet glow illuminated the night sky.
His partner, Detective Chris MacGilvery, worked a short distance away, talking to the on-scene patrol officer. The unbroken surface of the snow, pristine in its whiteness, made the whole scene eerily bright. MacGilvery cupped his hands and blew into them, attempting to thaw them out; his gray-blue eyes reflecting the light from the snow. He had been assigned as Nate’s partner when Nate’s previous partner, twenty-year veteran Sabrina Jackson, retired after being shot in the line of duty by a rogue cop.
Looking up with the memory, Nate flexed tight muscles in his jaw and stooped to better examine the body. Remembering his scripture reading from that morning, Hebrews chapter nine verse twenty-seven, “Since human beings die only once, after which comes judgment.” Nate wondered where this man’s soul was now.
He looked over the crime scene trying to decipher its secrets. Shaking his head from side to side, he considered the snow. It was not helping, no footprints led to or away from the body. The snow will have to be collected and sifted for possible evidence. He rubbed gloved fingers across his chin.
“Mac,” Nate called out, “witnesses?”
“None. A man walking his dog found the body and called it in.”
Nate made his way over to Chet Baraza, the patrol officer in charge, and looked in the direction of the sirens sounding in the near distance. “I guess we can tell the paramedics to downgrade,” Nate said, extending a hand to Baraza.
The group of patrol officers laughed. Baraza chuckled and shook Nate’s hand. “He’s DRT. Dead right there, man, this one’s not going anywhere on his own. He must’a dropped like a sack of potatoes. Farrumph!” the officer said and gestured as if dropping a heavy load.
Wheels crunched in the snow as the paramedic van pulled up and rolled to a stop just outside the crime scene. The overhead lights flashed brilliantly against the snow perforating the velvet drape of the night sky. The already too bright landscape sparkled like an oversized diorama as the red and white lights of the van played against it. The driver, a middle age balding man, stepped from the van. “What’d’ya got?” he asked nobody in particular.
Nate dipped his chin toward the body. He looked back at the driver and shook his head from side to side in a slow sweep.
Pulling on rubber examination gloves, the paramedic bent over and examined the four-inch gash in the temple of the victim, paying particular attention to the jagged edge. He stood and whistled, blowing air through pursed lips. “Wow, that’s…,” he began. “That’s… that’s bad.” He looked over his shoulder at his partner who was quickly pulling gear from the van. “Bag it, Jeff, this one’s DRT. Better call the coroner, Nate.”

Mac finished talking to the witness, and after getting his contact information, released him to leave. Turning to face the group of officers, he jogged-skidded his way back across the thin sheet of ice on the street to join Nate and the others near the body.

Nate locked eyes with Mac before they both turned to face Baraza. The veteran street cop pulled his note pad from his breast pocket and frowned as he prepared to check his information against what the detectives already had.
“The old guy,” he said, indicating the RP (reporting party) “called in a medical assist man down at about twenty-fifteen hours… just after the first call came into dispatch about what sounded like a single gunshot being fired.”
Nate looked back at the body of the unidentified man lying face down in the snow. “Anybody pull I.D. yet?”
“Naaa, it was obvious he was dead. Thought we’d wait for five-one to call it, and of course you guys.”
“So, you’re a doctor now, Baraza,” Mac chided.
Baraza frowned, feigning injury. “You don’t need an M.D. in front of your name to know you can’t live with a hole like that in the side of your head. I’m thinking long gun, twenty-two caliber maybe.”
“That much damage from a twenty-two?” Mac asked, arching a brow.
“Heavy load, low velocity at close range,” Baraza finished. “Maybe a tumbler; of course it’s just my guess. But I’m only a lowly street cop, not like you bright boys up there in Criminal Investigation Division.” He smiled sarcastically and with a tap of his fingers, tucked his pad back into his jacket pocket.
Nate cupped Baraza on his shoulder and pushed him, causing him to slide on the ice, barely managing to keep his balance. “I’ll see you in the morning, wise guy.”
Baraza laughed. “Heck, we’ll be back for morning briefing before you even finish your paperwork.”
The men laughed, and Nate turned his attention back to the dead man, belly down in the snow. Looking up, Nate saw the coroner’s van pulling into the intersection. The deputy coroner, a tall dark haired man in his mid to late twenties, got out and prepared to bag the body.
“Hold on there, Cowboy,” Mac called to the deputy coroner.
Nate waved a hand to get the coroner’s attention. “We haven’t finished here yet… crime scene’s still mine.”
“Works for me, I’ll wait in my wagon. Too cold out here for me anyway,” he said and hefted his bulk back into the van.
Flipping open his cell phone, Nate called the on-call crime scene tech. Rosie answered on the second ring. “Hey, sorry to bother you this early.”
She cut him off. “I’m already en route. Got in late and heard the call go out. I should be on scene in about…. Now.” She honked her horn as she parked her van across the street from the crime scene. Rosie, a fifty-something Hispanic woman, was almost as tall as she was round, with a personality just as big. She was a no-nonsense, fresh-off-the-streets type girl.
Bumping the van door closed with her hip, Rosie opened her bag and began to set up her camera. “What do you want?” She asked over her shoulder.
Nate and Mac smiled knowingly as Rosie sorted the varied baggies and evidence containers. “Better get everything. We don’t know what we have yet,” Nate answered.
“You can get me the heck out of here,” MacGilvery added sarcastically and glanced over at Rosie.
As Rosie began to create a photo log of the crime scene, recording the location and placement of items of interest, Nate and Mac stepped back to consider what they had discovered. A half hour passed, and Rosie signaled that she had finished with the preliminary photos and was all set to begin evidence collection.
“Ready?” Nate asked.
“Nope,” Mac said joking.
“Oh, shut up,” Rosie cut in. “We’re ready.”
“Okay,” Nate began, “I’ll walk the route. You watch Mac and Rosie you-”
“I’ll stand by for collection and tagging. It’s not my first ride on this train you know”
Nate smiled.
Standing near the head of the body, he looked at the scene again. Studying the body’s position, Nate moved around it trying to determine the victim’s direction of travel at the time of attack. Beginning at the corpse’s feet, taking slow steps moving in a spiral search pattern, he progressed outward from the body. Nearing the head again, he stopped, feeling something hard beneath the toe of his shoe. “Mac… I think I got something.”
Nate knelt down and retrieved a small rectangle shaped piece of plastic from beneath his right foot. Reading the writing on the side of the object, he recognized it to be a sixteen-gigabyte thumb-drive.
Holding the thumb-drive between his index finger and thumb, Nate dropped it into a small evidence bag held by Rosie. She cut her eyes at him. “Next time use rubber gloves, Sherlock.”
He exchanged glances with Mac. “What’d’ya think?”
“I think you should wear gloves.” He cleared his throat and chuckled. “I don’t believe in coincidences,” he answered. “Let’s get it back to the lab and see what the boys in cyber tech can do with it.”
Rosie didn’t smile. “Let’s just get it dried out and see if there’s anything on it.”
Nate nodded and continued the swirl pattern outward to about ten to twelve feet from the body. Mac tracked his progress from the side, looking for anything that Nate may have missed.
Nate positioned himself near the shoulders of the body, directing Mac to the opposite side near its knees. “Okay, let’s roll this fellow over and see who we have here.”
Aided by the cold and rigor mortis, the body rolled easily and rocked onto its back like a saucer settling into place. Its hands and arms splayed, frozen above his head. Blue eyes stared unseeing through ice crystals into the night sky.
“Whoa,” Nate said, “you know who this is?” He reached into the dead man’s pocket and retrieved his wallet. Opening it, he passed the ID to Mac.
Mac forced air through pursed lips. “So, justice finally caught up to old Bobby.”
“When did he get out of prison, anyway? I thought he got fifteen to life on his last jaunt to State.”
“Yeah, fifteen, but only two fixed. He must have made parole.”
“Only two years for child rape.” Nate shook his head. “Maybe he should’a stayed in prison.”

Chapter Two

The next morning, Nate, from behind heavy eyelids, sat listening to his portable police radio. With a slow deliberate motion, he picked up his coffee mug and, holding it against his face, rubbed it across closed eyes. He sighed. Across the table sat Mac, his head, back and eyes closed. The morning crowd at the Library Coffeehouse was just starting to thin out, and the back room was warm, dark, and quiet.
Nate eyed his partner through the wafting veil of steam and swallowing a mouth full of the sweetened dark liquid, winced. “We should probably check that out,” he said, indicating the radio traffic, a teasing tone in his voice.
Mac leaned forward and stirred lazy circles in his coffee, clinking the spoon against the sides of the cup, “Yeah, probably, huh?”
Neither made a move to get up.
Nate looked out the window and sighed as wet snow fell in silent clumps, accumulating up on the grass and dirt while leaving the paved surfaces relatively clear. For now, I hate snow.
The dispatcher’s voice came over the radio again, disturbing the stillness of the coffeehouse’s sense of peace, rows of books lining the walls giving the Library Coffeehouse its name. “Ten-fifty P.I. Main south of Fairview. Available units respond. Repeat: ten-fifty with personal injuries. Main at Fairview. Respond!”
Jackie, the morning shift manager, placed two cups of steaming coffee in front of the men. She tilted her chin, listening to the radio traffic. “Looks like another accident, personal injury this time. The snow’s winning again, I guess,” she said smiling.
They looked up in surprise then smiled at the attractive brunette. “What? You feeling generous all of a sudden?” Nate asked and then chuckled.
“Now boys,” she said in playful flirtation, “you know, you two are my favorite customers, but this came from the lady over there leaving with the group of students. Says it was, ‘…for the two officers’.”
They looked up to see a woman in her mid to late thirties ushering a group of feisty teenagers out the door. The laughter and teenage boy-girl-conversation rose and fell as the adolescents collected their beverages and poured out into the snow. As the door swung shut, the petite woman turned and pushed her small framed glasses back up the bridge of her nose and offered a shy, but focused smile at the two detectives.
“Who is she?” Mac asked pushing his cold cup of coffee aside in favor of the fresh cup.
Nate watched as the woman wrapped the scarf around her neck and pulled her head lower into her collar against the wind. He couldn’t hear her, but judging from the way the teens were responding, Nate could see the power and connection she had with them.
Nate smiled at the woman through the frosted glass and looked back at his partner. “You know, that’s what I love about this job… this town, the people are real nice.” He stood and grabbed his coat off the back of the chair and picked up his handheld. “Let’s have a look and see what this is.” He pointed the radio toward Mac who still slouched in his chair.
“It’s a patrol call, let‘em handle it.”
Nate tucked a dark curl behind his ear and lifted the collar of his jacket; his coffee colored skin dry in the cold morning. “Who knows? Maybe it’s one of the guys we’re looking for. Let’s just drive by.”
Mac drained his cup and rubbed his eyes. With an audible grunt he lifted himself from the chair, locking his legs into a standing position.
“You’re too young to be grunting like that,” Nate said.
“Oh yeah, let’s see you try and keep up with a three month old who hates sleeping and likes the sound of her own voice, and we’ll see how well you do.” Mac grunted again, looked over at Jackie, and then back at Nate. “Besides, you’re too young to be living on just a memory.”
Nate stopped. Staring at his partner, he arched a brow and sighed.
“How long since you even heard from Amber, anyway? Three, four, five months?” Mac asked, his voice taking on a softer tone.
Nate looked away returning his gaze to the snow covered landscape. For a minute he sat lost in thought, his mind on the only woman he had ever truly loved. He remembered how for years he and Amber had denied their feelings for each other only to confess it once it was too late. Amber had left Treasure Valley confused and hurt. She needed time she’d said. She had not only left the valley, she’d left him. And that had been much too long ago, longer than he’d cared to admit.
Almost 15 months had passed since Amber had been caught up in one of Nate’s homicide investigations and kidnapped by the leader of a local street gang. Barely escaping, her faith had been badly shaken. Her once confident assurance in her ability to handle the dangers inherent in Nate’s job eroded. She fled to give herself ‘some time’ she had said. Nate shook his head against the memory.
“She talks to my mom and dad-”
“Yeah, your parents,” Mac said, stuffing his arms into his jacket. “But when was the last time she called you?” He placed a hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Look man, Amber’s gone,” Mac sighed, “but Jackie’s right over there; and she’s all woman.” Mac tilted his head toward the manager of the coffee shop, who smiled when she noticed the men looking at her.
Nate turned and walked away. Mac followed him out, the door swung shut with a soft swoosh. Nate’s cell phone rang as he settled in behind the steering wheel, “Richards.”
Mac rolled his eyes and settled his head against the neck rest. “Who is it?” he mouthed.
Nate looked at his friend and held up a finger before fishing a notepad out of his breast pocket. He began scribbling.
“Who is it?” Mac asked again, leaning over trying to read the note. “Who is it?”
Nate smiled and flipped the phone shut, passing the note to Mac. “Got a report of an assault at the high school. We’d better roll.”
“Man,” Mac sighed, “this stuff never ends.”

Parking his green Jeep Cherokee along the yellow painted curb, Nate closed the door behind him and ran toward the ramp leading to the second floor of Meridian City High School. “You coming or what?” he called back to Mac who was still moving slowly. “We need to check with the librarian, she’s the RP.”
“The library ain’t going nowhere. Besides it’s nice out here.” He tilted his head back allowing snow to fall onto his face.
Nate stopped at the top of the ramp and turned to watch his partner playing in the snow. “Will you come on! Morning break isn’t until ten.” He looked at his watch. “She only has twenty-minutes left on her break.”
The two men made their way into the upstairs hallway stamping wet snow from their feet as they did. The bell rang just as they entered the hall, and the passage quickly filled with the noise of students hurrying to their next class.
“Come on,” Nate said, “we can hide in here.” He pulled Mac after him toward the lounge against the flow of students who were making their way out the door.
After a few minutes, the noise died away and the throng thinned. The detectives stepped out of their alcove and ventured back into the hall. “Hey look is-,” Mac began.
“Isn’t that the woman that bought us the coffee this morning?” Nate finished for him.
From down the hallway, Nate watched the woman laughing freely with her students as they exited her classroom and the new ones entered. He and Mac headed toward their benefactor just as a straggling couple made their way around the corner into the main hall.
“Stop! Come on, Josh! Stop already!” the female student said smiling, despite the irritated tone of her voice. The male ignoring the girl’s complaint, draped himself over her, continuing to try and kiss her.
The girl smiled weakly and elbowed the boy in the ribs, but the blow lacked any real conviction.
The boy laughed, and again, paying no heed to the girl’s protest, began to force her face around to kiss her, his hands taking liberties with her body. Before Nate could respond, the teacher left her doorway and zeroed in on the couple.
With a violent jerk, the teacher snatched the boy’s arm from around the girl’s shoulders, and grabbing him by his collar pushed him back against the wall. “She said no, jerk! Which part was too hard for you to understand, the vowel or the consonant?”
In stunned silence the teen hit the wall with a dull thud. “I ah… I was-”
Grabbing him by the shoulder, the teacher pulled him forward and then shoved him down the hall. “Get to the office and you’d better be there when I arrive, Mr. Stanzel. Now get out of my face.”
“Ms. Higgins… its-it’s okay he didn’t mean anything. Please,” the girl said, pulling her blouse closed and brushing away imaginary debris from her face. Her cheeks colored.
Ms. Higgins turned to the girl, her shoulders tense and hands on her hips. “And you…. You let him treat you like trash. Don’t be so weak, Karrie. Get in the classroom, we’ll talk later.”
Nate and Mac exchanged glances and mouthed, “Wow”, to each other.
“You see that?” Nate asked.
“What? I didn’t see anything.” Both men smiled, walking toward the teacher.
“Ahem,” Nate cleared his throat as he and Mac approached the teacher. She turned and faced them. “Ms. Higgins, is it?”
“Yes,” she said, looking directly in to his face.
“Ah, I’m Detective Richards and this is my partner Detective MacGilvery,” he said, expecting that she would remember them.
“Yes.” She looked at them nonplussed.
The men exchanged embarrassed glances.
“May I help you?” she asked.
Taken aback by the fact that she did not recognize them, Nate stumbled over his words. “Well… I… ahh….”
“That was interesting the way you handled that little incident,” Mac said, tilting his head toward the end of the hall where the belligerent student had disappeared.
“And?” she said.
“Well, not that we have a problem with it or anything, but we were here at the school and thought we’d stop by and say thank you for the coffee this morning.” Nate said, finally finding his voice.
“Oh that. You are welcome, of course, but now is hardly the time to celebrate that small gesture. I do have a class to teach.” She stepped toward the open door.
“Of course,” Nate said and extended his hand.
She took his hand and shook it firmly.
“So, what do you teach?” Mac asked.
“Social studies,” Ms. Higgins said and turned to face him, shaking his hand as well. “Gentlemen, while I have really enjoyed this visit, I do have a job to do.” She smiled mordantly.
She turned away from the men and walked back into her class closing the door softly but firmly behind her.
Both Nate and Mac looked at each other in surprise and again mouthed a silent, “Wow.”

***
“Darn kids.” The slow drawl came from near the main entrance where Nate and Mac had entered the hallway. The janitor, a tall thin man, pushed his bucket and mop from one side of the hall to the other collecting small piles of melted snow and muddied water.
Nate walked back to where he’d left a mess of snow and dirt near the door. “Ahh, sorry Mr.?”
The middle-aged man turned to face Nate, looking at him as if he hadn’t noticed him until that moment.
Nate noticed the name badge. “Mr. Jackson, sorry about the mess. I’m afraid that’s me… my partner’s fault.” He smiled. “The kids were clear on this one.”
Mr. Jackson chuckled as if it were a regular response. “Well maybe this time, but they make mess plenty enough for all of us. Be sure of that.” He grasped Nate’s outstretched hand firmly and laughed easily.
Mac waved at Nate from the door of the library. “Fifteen minutes, Partner.”
Nate acknowledged Mac with a tilt of his chin and then slapped the janitor playfully on the shoulder, turned and walked away.

***

Leaning on the handle of the mop, Mr. Jackson watched the retreating backs of the officers. Then shaking his head, he turned back to cleaning the mess in the hallway mumbling to himself as he did.

Chapter Three

“Richards! Anybody seen Richards?” Lieutenant Brown called over the pods in the CID workstation. The middle-aged man stood just inside his office doorway with his arms folded loosely over his bulging gut.
“Just look at those veins sticking out on your neck.” A slow southern drawl floated up from beside Brown, drawing his attention back into the office. “You gonna kill your fool self with all that yelling you doing,” Lieutenant Donald Haynes said, as he squeezed by the slightly older man and looked out into the pod. “Larry, come over here, and sit down and use your phone like a civilized person. Your neck is starting to turn red and you know how that scares an old Southern black man like me.”
Lieutenant Brown harrumphed while turning from the door and sauntered back to the desk covered with files. “You know, Don, sometimes you really get on my nerves,” he said and dropped into the chair behind the desk.
“I do try,” Haynes said and poured himself a cup of coffee. “And hurry up and get out of my chair. I don’t want Gwen calling me wondering where you are.”
Brown looked up and rolled his eyes at his friend. “You and Brenda still coming over this weekend to watch the game?” Brown asked, while dialing the phone. “BSU’s playing Fresno, and the Bull Dogs are looking for revenge for last year.”
“And the year before that and the one before that one too if memory serves. It’s been a while since the Bull Dogs beat us on the blue turf. Yeah, we’ll be over, but Brenda will probably want to play a board game or something with Gwen, so let her know.” Haynes picked up the day-sheet and began reviewing the calls for service from the last twenty-four hour period.
“Whew,” Haynes whistled, “a shooting last night….”
Brown turned to his friend. “I was trying to get Richards in here to give me a brief before you came on, but as usual-,”
“You looking for me L.T.?” Nate asked, holding onto the doorframe and leaning his chest in through the open doorway. Behind him the noise volume of the CID, ringing phones and several conversations carried on at once, rose and fell like the swell of a wave.
Lieutenant Brown looked at the receiver in his hand, and then to the ringing phone still clipped to Nate’s waist, and slammed the phone back into its cradle. “Where have you been? You know, Haynes needs that update before p.m. shift begins.”
“Sorry, got stuck at the lab.”
Mac ducked under Nate’s arm, and sat on the corner of the desk. “Got any more of those sunflower seeds, L.T.?” he asked, while moving papers aside and rummaging the desktop.
Haynes looked up and grinned at Mac but didn’t comment.
Brown turned his attention to Mac. “Get off my desk. Between you and Richards, it’s amazing anything right ever gets done around here.”
“Come on, Lieutenant Brown, it’s not that bad. I think you kind of like us.” Mac’s voice had a teasing quality.
In the doorway, Nate lowered his head and shook it from side to side, smiling. He was still amazed at how well Mac fit into the unit. Replacing Sabrina Jackson had been a large order, but Mac had done it and then some.
Haynes looked around his desk and moved a stack of folders, uncovering a square pink dish fashioned in the head of a pig wearing a blue policeman’s cap. Mac removed the policeman’s hat and retrieved a handful of barbeque flavored sunflower seeds.
“I don’t want to see those shells on the floor,” Brown said, as Mac spit the chewed hull toward the trashcan and missed.
Brown closed his eyes and drew his hand roughly across his face.
Haynes chuckled.
Mac stooped to pick up his expelled shells.
“Brief Haynes, so I can go home,” Brown said, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his knuckles.
Nate folded his long arms across his chest and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. “Well, we know the dead man was Robert Monarch,” he began.
“No loss there,” Haynes said, looking up from the clipboard.
“…a single shot, small caliber long-gun caught him in the temple just above the right ear,” Nate finished. “He apparently was up to his old tricks. He had these in his breast pocket,” Nate said, as he dropped a small stack of ten contact sheets of digital photos. All the images portrayed prepubescent children in seductive poses, either partially clothed or nude.
“Well, Nate, that one’s gone to that Hell you’re always talking about, huh?” Brown said, a slight smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
Nate didn’t look at him, but said, “Well, sir, that’s between him and God, but I’d say so.”
“You can’t believe your God would have anything to do with an animal like Monarch do you? My god man, he raped babies!” Brown slammed his palms onto the desktop.
“The value of a man’s soul can only be-,” Nate began but stopped.
“Tell him about the thumb drive,” Mac said. His interruption had the desired effect, stalling yet another of the well known religious debates between Brown and Nate.
Nate caught his breath and refocused on the stack of papers in his hand. “Yeah,” he muttered, “the thumb drive contained approximately fifty-thousand images just like the ones you have there…. Oh, and that includes videos.”
“Which is why,” Mac added, “we want a search warrant to go toss his house.”
Haynes kicked his feet up onto the corner of the desk and rocked back in his chair lifting the two front legs off the floor. “Its days like this that makes me want to retire. Maybe Sabrina got it right, ‘it’s time we all just got out of here.’” He dropped the chair back on all four and stood up. “Okay Larry, I’ve been briefed. You go on, get out of here and give Gwen my love.”
Brown clearly didn’t want to leave now, just as the investigation was starting to get interesting. Haynes saw the look on his face, grabbed the file from Nate, and tucked it firmly under his arm. He smiled at Brown.
Brown started to speak, “I could always-,”
“Nope. Don’t need ya. Go home.” Haynes said and waved his hand in the direction of the door as if to introduce Brown to the rest of the CID office.
Lieutenant Brown walked slowly toward the door. Frustrated, he turned to look at Nate. “I wonder what your daddy would say about you telling people that God’s taking a baby-raper to Heaven.”
“As a matter of fact, my father is starting a new series on the doctrine of Hell this week at the midweek Bible study. Want to come?” Nate said, unable to resist firing the barb.
“It’ll freeze over first,” Brown said and slid past him.
“I’m gonna tell your daddy,” Haynes said, catching Nate’s eye and smiling.
“But I didn’t start it this time,” Nate said and looked to Mac for support.
Mac put up both hands, palms out. “Leave me out of this, I’m just the newbie.” He sat down and continued eating sunflower seeds.
“So, you need the on-call prosecutor to get a judge to sign a search warrant.” He looked at the clock hanging on the wall. “It’s only six-thirty. You might be able to catch a magistrate still in chambers.”
Mac took a break from the seeds. “Might want to call patrol and get them to sit-up on the house and keep it secured until we can get there.”
“Good idea,” Haynes said and reached for the phone. “You’re gonna make a good investigator before it’s all over, MacGilvery.”
Just as his hand touched the receiver the phone rang, Haynes picked it up. “Lieutenant Haynes, CID.”
For the next few minutes he didn’t speak, just nodded his head and made notes on a sheet of paper in front of him. He looked up at Nate. “Yeah,” he said into the receiver, “he’s standing right here.”
Haynes hung up the phone and leaned back into his chair while locking his fingers behind his head.
Nate and Mac stared at him.
“That was Lieutenant Cypress in patrol. They just found another body. Single gunshot wound to the side of the head.”
Nate turned and exchanged glances with Mac. “Any idea who the victim is?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Haynes said, “its Reginald Willaby.”
“Who’s Reginald Willaby?” Mac asked, seeing the obvious recognition on Nate’s face.
“Another registered sex offender,” Nate stated matter fact.

Special-Special-Special --Free Book Excerpt—Special-Special-Special

2011-09-09T11:37:00.000-07:00

NHI
No Humans Involved

Praise for NHI: No Humans Involved.

4.0 out of 5 stars “An Entertaining and Thoughtful Story Exploring Human Values and the Value of Humans. Ray Ellis introduces readers to Detective Nathan (Nate) Richards in his debut police procedural, NHI: No Humans Involved. Nate's faith is tested on multiple levels as he investigates the murder of a police officer, a teenager, and the ensuing slaughters of gang members. When his partner is shot while on a robbery call, Nate's faith is further tested. Nate's best friend, Amber, finds herself in harm's way, and Nate struggles to let the investigation proceed according to departmental policy. Using his extensive knowledge and experience as a police detective, Ellis creates a police procedural in which the investigative techniques and the office politics are quite realistic. NHI will pull the reader into the storyline and grab hold until the final page even when the reader disagrees with a character's choice. Ellis creates a cast of characters with varying beliefs and morals who are well-rounded and interesting. He avoids creating caricatures of "good" and "evil" by exploring the idea that all people have the potential for good and the potential for bad in them. In NHI, Ellis imparts a message of hope and acceptance through his characters, their trials, and their faith without becoming preachy.”

--T. L. Cooper, Author of All She Ever Wanted

4.0 out of 5 stars “Compassionate Grit, Ray Ellis is a man of contrasts: soft-spoken gentleman with a twinkle in his eye, a compassionate pastor and a tough police detective. He has written a mystery of redemption and justice that is as interesting a combination as himself: Christian, hard-bitten noir, urban fiction; non-stop action that still takes time for quiet reflection on the meaning of life and moments of romance; full of fascinating insights into police work and authentic detail.

Nate Richards is a hero readers will care about because he cares. A man you can rely on to do his best and yet a far from perfect human being who must struggle with his own terrors while saving his community from a wave of violent crime like it has never faced before led by a self-centered villain worthy of James Bond.”

--Donna Fletcher Crow
Author of A Very Private Grave, The Cambridge Chronicles

4.0 out of 5 stars “Intense Action! This was an excellent first book by Ray Ellis! I enjoy reading books with a lot of action and suspense, and this book sure didn't disappoint me at all!

After I read the book I saw that it was a Christian murder mystery. This book was not at all a church type book trying to preach to you. I have read non-Christian books that have felt more preachy than this book. Don't get me wrong, it did have bible references in it, but they fit well into the story.

We are introduced to Detective Nate Richards. He is trying to solve the case of a murder of a fellow police officer and a teen boy. His partner is also injured during a shooting. The anarchist symbol seems to be the killer's trademark. That leads Nate to think that it is a certain gang that is doing the killings.

I definitely recommend this book! It had a great mix of characters. The action was intense, and the ending was very surprising! I am looking forward to reading the next book written by Ray Ellis!”

Cheryl Francis, (Michigan)
Black Diamond's Book Reviews

5.0 out of 5 stars “Super Intense, Must-Read Suspense! I really loved the work of Ray Ellis. This debut novel is fantastically written, gripped me and pulled me into the midst of chaotic street gangs, and rookie detectives. I love crime novels, I love the awesome suspense that comes with them, and this book is definitely overflowing with the suspense and the crime.

Rookie detective Nate Richards is a sex crime detective. His father's a minister and he's bent on following his faith. That is, until his best friend, Amber disappears, a new gang takes over, and his own fellow officers become targeted in a hate crime. He's not sure his faith will hold him up and get him through in time to save the people that mean the most to him.

It was so fun being a "partner" in this crime novel. It is most definitely filled with great characters. I could really feel the intensity of the suspense as Nate raced against time to put the pieces of the puzzle together and solve it. The harsh reality of street gangs and what can happen between the different ones, well it was jaw dropping. At times, I was on the edge of my seat, praying for Nate to solve the mystery. My heart beat faster, my breath was taken away! INTENSE! I love a book like that.

With the humor that Ellis weaves into Nate's life, and the intensity of the crime solving, you get an awesome novel. But, more importantly than that, Ellis uses God's unending guidance and shows, through Nate, that with faith, you CAN do anything, even solve a murderous mystery.

I highly suggest that you read this beyond 5 star debut. It's the start of the Nate Richards novels and I can't wait to read another intense, inspiring, heart pounding suspense novel packed full of amazing action!”

"Reviews By Molly" (Willow Spring,NC USA)

N.H.I.
(No Humans Involved)

By
Ray Ellis

Copyright © 2010 Ray Ellis

All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to a real person, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

StoneHouse Ink 2011
StoneGate Ink Nampa ID 83686
www.StoneHouseInk.net

First eBook Edition: 2011

NHI: by Ray Ellis. -1st ed. p.cm.
Cover design by Fiji Aamabreorn

Published in the United States of America

StoneHouse Ink

N.H.I.
(No Humans Involved)

“And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment.”
Heb. 9:27

Chapter One

The body of the teenage boy lay face down in the gutter, his bandana, his colors, still clenched in his fist, floated in the water beside him. Blood mixed with rain raced in a gurgling stream down the drain splashing noisily as it made its way to the river.
What had it gained him? What had he proved? These were a few of the questions that flashed through Detective Nate Richards’ mind as he studied the crime scene. Summer rain washed over Richards’ lean frame, soaking his loose brown curls to the scalp. Flexing a muscle in his jaw, he lifted a hand to wipe water from his face. The street light reflected off of his cocoa-colored skin twinkling in the early morning darkness. “Who’s calling the scene?” Nate asked the group of four uniformed officers standing near a row of patrol cars, their overhead lights casting a rainbow effect on the wet pavement.
Three of the four uniformed men walked toward Nate. He looked between the men, and finding the corporal stripes, directed his comments to them. “What d’ya’ got, Benson?” he asked, reading the nametag that went along with them.
“Another one down; one less to worry about shooting me in the back,” Corporal Chad Benson muttered under his breath while using his hand to squeegee rainwater from his short blond hair. He chuckled to himself as he walked past the body headed for his patrol unit. He glanced at Nate as he passed.
“Does the phrase crime scene integrity mean anything to you, Benson?” Nate said.
“What’s your problem?” Benson said in a harsh whisper. “It’s not like it means anything. They breed like rats down here. Who cares if they kill each other off? We’ll have two more by week’s end. Mark my word. And it won’t even make a difference.”
The two uniformed officers, with Benson, smiled at their team commander’s remarks. One of the men stared at Nate, holding his gaze for an extra heart beat longer than necessary before turning away. Nate made a mental note to remember the men’s names.
“Stow it. Now!” Nate cut his gaze to a woman sitting on the curb rocking and hugging herself. The dead teen’s mother. Grabbing Benson by the shoulder, Nate pulled him off to the side. “You can’t see?”
Benson snatched his arm from Nate. “What?”
“You okay, Bens?” one of the other officers called and stepped toward Nate.
“Johnson, right?” Nate asked, making sure he had the man’s name correct. “Is this the way you run a crime scene?” Nate had directed the question to Benson.
Looking down the desolate street, Nate pointed to the nearest intersection. “Block that off and get some cones out in the street to keep paramedics and everyone else from driving through my crime scene.”
Johnson looked at Nate but didn’t move.
“You got a problem with that, Patrolman?” Nate asked.
“Go ‘head,” Benson said, stepping between the two men. “Look, Detective, we do just fine. You take care of your stuff and I’ll take care of mine.”
Without responding, Nate turned away from the officer and approached the woman, hoping she hadn’t overheard Benson’s comments or noticed the patrolmen’s cavalier attitudes.
Shielding his notepad from the rain with his arm, he checked the comments he’d recorded there. He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Fuentes? I’m Detective Nate Richards, Treasure Valley Metro Police Department. I need to ask you a few questions.”
The woman raised her dark eyes like dead pools, lifeless and cold, to meet Nate’s expectant gaze. “What does it matter? We breed like rats anyway, right?” She pulled her jacket collar tight around her neck and turned away from him.
So much for her not having heard, Nate thought. He stooped to meet the woman’s gaze. “Mrs. Fuentes…”
“Miss. I’m not married. But I guess that’s okay when you’re only a Cricetomys emini, huh?”
Struck by the woman’s beauty, Nate thought she didn’t look much older than a teen herself. “Miss Fuentes,” he began again, “A what?”
“A pregnant rat,” she said, anger coloring her voice.
Nate broke eye contact for the briefest of moments but watched her gauging her movements. “I apologize for the officer’s crudeness. There’s no excuse for his behavior. I also assure you that his is not the general attitude of the police department.” Nate was sincere in his response but knew avoiding an officer complaint was a good idea as well.
The woman stood abruptly. She looked again at her son lying dead in the street, took a breath and seemed to gather herself. “Can I take him now?”
“I’m sorry Mrs.—Miss Fuentes, but the body can’t be released until the coroner has been called and finishes his examination.”
“You gonna cut up my baby? You gonna cut him open and play around inside him? For what? We know what killed him. The bullets killed him. Just let me take him and put him to rest.”
Nate looked over the woman’s shoulder at Officer Benson sitting in his patrol unit out of the weather and wished that it was Benson standing in the rain having to explain the bad behavior instead of him. Benson sat leaning back in the passenger’s seat stuffing the last of something into his mouth.
“Miss Fuentes, I’m sorry but certain things have to be done and then—”
“I don’t care. You want to assure me you don’t see my son as some kind of second class citizen? You find the man who killed him and you make him pay.” She walked away, her shoulders heaving as she struggled against the sobs shaking her entire body. Stopping a short distance away, she leaned against the wall and stood there absorbed by the shadows.
Nate stormed over to the patrol car and pulled open the door. “Benson, you’re a pig.”
Benson looked up, a smear of mayonnaise stuck in the corner of his mouth. “What? What’d I do?”
Nate looked in the direction the woman had disappeared. “You couldn’t see the mother sitting not fifteen feet from you? What were you thinking?”
“NHI, man. Why should I get all bothered over nothing?”
Nate clenched and then relaxed his fist. He inhaled and blew out his breath in one explosive sigh, water vapor springing from around his lips. Without speaking, he turned and walked away. Kneeling beside the body, he began his investigation while fighting to control his anger at Benson’s callous behavior.

Chapter Two

Lieutenant Larry Brown, the dayshift Criminal Investigation Division (CID) watch commander, sat at his desk at the Meridian station reviewing the reports from the night before. A cup of bitter, hot coffee sat on the corner of his desk, wafts of steam floating lazily toward the too-bright fluorescent lights overhead. The coffee matched him in both manner and mood. The small office faced the CID pod overlooking the rows of desks and cubicles, its fabricated walls vibrating with the opening and closing of each slammed door.
“Richards! Get in here,” he yelled. He stood up behind his desk as soon as he saw Nate enter the CID section.
“Yeah, what’s up L.T.?” Nate asked, kicking the door closed behind him. He knew from long experience that nothing good would come from this meeting and didn’t care to have it broadcast.
“Just what were you thinking out there last night?” Brown began without preamble. “I come in first thing this morning and find an officer complaint on my desk with your name on it. You care to explain that?”
Deciding not to sit down, which would surrender the high ground to the lieutenant, Nate crossed his arms and leaned back against the door frame. “Good morning to you, too, sir, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about you botching up the investigation of the Fuentes shooting last night. Not to mention the hot water you’re in for insulting Professor Fuentes.”
The dawn of recognition rose across Nate’s face. He’d wondered where he’d seen the woman before. She was Serena Fuentes, professor at Boise State University and board member of the Mayor’s Cross Cultural Outreach Program. “Oh,” he said, rubbing tired eyes. “But I still don’t know what this has to do with me.”
“Do the letters N.H.I. mean anything to you?” Lieutenant Brown asked, walking around his desk and stopping within an arm’s reach of Nate. “I can’t believe you could be that stupid.”
Moving forward, Nate closed the distance between them. “Sir, I think you might want to change your tone, sir.”
Taking an involuntary step backward and bumping against the corner of his desk, Brown jumped as his coffee spilled. He tried, with quick hands, to stop the hot liquid’s dash across his desk. Flustered, he made a poor attempt at maintaining his former rant. “Richards, you, you—get your—get out of my office!” He pointed a trembling finger at Nate. “This is not over. I will have your butt this time. I am tired of you and your self-righteous attitude…always looking down your self-righteous nose.”
“As I recall sir, it was you who called me in to your office. Now, as for your officer complaint, I suggest you talk to the boys in your beloved patrol unit. Benson’s team handled that call. Talk to them about their conduct in public. Leave me out of it.”
“Out!” Brown forced the words through clenched teeth while kissing coffee-burned fingers. “You’re the worst excuse for a homicide detective I’ve ever seen. If I had my way, you’d be pushing a black and white on the midnight shift.”
“Sir, I’m not sure how to take that. I don’t work homicide. I was doing you a favor and covering for Gram last night, remember? I work sex crimes.” Seeing Brown’s anger, Nate fought hard to resist the smile attempting to sneak across his face. He knew, though, that it was easily visible in his eyes. Nate raised his hands, palms facing forward. He inhaled and, preparing to speak, he opened his mouth.
“Out!” Brown cut him off.
Nate pulled the door open, shaking the flimsy wall as the door stuck briefly against the jamb. Resisting the urge to slam it behind him, he pulled it shut and let out his breath in one long slow stream.
***
“That was good,” Amber Coles said sarcastically. “Oh yeah, and very Christian.”
Nate stopped. His smile evaporated and the smug feeling he briefly enjoyed disappeared. He rubbed his hand across his chin and smirked, feeling the fatigue he’d been ignoring. “I forgot I’d left that pass for you at the front desk. I should have known you’d choose now to walk in.”
Amber smiled at him from across the small space between the desks that made up the central corridor of CID. “Really, Nate.” She smiled and it warmed him in ways that embarrassed him.
He loved looking at her. Although he typically liked long hair on women, Amber’s shorter cut suited her. Rich brunette hair framed her heart shaped face causing her chocolate-brown eyes, playing exotically against her olive complexion, to dance with soft lights. But, if he had to choose, he would say it was her smile and Nicole Kidman type nose that were his favorites. The twin dimples set deep in her cheeks didn’t hurt either.
“Mmmh,” he stammered, “I, uh… yeah.”
“That’s what I thought. How in the world are you going to be able to share the gospel with that guy if you keep antagonizing him? Really.” She grinned and took his arm, locking hers through his.
“You forgot you promised to buy me breakfast this morning.” She smiled up at him. It had not been a question.
“No, I just got a little sidetracked with the lieutenant.” He frowned when he saw her expression. “Come on, you don’t like him either.”
“I heard you in there. You’re just trying to cover up the fact that you forgot our date. Either way, you’re still buying. Let’s go.”
“You heard all that, huh?” he asked, indicating Brown’s office with a tilt of his head. “I got called out again last night… another gang shooting. I’ve got to get on this.” He rubbed his face again, trying to erase the effect of another night with too little sleep.
“What time you get called out?” she asked, leading him away from his desk.
“03:30.”
“What time you get in?” She grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair as they passed it.
“I just left the morgue, haven’t been home yet.”
“Figured as much,” she said as she pulled him into the elevator.
“That was sneaky.” He said, leaning exhausted against the far wall.
“It worked. Besides, you’re worn out. You’re no good like this. You need to go home and get some sleep.”
Nate stood up straight and stretched his back. Exhaling roughly, he closed his eyes and leaned back again. “You know Brown is serious, don’t you? He really is going to try and slam me for this. If there’s any way he can keep the blame off his beloved patrol, he will. I have no idea why the man ever accepted the promotion to CID. He hates it up here.”
Amber smiled as the elevator doors opened leading to the main lobby and its yellowed tile floor. Grabbing Nate by his arm again, she led him out through the double glass doors marked Treasure Valley CID. She looked up at him and her eyes twinkled. “First breakfast for us and then bed for you.”

Chapter Three

Amber tore open her fourth packet of Splenda sweetener and poured it into her coffee. Adding cream, she stirred gently with her spoon until a small wave of tan liquid spilled over the brim and onto the table. All the time she was speaking, her eyes never leaving Nate’s.
“You know you really do need to give Brown a break. He’s not so bad.”
“Leave any room for your coffee?” Nate said, changing the topic.
“What? Oh, I don’t really like the taste of coffee.”
“So why not order something else?”
Amber turned her attention fully to the cup, finally noticing the spill and with a soft bird like chirp, smiled and wiped it up with her napkin.
Nate leaned back, allowing the floral-patterned bench to absorb his weight. He thought again how much he loved looking at her. She smiled and he focused on her lips. I wonder what it would be like to kiss… He forced his thoughts back under control. She’s your friend, your best friend. Don’t mess it up.
She looked up. “What?” she asked around a fork full of eggs.
“Oh, nothing… just tired, I guess.” As if it had been an omen, Nate suddenly felt very weary, as if his shoulders had gradually turned to lead. He rubbed his eyes, grinding his palms into his eye sockets. He exhaled forcefully and poured himself another cup of the rich dark coffee.
Amber continued talking, telling Nate about her date from the previous evening. The latest guy had been one of her customers at the bookstore where she worked. It had begun promisingly, she said, but a girl could only take so much computer programming chatter.
Nate smiled and swallowed deeply, grimacing against the heat of the liquid. He hoped she hadn’t noticed his reaction, and if she had, that she attributed it to the coffee.
Nate kicked himself mentally for not paying attention to what Amber had been saying. He replayed her last words just in case she asked him a question.
“…so what do you think I should do?” she finished and looked up at him.
“Well,” he began slowly, “the way I see it, if the guy didn’t have enough sense to focus on you, I say you’re better off without him.” He tried to read her eyes, to see if he had guessed correctly.
“You know, Nate, that’s what I love about you. You always seem to know exactly what to say.” Reaching across the table, she grabbed his hands and squeezed them.
“Well, what can I say?”
Nate’s cell phone rang and he sighed as he first patted it and then pulled it out of his chest pocket. “Richards,” he said in a flat, tired voice.
Nate’s face suddenly darkened, his brows knitting together.
“When? How’s he doing?” He sighed, lowered his face into the palm of his left hand and rubbed his eyes again. He pressed the phone tightly against his head, his elbows resting on the table. “I’ll be right there.”
Nate closed the phone and stood.
“Leaving me?”
“There’s been a shooting. Franks has been shot. He’s dead.”
“Dan? Oh, no. What happened? I’m coming with you.” She pushed her seat back and stood quickly. “Oh God, his poor mother.”
“No.” Nate looked past her, unfocused. “Not this time, Amber.” He pulled out a ten dollar bill and dropped it on the table.
“Why not?” She demanded, beginning to pout.
“Just trust me. Not this time. Not now.” Nate tried not to show her the horror of what he was feeling. “Not now Amber, just trust me.” He turned and walked away without saying another word.
***
Amber sat back down in the now empty booth and exhaled deeply, her earlier happy countenance now crestfallen for more than one reason. She looked longingly after Nate as he hurried from the restaurant. She loved his passion, his commitment to service and wondered what it would feel like to have him be that passionate, that committed to her. Rebuffing herself for letting her thoughts travel in this direction, she said to no one in particular, “That’s all you need, girl, mess up the one true friendship you do have by trying to make more out of it than you should.”
She sighed again and turned her heart to prayer. Somebody, she reasoned, should be praying for poor Mrs. Franks. Her only son killed. How would the old lady take the news?
Amber began, “Dear Father, please send your precious Spirit to comfort Mrs. Franks. Lord, does she even know yet? She’s going to need you like she never has before. Please be with her. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”
Amber stood and headed for the door. She still had two hours left before her shift at the bookstore began. She hadn’t known Dan’s mother well, had only met her on a few occasions, but as she reasoned, there was no time like the present to fix that.

Chapter Four

Nate drove beneath the overpass. Even from a distance of a few hundred yards, he could tell that the crime scene would be bad. He was wrong. It was worse.
Parking at the mouth of the alley, Nate decided to walk into the crime scene instead of driving, a habit he picked up from his partner, Sabrina Jackson. Jackson, a 27-year veteran, one of only three black officers on the force and the sole female detective, had been Nate’s partner for the past three years.
The narrow alley opened into an abandoned parking lot. Weeds and sun-browned grasses broke through cracks in the thinning asphalt. Windowless walls rose on three sides, forming the urban box canyon that had been transformed into a killing field. Studying the debris field, Nate reasoned from the pattern and variety of shell casings that Franks had been ambushed, or at least there had been multiple shooters.
Walking around the dead officer’s patrol unit, Nate mentally catalogued the various casings: Nine-millimeter. Forty-caliber, 5.56-millimeter Shot casings that appeared to be twelve-gauge rifle slugs. Military issue.
The inside of the patrol vehicle had been burned; the dashboard twisted into a charred and blackened shell. The glass from the windows, splintered and melted from the heat, pooled in congealed clumps as they had dripped to the ground. Nate judged from the damage that the tires had been shot flat before the fire had been set. The nude body of Officer Dan Franks was stretched spread eagle across the hood of the car. An encircled sideways A, the anarchy symbol had been carved into his chest.
Joining him, Sabrina Jackson interrupted his thoughts. “Ever see anything like this before?” he asked her.
“Not if I don’t count the Klan killings from the south or maybe the religious killings in Iraq.”
She harrumphed and walked past him. “I don’t like this; I don’t like this at all. What is Franks’ body doing in the middle of what looks like a gang war zone?”
Shielding her eyes against the sun, she scanned the perimeter of the crime scene, looking for anyone who might be watching them.
Nate nudged her in the side with his elbow. “Here comes the press. How’d they get inside the tape?”
“I don’t know, but they’re ‘bout to get up out of here.” She turned to meet the camera crew and reporter that were setting up for a direct feed.
“Excuse me, but didn’t y’all see the yellow tape stretched out across the roadway back there?”
“Yes… no… I did… yes, but I thought that was for the general public. Hi, I’m Butch—”
“I know who you are, and I know where you better be in about five seconds if you don’t want to be filming your report from a jail cell downtown.”
“What’s your name, ma’am? You obviously don’t know who I am.”
“Like I said, Butch, I know who you are and the name is Detective. Now get out of my crime scene.” She turned and signaled to a uniformed officer. “Escort Mr. Butch here out of my crime scene, but make sure you log him in as a witness just in case we need to subpoena him later.” She turned and headed back toward Nate.
The officer smiled as he took out his pen and began writing the reporter’s name on his crime scene log. He pointed toward the mouth of the alley. “This way, sir.”
“And they call me pushy,” Nate teased as Sabrina turned back to join him.
“Well Son, when you’ve been here almost thirty years and you’re looking forward to retirement, you finally get to say some of those things that pups like yourself only wish they could say now.” She flashed a saucy smile and looked up as the rumble of an approaching fire engine filled the air and vibrated the ground.
“You going up this time?” Nate asked.
“Nope. That’s for you young kids. Have at it. I’ll get the camera for ya’.”
A few minutes later, Nate found himself about forty feet above the crime scene looking down from the fire engine’s ladder bucket. Nate smiled to himself. Riding in one of these buckets had been a dream of his ever since seeing one demonstrated as an elementary age student. He was amazed how different the alley looked from the higher vantage point.
Using one hand to steady the swinging Nikon D300 digital camera hanging from his neck, he held the hand rail with his other. With a jerking motion, the bucket rose as it started panning over the burned out patrol car and Nate prepared himself to begin snapping photos.
Two hundred and eighty pictures and a 360-degree ride later, Nate was slowly lowered back to the ground. Even from the lofty position above the car, Nate could still see Franks’ eyes frozen open in death. The deep groove in his chest and the cake of baked-on blood beneath him fanning out from the body were in vivid contrast against the white hood of the patrol car.
It was starting to get warm. In this heat the stench would soon rise to engulf the man-made canyon and spread out to announce the death to any unfortunates near the expanding radius. As he stepped out of the bucket and climbed down the short metal ladder from the fire engine, the coroner’s wagon pulled into the crime scene and stopped.
Mary, a rather plain woman with uninspired sandy blond hair, climbed out of the driver’s seat of the coroner’s van and walked directly to Nate. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this or people will start talking.” She gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “One of us this time, huh?”
Nate didn’t respond. It wasn’t necessary. He knew she understood. She was young, but she was good. He knew she would handle Franks correctly.
***
Amber stopped her car in front of the small cottage-like home on the east side of the city. White clouds floated in deep blue skies as birdsong came to her on the wind, mingled with the laughter of playing children. Closing the car door behind her, she was disappointed that the sound of traffic from nearby Eagle Road, the Wal Mart shopping center and outdoor mall, disturbed the otherwise quiet neighborhood.
Mrs. Franks knelt in the dirt of the large flowerbed in front of her single story home. Black-eyed Susans, marigolds, petunias, pansies and sunflowers made up the eclectic garden as they waved in the gentle breeze that did little to ease the oppressive heat. Pushing her sunbonnet back, the small woman stood massaging her lower back. She squinted into the bright sun, gazing at Amber, as if trying to place the face of younger woman walking toward her.
Amber prayed for strength and wisdom as she continued up the short walk. Help me, Lord, to know what to say. “Mrs. Franks,” she began, but her voice failed. She coughed and began again. “Mrs. Franks, I’m Amber Coles, Nate’s—”
“Oh yes, you’re Nate’s lady friend.” The older lady said, her smile stretching across her wrinkled face, causing it to glow.
Amber started at her reference of ‘Nate’s lady friend’ but she forced the thought from her mind as a thing to be dealt with later.
“Come on. Let’s get out of this sun and get us something cool to drink,” Mrs. Franks said, extending her hand in greeting.
Amber could feel her stomach roiling into knots as each step brought her closer to the older woman. “Mrs. Franks, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Mrs. Franks stopped and, focusing on Amber’s face, took notice of the heaviness she saw in the younger lady’s face. “What’s the matter, dear? Come on inside where we can talk; I’m sure it’s nothing the Lord can’t handle.”
Tears in her eyes, Amber looked into the older woman’s face. “Mother Franks… I—”
“What’s this?” Mrs. Franks said, looking past Amber as a dark-colored sedan stopped in front of the house. Two men, one in full dress uniform and the other wearing a gray single-breasted suit, got out and made their way toward the two women.
Mrs. Franks looked from Amber to the two men approaching her. “Amber?” she managed in a soft whisper. “Amber…. What is this all about?” Then looking into the younger woman’s eyes she knew. “Oh God, no…” the older woman cried out and collapsed.
Amber caught the small woman and stumbled backward beneath the sudden added weight. In the next moment strong arms caught them, lifting them both, and they were escorted into the house.
As the door closed behind them, the air conditioning cooling them from the oppressive heat, Amber made her way to the older woman and knelt on the floor beside her. “Mother Franks, I need to make a phone call first, but I’ll stay with you. I’ll be right here as long as you need me.”
The two men looked from one to the other with obvious relief. The older of the two men cleared his throat. “Mrs. Franks, I’m Chief Reese and I am so sorry for your loss. I want you to know we counted Dan as one of our best men, a part of our family. We think of you as part of this family too. I want you to know we will always be here for you. You won’t have to do this alone.”
Amber closed her cell phone and came back to sit beside the older woman. Taking the wrinkled hand in hers, she draped her free arm around the older woman’s bowed shoulders.
Mrs. Franks lifted her face, tears streaking her cheeks, and after whispering a silent prayer, she looked at the men. “Tell me what happened to my son.”

***
Nate knocked on the jam of the opened door of Lieutenant Brown’s office. “Sir.”
Brown continued reading his report as if he had not heard him.
Nate knocked again, walked in, and sat in the empty chair in front of Brown’s desk. “Sir, I’m sure you’ve heard about Franks by now. I want to be assigned to this case.”
Brown raised his head slowly, a derisive smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He sat back and intertwined his fingers across the paunch overlapping his belt. “So, you want to get back into homicide? Well Richards, I thought you were a sex-crimes-only kind of guy.” The smile blossomed.
Nate tried to remain calm. “Sir, one of our own has been killed. Can’t we put aside our differences for now?” Nate was leaning forward, speaking softly.
“Well you see that’s the advantage of being me, Richards. I get to make the decisions and you get to do what you’re told.” Brown rose and sauntered to the front of his desk.
“You thought you were so funny this morning, didn’t you? Just couldn’t wait to remind me that you were not a homicide detective. Well I agree, you’re not. I don’t want you anywhere near this case, and if I find out you’re poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, I’ll roll you out to patrol so quick—”
“I get it.” Nate stood, cutting Brown off mid-sentence. “The answer is no. Thank you for your time, sir.” He turned and left the office, slapping the wall as he passed, causing it to shake, loosening one of Brown’s framed certifications.
Following him to the door, Brown slammed it behind him and turned with a satisfied smile as he made his way back to his seat behind the desk. Picking up the papers, he tried to resume reading, gave up and, with a harrumph, flung them across the room.
A knock at the door ended his tirade, but before he could respond, the door swung open. Donald Haynes, the second-shift lieutenant, poked his head through the opening. “Why you wanna let that guy get under your skin like that, Larry? Getting all mad the way you do, you’re gonna stroke out, and I don’t do mouth-to-mouth. He ain’t so bad… Why do you hate him so?”
“I don’t hate him. He just gets on my nerves. His always talking about God…” He pushed at the papers with the toe of his boot. “Like he was best friends with him or something stupid—” Brown stooped and began collecting his papers.
Haynes came fully into the office, closing the door behind him. He sat in the seat recently vacated by Nate and smiled playfully at his counterpart. Lifting his legs, Haynes crossed his feet on the edge of the desk and rocked back in the chair. “You really gotta get over this, Larry. It’s gonna give you a heart attack,” he chuckled.
Indicating the splayed papers, Brown said, “You’re gonna help me or what?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Haynes grinned. “You worked so hard on getting those papers spread out just so. Maybe you don’t want my help; maybe I’d just be in your way.” The chair landed with a soft thud as Haynes hefted himself out of the seat and knelt on the floor. Grabbing the first sheet, laughing, he offered it to Brown. He shook his head as Brown continued to fume.
After the papers were collected and the men were seated in their respective chairs, Brown poured them each a cup of coffee. “Don’t mind if I do,” Haynes said, accepting the proffered cup. “I like my coffee like my wife likes her man, black and strong.”
“I guess she settled for just black, huh?” Brown grinned impishly. “That guy didn’t spend any time on the streets,” he pointed toward the wall with his cup. “Come up here straight from California thinking he knows everything.” Seemingly changing gears, Brown spoke as if the words tasted bad in his mouth.
Haynes did not have to ask what guy Brown was referring to. “Yeah, but he came with experience. Besides he spent three years here on the streets before transferring to CID.”
“Three years. Three years, that’s nothing. I’ve got boots with more time on the streets than that.”
“Let it go, old man and get out of here, it’s your forty-two time. Go home.” He laughed.
Brown stood again, moaning as if he were worn out from sitting behind the desk all day. “You got the briefing on Franks?”
“Yeah,” Haynes replied, sobering. “He was a good kid.”
“He’d been on the streets a little over a year… still wet behind the ears.” He sighed. “Too bad.” Brown dragged his briefcase off the desk, allowing it to drop with a thud against his thigh. He headed for the locker room. Stopping at the door, he looked toward the desks where the various detectives sat. Shaking his head, he turned toward the exit.
The last thing Haynes heard before the door closed behind Brown was the man mumbling under his breath, “…holy roller…” and then the door clicked shut.
Haynes laughed softly and shook his head as well. Then turning his attention to the briefing pack on the shooting, he groaned. He dropped himself in the seat behind the desk with sudden weariness. Punching the intercom on the corner of his desk, he called, “Richards, get your butt in here!”
A few minutes later Nate walked into the lieutenant’s office for the third time that day. I’ve got to stop coming in here. “You wanted me, sir?”
“Drop the old innocent-me-act, Richards. I ought to kick your butt myself. What? Are you trying to get written up?”
Nate rubbed his eyes and sat in the familiar seat, again.
“You had better stop irritating that man or he’s going to take a chunk out of your butt and there won’t be a darn thing either you or I will be able to do about it.”
“I know. I know... it’s just that he gets on my nerves.”
“Funny, he said the same thing about you.”
Nate raised an eyebrow.
Haynes continued, “The man gets on everybody’s nerves. The chief don’t even like him.”
Nate laughed and slouched in his seat. “You seem to get along with him pretty well.”
“Yeah, you laugh now, but you won’t be laughing if he rolls you back into a uniform.”
Nate stopped laughing and sat up. “He didn’t say that, did he?”
“No, but he could have. For right now, we need you on the Fuentes case.” He shuffled the papers and flipped through the two files on his desk.
He looked up at Nate, a teasing glint in his eye. “What would your dad say if I told the good reverend that his boy had his thumb screwed tight into the old lieutenant’s eye socket, huh?” He tilted his head forward before finally resting his chin on the backs of his hands, elbows on the desk.
“Well…”
“Don’t that Bible you’re always reading say something about respecting those in authority over you?”
“Ah…”
“Yep, in Romans chapter 13 or 14—”
“Well—”
“—but I think it’s thirteen.”
“Don, I—”
“You’re supposed to respect those in charge of you because God put them there in the first place.”
“You know, L.T., for someone who doesn’t believe in God, you sure know a lot about what His book has to say.”
“Well, figured I’d better know what the parameters are, just in case. But, that’s beside the point. You need to watch yourself with Brown; you know he doesn’t like you.”
“Yeah, Amber tried to tell me the same thing this morning.”
“You’ve been here since this morning?” Haynes said, grabbing the duty roster and reading it over. “You been on for eighteen hours. Go home. Now. You’re trying to get me sued.”
“Copy that. But about the Franks case, do you think you can get me assigned?”
“Get out of here and I don’t want to see you until second shift tomorrow. Why don’t you get some sleep?” He smiled roguishly. “Go find that pretty little Amber and make an honest woman of her. I think your Bible says something about that too.”
“I told you there’s nothing going on between Amber and me, we’re just friends.”
“Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought you were. Now get out of here.”

A Note from the Author

Thank you for reading this excerpt from NHI: No Humans Involved, the first installment of the Nate Richards Seasons Series. Now that you’ve read this, I would love hear from you. You can email me with your thoughts on the book or friend me on Facebook. You can even sign up for my news letter, which will give you updates on upcoming releases and whatever else is going on in my little corner of the world.
If you’d like to help this book succeed, please tell others about it. You can loan your copy to a friend, and ask your local libraries and bookstores to order it. In addition, if you post a review on Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com or Smashword.com it would also be very helpful.
My email is: ray@rayellis-author.com.
You can download discussion questions or follow my blog entries at http://authorray.blogspot.com or on my web site at http://urbanfictionunleashed.webstarts.com.

If you’d like to read the complete book you can order it from the following sites:
1. http://Amazon.com
2. http://Barnes&Noble.com
3. http://Smashword.com

Acknowledgments

As with any project of significance, it is never completed alone or without help. This is no less true of NHI. First I’d like to thank God for His grace and the gift of His wonderful son, Jesus. Without Him none of this would ever had have been possible of necessary.
Secondly, I’d like to thank the ladies of the Tully’s Critique group: Angela, Cheryl, and Ruth. Without you three ladies I would still be stuck on “rain fell in sheets and chilled him to the core…” It’s an inside joke, but I know my ladies will get it.
Next I would like to say thank you to the many talented people who gave me their time and talent to help bring this project to launch: Judy Marker Simmons, Deb Sloane and of course my wife and children who has lived with Nate and Amber as guest in our home for these last few years.
Thanks to my wife especially for believing in me when I began to doubt myself. And finally thanks to my church family at Nampa Christian Center for its prayerful support and lastly thanks to Aaron Patterson ad StoneHouse for believing in me just enough to give me a chance. And thank you to my readers.

About the Author:

Ray Ellis is a 21 year veteran of law enforcement in Idaho, Southern California, and a former United States Marine. He is a public speaker, communicating to groups of all sizes on the topics of community and personal safety. Since 1999 Ray has been a primary instructor for the Idaho POST Academy – Police Training Institution for Idaho- instructing on subjects of Arrest Control, Cultural Diversity and for the last five years exclusively on the topic of Instructor Development, where he teaches other officers to be POST certified instructors. He is currently serving as the lead sex crimes investigator for the agency where he works. He has been married to the same woman for 27 years and has three children; two sons and a daughter. He is also an ordained minister and the associate pastor of the church where he attends. Ray lives with his family in Idaho.

Coming Soon

D.R.T.: Dead Right There
Book Two: Release Date - Fall of 2011

Registered sex offenders in the valley have started showing up dead, killed with apparent violence and forethought; and Detective Nate Richards finds himself pitted against a psychotic killer set on ridding the valley of the unclean.
When Chrystal Johansson, the only female on the killer’s list, barely escapes the attempt on her life, Richards takes her into protective custody. Driven by a voice he calls God and a group of men he calls the Uncles, the killer sets a deadline of two weeks to complete the valley’s cleansing.
Around him, the community divides about the actions of the vigilante. Some hail the killer as a modern day knight, only doing what they wish they could; while others curse him as being part of the sickness he claims to fight.
In the midst of the chaos, Nate finds his faith tested when he discovers a sympathetic link in his own heart for the killer’s ideas, if not his actions. Will he find the strength to keep his own path from falling into darkness and bring the killer in, or will he succumb to the powerful sway of street justice?
With the deadline quickly approaching, and the city threatening to tear itself apart, will the killer fulfill his calling or will Nate stop the killings before another victim turns up D.R.T.

Now that you’ve finished, before you leave Treasure City, Tweet or share that you’ve finished the book.

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• Questionable Ethics …By Angela Abderhalden

More by this author:

• D.R.T.: Dead Right There (Nate Richards Book Two)
• “I” As part of the anthology Intrigue (Stories of Suspense) Released by StoneHouse

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Eleven: The Hunt

2011-09-01T05:03:00.001-07:00

I was thinking about just what it is that I like about working the streets. The thought came to me of a National Geographic special, “Big Cats of Africa” or something like that anyway.

One great thinker has describe police officers as the sheep dogs of society and the image does fit, but as I was saying earlier, when I think of myself out there patrolling at night the thought or rather the image of predatory cat is what comes to mind.

I know, I know some of this is definitely ego, but hear me out. I remember watching as the lions all got up and stretched after a long sleep. They seem to come together and discuss the day’s hunt. I see that as a kind of pre-shift briefing.

Then once the business of the day has been decided on, the group moves out in force. Some going this way and others in a slightly different direction, but they all wind up where the zebras and the gazelles are passing along on their way to the watering hole. See where I’m going with this?

Now the vast majority of these, shall we call them prey animals, pass without the slightest hint of molestation. But then the ears of the lion flick and the tails droops down and she hunches low in her stance. She, the huntress –I know the imagery breaks down here again, but we do have some fine female officers on our force--has seen something.

Now in the world of the street cop we would call this establishing P.C. {Probable Cause} or at the very least A.S. {Articulable Suspicion}, but for the cat, she has seen prey. Now once the prey is sighted, the hunter doesn’t just pounce and give chase, but rather a subtle strategy is set in place.

At first this looks almost like casual observance, but then the net is drown smaller and tighter, other hunters are made aware, then when the timing is perfect. The big cats launch into attack mode. The overhead lights come on and we set the patrol cruiser into optimal position to make the stop.

Prey apprehended. But only in this case we don’t eat them. We bag them for delivery for processing…err; take them to the jail so they can go to court.

You have to admit, that although the sheep dog analogy may be a better fit, the predatory cat imagery is just plain cooler...Just saying.

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Ten: A New Beginning

2011-08-26T07:04:00.001-07:00

Nate Richards is my brainchild, and to some degree the child of my heart. The longer I have been back on the streets, the more I find the love; or rather that thread, that really is Nate.

For instance, ask yourself, what does a blown out tire, three warrants, marijuana, and a high-speed chase all have in common. If you asked Nate, he would say it was just a routine day at the office.

Let’s look at these one at a time in the light of how they might impact the world of Nate Richards. First the blown out tire. Once again, it’s a middle-aged woman drunk way beyond being polite company. Add a car and an almost empty parking lot…did I mention she was drunk? Any way once, twice, three times around and still not able to find her way out onto the populated streets. One raised curb later and a high-speed impact, yeap, a blown out tired and a trip to jail for one.

Then there was the guy who decided to drag race down main street only to cry and beg –after the stop—not to be taken to jail because he’s doing so well and turning his life around. The one thing that all these situations have in common is that they started with a single choice. So, as Nate would say, “You caught it, you clean it.”

But, with all that said, it did make for an exciting night. But then again if you’re gonna drink, don’t drive. And if you’re gonna drag race through the middle of town, don’t do it with three outstanding warrants for your arrest. And finally, if you’re gonna smoke dope…any kind of dope…DON’T…. Just saying.

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Nine: A New Beginning

2011-08-24T07:19:00.001-07:00

Special announcement: DRT is at the publisher. The cover is being set and the formatting is all in place. We’re talking a few more weeks and DRT will be out. Yeah! Praise God.

Now back to the program.

Last night’s shift was in a word…fast. My entire team rolled into briefing tired...heavy fatigue and ten long hours ahead of us. Then it happened. The calls began to pour in…one after another after another all night long right up until 06:00 hours. It is the best kind of night when you are tired.

My first call, a welfare check, is always set to be a surprise. When a citizen is concerned about a child or the living conditions they live in, a welfare check is dispatched. My job is to go into the home and make sure the environment is clean, safe, and healthy.

Last night’s call was a wonderful surprise. The house was small and cluttered, and the family was obviously poor, but the children were plump, pink and happy. No problems to report. I love calls like that. It’s just a pleasant change from the usual “stuff” I have to deal with….Just saying.

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Eight: A New Beginning

2011-08-19T05:48:00.000-07:00

In my first novel, N.H.I., I tried to show my readers a glimpse of what it is like to be a cop…seeing the world as it were from behind his eyes. I showed you how Nate and his fellow officer dealt with “that” segment of our society. Well tonight was one of those evenings that reminded me of just why cops build such shields around their hearts and minds.

Imagine a 50-year-old woman, alone and unemployed. Imagine that its 3:30am and she’s screaming at the top of her lungs. She’s partially nude and she’s vulgar. Oh yes, and she’s drunk…very drunk. Now that you see our lady, imagine that the neighbors are peaking out through windows and doors and upon discovering who and what it is that’s making all the noise, they shake their heads and slip back behind the cover of a chosen ignorance.

She screams, she cries, she begs her husband just to look at her, just to touch her like a woman; but all he does is look at her with mild disgust and some pity. She has thrown dishes, and food, and houseplants; and all around the small living room lay broken pieces of furniture and the frames where family pictures once hung.

This is the world of N.H.I. A place where humans have exchanged the glory of being made in the image and likeness of God to become something other. Something other than human in their expression. Some become predators and feast on the innocence of children and the aged. Others become violent and hurt anyone they deem weaker than themselves. Still, others become possessed by greed and will destroy a kingdom just to gain its gold. But, all share one very common trait. They have all reduced themselves to being less.

As a street cop working the grave shift, these are the people I usually deal with. This is the reason a cop, if not careful, will reduce the world to two sides…the good against the bad, the us against the them. This is where you have to remember that even when they are at their ugliest and they smell and look their worse, beneath it all is still a person for which Christ has died. Even when there are truly N.H.I.: No Humans Involved, we, the good guys still have to be….Human .….Just saying.

Guest Post: TL Cooper

2011-08-17T08:07:00.000-07:00

As you can see, this was originally posted a few days ago, but I thought it so good that I decided to bring it to share with my readers. I hope you will find this as refreshing as did I. TL is a great writer and has over the few years I've known her become a good friend. I hope you enjoy it, I did...just saying.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Human Beings First, Forget the Labels

I write about the human condition for one main reason, we are humans. We live in this world together. We all have that in common every single one of us. Regardless of skin color, religion, political persuasion, sexual orientation, gender, class, or any other labeling apparatus we use to create division between us. In the end, we are all human beings.

The first time I had coffee with my friend and fellow author, Ray Ellis, I told him that my novel, All She Ever Wanted , dealt with racism. He looked at me for a minute then calmly and without judgment informed me, without having read a word of it, that it didn't deal with racism because there is only one race, the human race. It was a turning point in my life. I've never thought about racism the same since that conversation. That change in thought helped me find an even stronger conviction and desire to explore and understand the human condition.

As human beings we hurt, we dream, we work, we play, we laugh, we cry, we love, we hate, we fail, we succeed, and so on. Our feelings get hurt. Our bodies get hurt. Our relationships suffer obstacles. Our lives face challenges. This doesn't change because we happen to fall into any of those "labels" we use to divide.

As part of writing about the human condition, I research, examine, study, and analyze the human condition. I blog about my struggles to become the best me I can because I'm fairly certain others can relate. We all struggle to be our best selves. Some may think these posts are self indulgent, and I suppose some are to a degree; however, if I share my struggle with something and that happens to help someone else, then it's worth it. And, sometimes what seems to be about me is really about my observations of someone else's situation. Sometimes they are the things I wish I could say one-on-one, but I know won't be heard. Whether saying them in a more generic way reaches the person I wish I could say them to or not, maybe they'll help someone else in a similar situation.

I think all writers, especially fiction writers and poets, write about the human condition in one way or another. I tend to do it from the perspective of character growth while many write about it by wrapping the storyline around a social cause. Murder, rape, domestic violence, love, hate, romance, civil rights, and the list goes on and on are all part of the human condition. Even the criminal is human though in fiction it often seems like they're not. I've talked to and read authors who prefer to keep their criminals two dimensional, after all who cares what's going on in the criminal's head? There are readers who prefer the criminal not be humanized at all. I struggle with that. I can see their point... kind of. On the other hand, I have a real need to understand "why" even in a book. Even the bad guy had to come from somewhere. That's my need to understand the human condition.

When I write, I'm very interested in examining what makes the characters tick - every character. I want my characters to make people stop and think. Maybe to consider something in a new way. So I spend countless hours inside my characters' heads interrogating them, cajoling them, charming them, and listening to them. Sometimes I do this for days or even months before they make it to paper. Other times only for hours.

I think it would be safe to say I wrap my plot around my characters and the growth they will experience in the book. That's what excites me about writing. The idea of figuring out something new regarding the human condition and sharing it with others gives me a sense of fulfillment or at least purpose. Or even reminding people of something that has been lost in the stereotypes people tend to accept so easily. Or encouraging people to feel a little compassion and connection with a human being they might otherwise turn away from. I sure hope that my readers find my examinations of the human condition, whether in a novel, short story, poem, or blog entry, entertaining, interesting and enlightening.

Mostly though I hope my writing about the human condition helps people see that we really are all human beings inhabiting the same planet. We all have that much in common in spite of all the labels assigned us...

About Me

T. L. Cooper
T. L. Cooper grew up in Tollesboro, Kentucky. She graduated from Eastern Kentucky University. Her articles, essays, short stories and poetry have appeared in books and magazines as well as online. She is the author of the novel, All She Ever Wanted.
View my complete profile

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Seven: A New Beginning

2011-08-12T09:57:00.001-07:00

You know, one of the most dynamic things about working the streets is that they are so…well, dynamic. You can go to work every day for a month and each day would be different. But, there is one thing about the streets that is consistently bad. Court after a midnight shift.

Imagine going to work at 21:00 hours, that’s 9pm for you civilian types, and working until 07:00 hours the next morning. Then imagine not getting off on time because you had a late call. Then imagine your having to be in court at 10:00am to testify about a case you worked. Then imagine that you have to be back at work again that same night at nine. That’s patrol.

At least that’s one aspect of patrol. You just never really know how the di will roll. Some days you go on and you can do circles upwards to a 100 miles driving around the city and not get into anything. Then you have the night where you might only drive 25 miles and go to jail twice and have been in a fight. You just never know.

But one of the hardest and best things about patrol is having the chance to affect the lives of people. Like the other night when I got a chance to help a mother in distress. What I really wanted to do was slip an arm around her shoulders and tell her it would be all right because I would pray for her. (Nate Richards probably would have done just that.) But instead, I walked the professional line and did my best just to let her know there were still good people in the world and that we care about what happened to her and her kids.

Then again, there’s the mom I found sleeping in her car because she’d lost her job and her house. Her estranged husband has her kids and all she had was a van and a blanket with which to cover herself. Yeah, the streets are a very interesting place. If you ever think you have it bad and things just can’t get any worse…well I’m here to tell you it can. Just remember the distressed mom or the homeless mother sleeping in her van. At least in my book Nate Richards always wins….Just saying.

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Six: A New Beginning

2011-08-11T07:55:00.001-07:00

A dark city…a quiet night…crying children and a moment of chance; these are the things that the thief-of-opportunity needs to drop a bomb of confusion into your life.

How many of you have seen the woman who is walking around the store checking the shelves, chasing kids and of course this one, the mother who is an entire aisle away. Or, how about the mother who turns to put the baby into the car seat while her purse is sitting in the basket at the rear of the car. I can only imagine how Nate Richards would handle this situation, but I always wanted to just grab the purse and walk away then turn and watch as the mother discovers her purse is missing.

To be honest, I did once, but that will have to wait for a different post. Smile.

So what’s the moral of this story? There are enough bad things and bad situations going around without our helping the bad guys out. But, if you leave your valuables laying out where “they” can grab it you’re just sticking your head in the lion’s mouth so to speak. But if you want to keep your stuff where you left it you might want to keep your eye on it…. Just saying.

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Five: A New Beginning

2011-08-10T07:28:00.000-07:00

Color me dense and put a bag on my head, but I just realized that many of you have never been inside of a police car. Duh!

No…I was referring to the front seat. There’s always one in the bunch.

Anyway, when you first get into the police cruiser, as it is affectionately known, you will realize that there is not a whole lot of space. Imagine going to your desk at work and pulling out everything you have in it and putting it in your car, then set it up so you can use it…while driving.

Inside the car, we have the MDT, or the mobile-date-terminal, which is a really complex PC. Only it does so much more. From that single terminal, I have access to DMV, NCIC, and the FBI records. But, mostly it allows me to be in constant contact with my dispatch center as well as fellow officers. The MDT even allows me to go online to verify obscure codes that I might not use on a regular basis.

Then of course, we have the police radio. This is probably the single most important piece of equipment I have other than my brain. The radio allows me to listen to my main channel and also to scan several others. This is done to keep me in the know. While in the field the one thing the street cop can never have too much of is information. We always need to know what’s going on in our city or what might be heading our way.

Then we have the lights. Now most of you have seen these from outside the unit, but to see them from the inside is a treat all in its self. We have the rear flashers, the takedowns, the side alleys, and the spot. And when we get serious, we turn them all on. Whooppi! Now that’s an e ticket ride. (Some of my younger reader won’t know what that means, so you older ones will have to explain.) Smile.

If you ever get the chance to go on a ride along –a program offered by most PD’s that allows civilians to ride along with an officer for a duty shift- it is well worth missing the few hours of sleep. Yes, I did say missing sleep. Smile. Sure, you could go during the day, but if you gonna be dog you might as well be a mastiff…. Just saying.

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Four: A New Beginning

2011-08-06T17:36:00.000-07:00

Working the graveyard shift changes your entire world. During the workweek, things may not seem so bad, but once you get to the weekend, that’s when it can go stupid…quick.

Even the simple question of when to sleep becomes very, very important. Just imagine that everything inside you is pulling on you with twice the force of gravity toward the bed, but everyone and everything else is on the up and on the bounce…. Not a good thing.

I don’t know how Nate Richards would handle this, but for this first week back on graves, I decided I would just transition back to the world of the day-dwellers for the weekend. Oh, that sounded so easy at the time. It sounded so good.

So this was me…just try and find the thread of common sense in this, if you can, drop me a post because I’ve seem to lost all mine. (Smile.) Friday morning, I got off a little early, around 05:00 hours and then spent some time in prayer and then had a good workout. So far so good, right?

But then I had a meeting with my editor scheduled for 10:30, so since by the time I finished my prayer and workout it was close to 06:30….(Why go to sleep right?) Well let’s just say we worked on the manuscript until 16:30 –that’s 4:30pm for you civilians – and then I had another meeting with a fellow writer at 18:30 so why sleep here. Are you starting to see the insanity slip in yet?

Well that meeting ended at 21:00 hours and I finally arrived home at about 22:00. I sat in front of the tube to relax. But guess what? I work the grave shift so my body and mind kicked into let’s go to work mode. Yep, that’s right, I was suddenly wide-awake…fully alert. Ready to go. Whereas that would be fine –this sudden alertness- for working the streets, not so much for going to bed.

So, I say all that to say this. Sometimes when you are working the grave shift, it’s just easier to leave the day dwelling to those accustomed to the light. The night is for playing…. Just saying.

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Three: A New Beginning

2011-08-03T18:44:00.001-07:00

As a keeper of the peace, and an enforcer of the laws of my city, I take great pride in the carrying out of my duties. I work the graveyard shift, so I’m a creature of the night. Checking dark alleys and suspicious vehicles and persons….Cars driving in locations where they should not be, mysterious persons in dark clothing ducking in and out of dead end streets…these are all par for the course as I patrol my assigned area.

So, can you imagine my chagrin when at zero dark: thirty… that’s police talk for in the middle of the night… I make a traffic stop, turn around to go back to my unit only to find that my police car is missing a headlight. Oops!

That’s like a Knight of the Round Table finding that his steed is missing a front leg. Well not quite, but you get the picture. What do you do? Do you give yourself a ticket for failure to maintain equipment? I know some people wish I would, but no. Actually, I took it back to the barn and put it away with a maintenance request attached. I said all that to say this, sometimes we officers may stop you to let you know that you have equipment that is malfunctioning. Sometimes a person really might not know.

Now, if you ever hear of someone being stopped for an equipment malfunction and then they somehow wound up in jail...I’m here to tell you that that someone just didn’t know when to just shut up. There is a thing called talking yourself into trouble. So for the guy who was riding his bicycle during the hours of darkness without a headlight and he wound up in jail…well I guess you see it, he just didn’t know when to shut up. I find myself wondering what Nate Richards would have done in this situation.

So, if the cop stops you and says he just wanted to give you a warning that you needed to fix this or adjust that, it might be better to just say thank you. Just saying.

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Two: A New Beginning

2011-08-02T08:36:00.001-07:00

What do you get when you combine a car, alcohol, and a one-way street? I don’t know what you get, but I got a DUI arrest. That’s Driving while Under the Influence for those of you who hadn’t heard that term before.

You see, the thing about alcohol is that it puts your brain to sleep so you don’t even know how drunk you are. This was the case with the person I…ah…er…met this morning. This person was drunk enough to drive the wrong way up a one-way street and perform some pretty strange driving maneuvers, and all the time not even know they were over the legal limit. In the state of Idaho, that’s only .08 percent blood/breath.

Anyway, back to the story. There I was just minding my business and doing my patrol thing when zip, bam, buoy –Don’t you just love the Batman sound affects?--- this drunk goes zipping through town. When I finally got them stopped and administered the three basic tests to them, I was amazed that they didn’t just put the handcuffs on themselves and go straight to jail.

Like I was saying, there are three basic tests. The gaze nystagmus, which is a test of the muscle response to stimuli after it has been affected by a CN depressant…i.e. alcohol. The second test is probably the most well know and is the walk and turn. Yep, the driver failed that one too. The last test was the one leg stand test and when done well it is beautiful to watch. When its not, its not. It can be rather scary, especially if you are standing near a busy road.

Needless to say, this little adventure ended with a trip to jail for our driver. The queerest thing however was not how they drove or even how they performed on the test, but rather that they didn’t even think they were drunk. Now that’s scary…remember the 4000-pound thing I talked about.

So with all that said, I’m thinking if you’re drinking don’t be driving. The two just don’t go together. Just saying.

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day One: A New Beginning

2011-08-01T16:18:00.001-07:00

Boom! Crunch! Bam! No, it’s not a missing episode of the old Batman TV series. –Did I just date myself? – These are the sounds we usually associate with two cars trying to occupy the same space…at the same time.

On my last shift, yes, it was hot –almost 100 degrees outside-; I had the honor of serving a couple young people who had experienced just such a scenario. I don’t know if you knew this or not, but the average car is about 15 feet in length and weighs about a four tons. Think about it, that’s 15 feet of plastic, metal and glass and meat {Guess who gets to supply the meat? Yeap, you.} at four thousand pounds zipping around the highways and byways of this great land we call home.

Imagine you are driving a comfortable two car lengths behind the car in front of you, that’s about 60 feet. Nevertheless, if you are traveling at only 35 mph, you are covering up to 51 feet per second. Now if you happen to look up, down, or at your cell phone or even blink….BOOM! Crunch! Bam! And we have to take in consideration that it takes the average person 0.20-0.25 of a second to even react. See my point?
Believe me, I’m just a street cop, so this math thing is way over my head, but those who know say that at 60 mph you are covering 88 feet per second…that’s over two car lengths in the blink of an eye. There are 5280 feet in a mile….So, 5280 feet multiplied by 60 (mph) and you get 316,800 total feet. Now, divide 316,800 by 60 (minutes in an hour) and you get 5280 feet. The final step is to divide 5280 by 60 (seconds in a minute) and you wind up with 88 feet per second, or in most cases BOOM! Crunch! Bam!
Now I don’t mind coming to the aid of motorist on the road, but I would very much rather it not be as a result of the Boom-crash-bam affect. (Smile). Just saying.

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Eight

2011-07-29T14:54:00.000-07:00

As a police officer, there are many tools placed at our disposal available for our use. One of these, and probably one of the least talked about is the vest….The bulletproof vest.

Over my twenty plus years, I have worn a great many styles and types of vest. From the ‘it’s so heavy I can barely move’ to the ‘this feels like cotton wrapped around my gut’. (Smile.)

I can remember my first vest was so thick and heavy; I would have to use my hands occasionally to lift it and let a breeze under just to cool off. My latest vest is from the opposite end of the spectrum and feels more like a thick tee shirt.

So after five plus years it’s finally time for a new vest. The new ones are a very cool dark blue and look kind of like the one Batman wore in “The Dark Knight”, but without all the added muscles. The good thing is that it is lightweight and flexible. Having it be able to stop a bullet is a major plus, however.

Another bad thing about a vest –for those of you who have never had to wear one- after a while they can begin to stink. You know the sweaty gym locker room kind of stink. It’s a healthy stink as stinks go, but it stinks nonetheless. So, yeah, I’m really looking forward to my new vest. But, on the other hand, I was thinking maybe Febreeze should send us all a check for the boost in stock value we have given them. One good turn deserves another, right? (Smile) Just saying…

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Seven.1

2011-07-27T00:01:00.001-07:00

As a cop, I get tired of my brothers, the Firemen, getting all the glory. They ride around in their shiny red trucks and everybody applauds them; ladies throw flower in their path as they drive by. Well, maybe not that bad, but you get my point.

I’d just like to say we cops do some pretty terrific things too. This time of year is especially so. When the heat outside rises upward toward a hundred degrees Fahrenheit, the inside of your car –yes, even with the windows cracked – can be a virtual oven. Earlier this week, I got a call of an animal locked in a car. The poor thing was cooking in its own juices. After executing an emergency extraction, I had to run cool water over her just to get her body temp low enough for her to move and function on her own. Please, let’s not even bring up the topic of children being locked in cars.

So, the next time you see a patrol car go whizzing by you, just think…maybe it’s going to save the life of a distressed animal. Sure, maybe we don’t climb ladders to get stuck kittens out of trees, but we do our fair share too. Who knows, maybe, Nate can manage to save a few critters in one of his upcoming adventures. It would be par for the course after all. We cops are heroes too. (Smile) Just saying…

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Seven

2011-07-26T03:50:00.001-07:00

I’ve finished re-training!!!

After a great week, I finally got the news I’ve been waiting for, for the last six weeks. I’ll tell you how it happened. The shift started like it always does, fast. Right out the gate, one of my partners stops this guy, a really bad guy, and invites him to a stay at the county resort. (Smile)

Then, I stopped this lady who was driving a vehicle that hadn’t been registered in over three months. That was bad, but what I gave her a ticket for was not insuring her vehicle. I explained to her that I could overlook her tardiness in getting registered –for another day or so- but she couldn’t risk hitting someone and not being able to take care of the resulting problem. That was my day; well that was the pattern of my day.

Then at the end of the night my FTO- Field Training Officer- pulls me aside and says, “You’re done. You’re on your own.” Hallelujah! Needless to say, that was music to my ears.

So starting next week, I have my car to myself and I won’t have to listen to country music anymore. Hey, I’m not hating, but I’m more of a talk radio kind of guy. (Smile).

Now, the question is, how can I work this sense of promotion and freedom into Nate’s existence? Isn’t writing fiction wonderful? As one of my favorite quotes goes, “Fiction is just reality that hasn’t happened yet.” Just saying…

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Six

2011-07-25T03:31:00.001-07:00

Last night…do I even have to talk about last night? To be fair, I guess I should. To put it bluntly, I stunk. It’s not like I didn’t do some pretty good things, it’s just that I did one or two really stupid things. I made rookie mistakes…first year cop mistakes, not a twenty-two year veteran mistake. Thank God, no one got hurt and nothing was loss, but it just stunk that I messed up so badly.

What did I do? You would ask that. Well actually, I got lost in my own city. Here I was driving around going to answer a call when all of a sudden nothing was familiar. I mean it’s been almost ten years since I drove a black and white around the city. And at night…well that just made it worse. Thankfully, the call was not an emergency, but I still stunk up the place.

The good news is that tonight I did much better. Yes, I took bad guys to jail, but this time it was bitter sweet. Sometimes it is. Here I was placing big brother into cuffs while little brother sat in the passenger side seat crying. Yes, big brother needed to go to jail…and he did, but it was just a little sad to watch a teenage boy cry because his brother is getting arrested.

I think about my character, Nate Richards, and all the adjustments he makes as he faces the various situations in the course of a story; how many lives he comes in contact with. That’s what I’m trying to bring to my readers, to help my fans understand what it is really like to be on this side of the badge. Sometimes the arrest is a big hurrah and at others times not so much. It’s just the way life goes. Just saying.

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Five

2011-07-23T02:00:00.000-07:00

Entered the last phase of retraining tonight and wouldn’t you know it…it turned out to be a pretty flat evening. Ten hours and about 61 miles of driving later and still, I did not have a whole lot to show for my efforts.

The shift began pretty good, a promising traffic stop followed by an assist with a possible drug arrest. But, just like a two-day-old soda, it went flat. The first stopped turned out to be teens driving grandparents car on their way to a school event. Nothing. The second stop…well it wasn’t even my stop, but it turned out to be nothing as well.

Then when I’m finally on my way to get my coveted Diet Coke…oh yes, Diet Coke, bam! I drive right into the middle of a traffic accident. No, I wasn’t in the accident, I mean I drove right up on it just after it had occurred. So, it’s like fishing, you catch it you clean it.

So after the traffic report was done it was more trolling just looking for the bad guy, the criminal element. You know all the fun stuff we cops like to do.

One thought though, if you’re gonna have a yard sale or a garage sale, make sure to keep your money and your purse well away from where your “Shoppers” will be perusing. It just might save you a lot of trouble and a whole bucket of tears. Just saying.

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Four

2011-07-20T19:03:00.001-07:00

Retraining continues. Eight days in patrol and 11 arrests. That’s a lot of trip to jail. Even though in the beginning I was not looking forward to going back to patrol, now I have to confess the love for the streets has been re-ignited in me.

The shift work and the rotations are things to be adjusted to, but the htrill of getting out and inserting myself between the criminal element and the good people of my community….Wow! That is one great feeling.

I can’t wait to build some of these experiences back into the Nate Richards character. It can only serve to make the stories richer and more full. I already have one foot-pursuit to add, who knows what will be next…Well on the streets that’s just the tick isn’t you never know what will be next.

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Three

2011-07-16T02:03:00.001-07:00

What comes to your mind when you hear the words, “Foot pursuit”? Well I’ll tell you what came to my mind as I was sitting at the station and the tone alert was broadcast.

There I was sitting around enjoying a cup of coffee and going over my paperwork with the day’s assignments when all of a sudden my partner’s voice breaks over the radio speaker. “Code-three assist! Subject fleeing on foot.”

What followed next was controlled chaos. Sirens screaming and tires squealing. Smoke rising and sweat dripping…into my eyes.

Remember what I said about working out? Well today put all that to the test. Here I am the “old guy” working the perimeter when I begin to pray, “Lord lead me to this guy…show me which way I need to go.” Then as if on cue the suspect pops out of the brush about a hundred yards ahead of me. I identify him and give the order, “Stop police!”

You know what he did, right? He took off running. I updated my partners and took off after this guy. Two fences later…that’s right, I jumped the fences, and a slow search later, I had the bad-guy in custody.

Yes, I was sweaty and a bit tired, but I had run down the suspect who was half my age and got him into cuff’s and into my rear seat ready to go to jail. That’s the thing about working the streets, you never know what the day will bring.

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Two(a)

2011-07-14T14:10:00.001-07:00

Since I’m on my weekend break, technically I’m still on day two. The big thing with getting back in the role of a street cop is the need or feel of the need to be in better physical shape. While working in CID it was extremely hard for me to maintain a regular routine of working out. Between court, late investigations, and my work with the church…not to mention being a family man, having time to workout seemed impossible.

Perception creates reality.

Well being back on the streets changed my perception, which as you know necessitates a change in my reality. So guess what, now I’m working out three to four times a week regularly. So this was a good thing. I kind of imagine my character Nate Richards as a 20 something version of myself, young, single and a committed health-nut and physical trainer. However, being back in the real world, I am faced with retooling this much older frame of mine.

Tomorrow begins my last week of retraining before I get set loose on my own. Speaking from experience, there is nothing like having your front seat clear and free… that means no one sitting in the passenger side seat judging your every move and second guessing your every thought. At least that’s what it feels like when you’re the trainee. Now add to this the fact that I was driving a patrol car when most of these people were being born or still in elementary school. Life is funny, huh?

Urban Fiction: Living it Out - Day Two

2011-07-12T03:11:00.000-07:00

When you have done a thing for so long that it has become second nature, you have a tendency to take some things for granted. This was me as I got back into a patrol car for the first time in almost ten years. Well to be honest, I had been in one more recently but only as a rider and not the primary officer.

One of the things that got my attention was just how much gear I had to wear. As an American man, I am of average height and weight. I stand five feet, 10 inches tall and weigh approximately 214 pounds. When I am dressed for work, I go from 214 pounds to almost 250 just by adding my gear. My belt alone weighs almost 26 pounds depending on what I am carrying.

Now add to that an almost 50 year old back and you begin to see just some of the problems I had in getting re-acculturated to patrol life. And I haven’t even begun to talk about my sleep cycle.

Like my character Nate, who is making the opposite transition, from patrol to detective life, I am having to learn the rules all over again. All the little things about the workday, how I talk to people and why. The settings for contacts with the various people I meet and how the fourth amendment of the constitution applies. It is all pretty wonderful. And on top of all this I have several different sergeants to deal with, unlike in CID – that’s another name for detectives – where I only had one. If I had hair, I’m sure by now it would be gray.

Urban Fiction: Living it Out

2011-07-11T13:17:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, by virtue of having read my book NHI: No Humans Involved, I write about a police detective – Nate Richards – who is a rookie and thrust into some pretty harried situations. When I started writing this series, I was completing my first decade as a detective and my seventh year as a sex crimes investigator. That in and of itself was a fascinating position to be in.

But, as of the 1st of June, I have been reassigned to the “streets” and have found it to be quite the adventure and thought I would share that with you. Just like my character, Nate, I am finding the new transition very exciting as well as very challenging.

So, as I am re-introduced to the skills and tests of working the streets and stretching myself to learn the new skills needed to work the streets in 2011, I would like to take you along and share some of my triumphs as well as my pit falls along the way. Why don’t you join me as I, like Nate Richards, goes back to the streets.

Urban Fiction Unleashed: Nothing New Under The Sun

2011-07-07T21:54:00.000-07:00

Urban Fiction Unleashed: Nothing New Under The Sun: "W hen I read Ecclesiastes 1: 9, “The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done..."

Urban Fiction Unleashed: "Its All In The Game"

2011-07-06T08:51:00.000-07:00

Urban Fiction Unleashed: "Its All In The Game": "A s the old song says, 'Many a tear will have to fall, but it’s all in the game.' The only real question is which game is being playe..."

The Process of Writing Part II (Structure): Session Two

2011-06-30T04:04:00.000-07:00

After we have established a good strong Ghost, next we have to think about what will carry the reader through the story. Think of this as a type of skeleton, what we call in writing, the Context.

Simply put the Context is everything surrounding your protagonist in the story i.e. setting, minor characters, the very world where your hero lives.

The context is what we use to express our protagonist. Going back again to the mythos of the Star Wars Universe, the planets, the star ships, the aliens all support the idea of a world where Luke could exist.

Take your favorite story, whether it is a romance or an action thriller, if you change the setting you change your story. By changing the setting or even the minor characters with which your hero interacts changes your entire story. This is the essence of Context.

Author interview with Review From Here

2011-06-29T00:34:00.000-07:00

Interview with Ray Ellis, author of “N.H.I.: No Humans Involved”

By admin, on June 28th, 2011

About Ray Ellis

Ray Ellis began his law enforcement career with the Orange County Sheriff’s Department in Orange County, California. After working for a number of years in the maximum security facility, he transferred to patrol working along Orange County’s coast as well as the inner canyons and barrios. After 8 years he moved to Idaho and continued his law enforcement career, serving as an instructor for the Idaho POST Council.
Ray was first ordained into the ministry while living in Orange County and now serves as the Associate Pastor in his home church in Nampa, Idaho. A former United States Marine, he is a public speaker, communicating to groups of all sizes on the topics of community and personal safety. Since 1999 Ray has been a primary instructor for the Idaho POST Academy – Police Training Institution for Idaho- instructing on subjects of Arrest Control, Cultural Diversity and for the last five years exclusively on the topic of Instructor Development, where he teaches other officers to be POST certified instructors. He is currently serving as the lead sex crimes investigator for the agency where he works. He has been married to the same woman for 27 years and has three children; two sons and a daughter. Ray lives with his family in Idaho.
Ray’s debut novel, a work of urban fiction, N.H.I.: No Humans Involved, was released in March of this year.
You can visit Ray online at www.urbanfictionunleashed.webstarts.com or connect with him on twitter at www.twitter.com/RayEllisNHI or Facebook at www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Ray-Ellis-Author/116322698426928.

The Interview

Could you please tell us a little about your book?

NHI is really about one of the prejudices common to law enforcement, the us versus them syndrome. The main character, Nate Richards, is assigned to solve a series of murders, but in the process a new street gang surfaces and Nate’s girlfriend has been kidnapped. The question of who is a good guy and who is a bad guy is central to the story. The quandary Nate has to wrestle with is will he succumb to his instincts to take matters into his own hands and himself become part of the NHI, No Humans Involved.

Who or what is the inspiration behind this book?

There are a series of beliefs that are common to the law enforcement psyche, one of which is NHI: No Humans Involved; which basically states that there are certain people or people groups that are less than human. In most case this relates to druggies and gang-bangers, thugs and such. But the conflict comes when one of the persons in this group bucks the stereo-type and is more than expected or one us less. For me the question was, as a law enforcement officer, what would I do if confronted with that very contradiction. This was my inspiration for NHI.

What is the most important thing in your life right now?

Right now, in the wake of the storms that have wreak havoc throughout the south and
the killing of Osama Bin Laden, now more than ever the value of family and friends and my faith in God have risen in even higher levels of important.

What do you feel is your biggest strength?

Relating to people. I love people and watching people, they fascinate me. I love teaching and watching growth take place.

You know the scenario – you’re stuck on an island. What book would you bring with you and why?

If I were stuck on a desert island what book would I take? First am I alone? Remember the people thing- But most of all I would take my Bible because it is, in my opinion, the best piece of literature ever written. It deals with the whole of the human story, the best and the worst of what it means to be man; and it reveals God’s heart for mankind.

What is the most important lesson you have learned from life so far?

The most important thing I’ve learn from life is the importance of love, of forgiving one another and the accepting and giving of grace. As one of my friends said to me before she died at 86 years old, “When you get to be my age you realize all you have left are the memories. Make good memories.”

About N.H.I.: No Humans Involved

Half of Treasure City is controlled by a violent street gang. The other half is controlled by fear. A rookie detective, Nate Richards, is thrust between the two. Abyss, a mysterious street gang moves into the valley and people have started dying. Nate’s girlfriend suddenly disappears and the gang is being targeted as the cause. With his partner fighting for her life – the result of a vigilante’s bullet, political pressure from above, and time running out to find his missing girlfriend, Nate has to overcome the darkness that has taken over the city and threatening to consume his soul. Forced to fight to stay on the case, he has to work against his command and the elements of the streets while trying to hold on to his faith that seems to make less and less sense as details unfold. With darkness growing and evil seeming to swell, will Nate have enough time to solve the murder and discover the identity of the new gang leader before his girlfriend becomes the latest victim in the growing violent total? Will he succumb to get the job done by any means necessary, or will he become part of the problem and prove that there are No Humans Involved?

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The Process of Writing Part II (Structure): Session One

2011-06-23T15:55:00.000-07:00

Now that we’ve covered the basics, let’s turn our attention to creating a sound structure. Think of it like you would if you were building a house. You may have all the best building materials and even skilled craftsmen, but if your foundation is weak, the structure will fall. The same is true when it comes to your story.

The first thing we will explore is the Ghost. When you hear the term ghost what comes to mind? Something ethereal, mist like… something lacking substance? Well this is sort of kind of true as it relates to your protagonist.

The Ghost serves as a single event from the past that is still giving your hero trouble. The Ghost is usually the source of the need. Remember the NEED is something missing within your hero…i.e. Luke Skywalker’s desire to revenge the death of his father.

As Truby says, in really good writing the Ghost is an internal opponent for your hero; it is something holding him back. The Ghost must be the counter DESIRE for your hero. Remember the desire is the goal outside of your hero and is most often found to be bad in the end. The desire pushes your protagonist forward while the Ghost serves to try and hold him back.

Finally, the Ghost is very important because it gives the story a running start. It catches the reader in the running stages and is the back story: everything that happened to the hero before the story began. Obi wan says, “Darth Vader hunted down and killed your father.”

Well he didn’t exactly use those words, but you get the picture. It served as the kernel of Luke’s desire to get revenge on the Empire in general and on Darth Vader in particular.

Christina Marie Kang: Book Review

2011-06-21T12:28:00.000-07:00

Ray just finished the book. It is FABULOUS!!! The story was great the plot had awesome flow. You had me laughing and crying! I love Nate. A person can relate to him, his struggles and frustrations. Now I won't say what happened but I definitely didn't see it ending like that! So you got me there lol ;) waiting in endless anticipation for D.R.T. I am hooked on this series!! Again, thank you so much for sharing!"

New Book Review

2011-06-17T13:42:00.000-07:00

My Review: Black Diamond Book Reviews

(http://www.blackdiamondsbookreviews.com)

This was an excellent first book by Ray Ellis! I enjoy reading books with a lot of action and suspense, and this book sure didn't disappoint me at all!

After I read the book I saw that it was a christian murder mystery. This book was not at all a church type book trying to preach to you. I have read non-christian books that have felt more preachy than this book. Don't get me wrong, it did have bible references in it, but they fit well into the story.

We are introduced to Detective Nate Richards. He is trying to solve the case of a murder of a fellow police officer and a teen boy. His partner is also injured during a shooting. The anarchist symbol seems to be the killer's trademark. That leads Nate to think that it is a certain gang that is doing the killings.

I definitely recommend this book! It had a great mix of characters. The action was intense, and the ending was very surprising! I am looking forward to reading the next book written by Ray Ellis!

My Rating:

4/5 diamonds - Recommend this murder mystery!

N.H.I.: No Humans Involved Virtual Book Tour Schedule

The Book Connection...: Interview: Ray Ellis, Author of N.H.I.: No Humans ...

2011-06-15T18:02:00.000-07:00

The Book Connection...: Interview: Ray Ellis, Author of N.H.I.: No Humans ...: "Joining us today is Ray Ellis, author of N.H.I. (No Humans Involved) (A Nate Richards Novel) . Ray began his law enforcement career with the..."

One Day At A Time: N. H. I.: No Humans Involved by Ray Ellis

2011-06-13T18:38:00.000-07:00

One Day At A Time: N. H. I.: No Humans Involved by Ray Ellis: "N. H. I.: No Humans Involved is a debut Christian murder mystery novel from author Ray Ellis . Nate Richards is a rookie detective in Tr..."

The Process of Writing: Part 17

2011-06-12T21:36:00.000-07:00

We’ve come to the last session of our seven basic steps. But don’t worry there is a lot more information we can still refer to as we become better writers while learning this craft of creative prose.

The final adjustment that must be included in your manuscript; or more specifically speaking, your character development, is the New Equilibrium. This new balance, this new symmetry that has been achieved by your protagonist is reflective of the adjustment we mentioned in the last session, Growth. But this, New Equilibrium, is the final placement for your character, where he or she ends up as a person.

Because he has obtained the prize for which he has fought, and he now has the prerequisite Growth, he must now arrive at some new destination within himself. He must be either better or worse than he was before. Like Luke Skywalker as he confronts the emperor, and says, “You lose Emperor. I am a Jedi, like my father before me.”

The Process of Writing: Part 16

2011-06-11T13:15:00.000-07:00

Here we go again! Today’s topic is SELF-REVELATION. Sounds like an episode of the Dr. Phil show doesn’t it?

Ask yourself what your character has learned about his or herself as a result of the battle. Remember, anyone who under goes pressure will undergo change to some degree… self confidence, strength, love, power, just to name a few possibilities.

Once the hero goes through this battle and gains this new perspective it must relate to his new understanding of life and himself. In other words your character must grow. He or she must be either better or in some cases worse than they were at the beginning of the story. Think Emperor Palpatine. In the beginning of the Star Wars saga he is powerful and he is wicked, but, by the time we see him in Return of the Jedi he is completely consumed with evil and much more powerful than he was the 20 plus years prior to Luke being born. Growth, good or bad, it just has to be.

The Process of Writing: Part 15

2011-06-10T16:50:00.000-07:00

It is the fifth day of my book tour and things are going well so far. Praise God! But I don’t want to stay too long away from the regularly scheduled topic…. So on with the show.

We last dealt with the trouble, or rather, the necessity of the plan. In this post we will deal with the Battle. {Think of a large echoing voice…Darth Vader in a concrete hallway}

Can you imagine Star Wars ending without the epic space battle around the Empire’s dreaded Death Star? It would have been a very flat movie and so will be your manuscript without the necessary conflict.

This final conflict, between the hero and the opponent, where it is determined who will possess ultimate control of the goal: in the case of Star Wars, the control of the known galaxy.

Whether a battle of force or words, it has to be Epic…the ultimate: no one last thing needing to be done. For my older readers, think back to the summer of 1975 and Jaws. Remember Chief Brody barely floating in the wreckage of the Orca? As far as we knew he was the last survivor. The music builds. The shark attacks. Brody fires his rifle and misses. The music gets louder. Brody shoots again just as the shark is about to have him and the rest of the boat for dinner and… and… and…BOOM! The shark explodes. Wow!

Now imagine, after Brody killed Jaws he still lost control of Amityville’s beaches. People were still dying and the waters were still not safe for swimming. Not so good. He fought the shark, the shark lost. End of story. The ultimate battle for who would control the ocean waters off the shore of Amityville settled.

So as you work your way to the climax of your manuscript, think big. Think ultimate. Think BATTLE. Make it a battle worthy of control of whatever universe you’ve created. Oh, and to borrow from another well known space community, “Live long and prosper.”

VBT Day Five finds Ray interviewed at Beyond the Books!

2011-06-10T15:52:00.000-07:00

http://beyondthebooks.wordpress.com/2011/06/09/interview-with-ray-ellis-author-of-n-h-i-no-humans-involved/

Interview with Ray Ellis author of N.H.I.: No Humans Involved Beyond the Books

Ray Ellis began his law enforcement career with the Orange County Sheriff’s Department in Orange County, California. After working for a number of years in the maximum security facility, he transferred to patrol working along Orange County’s coast as well as the inner canyons and barrios.

Reviews by Molly: PUYB Blog Tour&Review: N.H.I. (No Humans Involved)...

2011-06-09T16:52:00.000-07:00

Reviews by Molly: PUYB Blog Tour&Review: N.H.I. (No Humans Involved)...: "About the Book: Half of Treasure City is controlled by a violent street gang. The other half is controlled by fear. A rookie detective, ..."

The Process of Writing: Part 14

2011-06-03T12:50:00.000-07:00

We have the Problem.

We have the Desire.

…And we even have the opposition.

What could we possibly need next? Did anyone suggest a plan?

The Plan is what moves the story forward, but will also be the means by which your readers will travel through the plot with your protagonist.

The hero must come up with a plan to overcome his/her opponent(s) and succeed. How sad would it have been if Luke Skywalker and friends had broken into the Dreaded Death Star only to be captured and killed? Of course it would have been a very short story. Smile.

The plan must give support to the middle of the story.

In too many manuscripts a new or novice writer will often have a fantastic beginning to a story, and may even have a dynamic ending in sight; but all too often the story falls flat in the middle. As a reader, there are not many things I hate more than being left in the middle of nowhere with a go nowhere plot in the gut of a story.

Finally, the plan doesn’t have to be well thought out or even detailed in the mind of your hero. Remember again, the trio of Skywalker, Solo, and Chewy as they determined to rescue Princess Leia. Luke comes up with a plan to sneak into the brig, but he has no idea of what he’s really doing or even of how he’s going get out again. Now keep in mind that this was only a smaller part of the plan that he and Obi-Wan Kenobi originated earlier to fight and destroy the Empire.

This big plan and all of its smaller components is what carries us as readers from the bombed out farm on Tatooine to the space battle above the jungle planet of Yavin Four as our rag-tag band of rebels take on the glory and might of the Galactic Empire. (Don’t you just love these names?)

Simply put, the plan moves the story.

The Process of Writing: Part 13

2011-05-24T08:05:00.000-07:00

Now we come to opposition. What would a story be without a healthy dose of opposition? …boring.

Now that your protagonist knows what he desires and the problem has been introduced, the opposition must come into the story to hinder the hero's progress. Enter Darth Vader.

To be a true opponent, the antagonist – the opponent – must want the same thing or desire as your protagonist. This is vital because it sets up the foundation for the conflict.

Think Star Wars again, Both Luke and Vader desire the same thing, a mixture of control, power, and revenge. – Remember, desire is a bad thing in the end.

There are three levels of opposition:

1. Small – At this level of opposition the protagonist, the good guy, is competing with the antagonist, the bad guy, for an object.

· Again let’s look at Star Wars. In the beginning of the story Luke and Darth Vader are competing for possession of the two droids, C3PO and R2D2.

2. Intermediate – This is the level of competition where the protagonist and the antagonist compete for power over a particular place or person.

· We see this level of struggle represented next in that Luke competes with Vader for the person of Princess Leah.

3. Superior – This is the third and final level. At this stage the hero is pitched against the villain for whose way of life will ultimately dominate as the rule.

· For this example think about the ending of Star Wars as the dreaded Death Star is closing in on the planet where the rebel base lay hidden. On the bridge of the ship, Darth Vader and his crew gloat in preparation of the final destruction of the rebel alliance and extending the empire’s rule throughout the known galaxy. Contrast this against, Luke and the rag-tag band of fliers as they prepare to fight to free that same set of people to live in freedom.