Snippets & New Excerpt from ALL SEEING EYE (7/31)09 May 2012, Posted by Blog, Rob Thurman's Twitter in
I’ve shown not one or two, but three excerpts for ALL SEEING EYE (check third excerpt for the snark to start)-see front page of website or check blog.
Now to keep the interest going here are a few snippets from the book. Jackson does not snark for free. He expects money or praise–he’s equal opportunity. So…see below:
Jackson’s psychic view on cats:
“I wonder if I brought my Silly cat in…I call her Silly short for Priscilla. I inherited her from my mom who had a huge thing for Elvis. But if I snuck her in, could you tell me what she’s thinking? Or why she pees in my boyfriend’s shoe instead of the litter box?”
She was an Abby clone. It was the only explanation. “I can tell you what she’s thinking right now, no touching necessary,” I drawled. “She’s thinking if she were three times her size bigger, she would eat you.” Funny, yes, and every cat person asked it sooner or later, but funny or not, it was the truth.
Jackson’s psychic view on government employed power-hungry scientists who play with what men ought not know:
I heard Hector blow out a frustrated breath before adding, “Two more sociopaths and one psychopath? Are you positive?”
“Scientists who want to work on a project that could lead to US dominance of the entire world’s intelligence community. That reads like a job application for some kid’s comic book super villain. Did you think you weren’t going to get some bad apples? I’m surprised there are any good apples. Didn’t you have some sort of psychological testing done on the applicants?” Now my jaw was locking up more from the irritation than the pain.
“They are all highly respected in their fields, all with PhDs and some with multiple PhDs.” He sounded defensive. Good. He should.
“Because the men who invented the hydrogen bomb only had their GEDs and look what a great idea for the world that turned out to be,” I snapped back.
Jackson’s highly annoyed view of being shot:
I’d just completed that thought when the things that weren’t my business shot me in the back.
Laying flat in the same red earth the county had buried Boyd in, logic told me I’d fallen. My mind told me that the ground had reared up and smacked me in the face. “Jackson!” Hector’s hand was on my shoulder, squeezing hard.
I coughed and pushed out the words, “Nothing…you…can…do. Go…get…the…dick.”
He hesitated then there was the sound of his feet pounding against the dirt as he ran. I continued to stay flat, both to be less of a target and due to the fact breathing was agony. I didn’t want to imagine what trying to move would be like. The only part of me that disagreed were my fingers that dug into the dirt as the pain crushed my ribs in a massive fist. It ebbed and flowed, the fiery stabbing ache and finally focused on the left side of my back.
“Jackson?” Hector was back. He didn’t sound as if he was waving a flag of victory. I felt his hand below my scapula, his fingers probing. “Okay. I got it. The son of a bitch nailed you right over the heart.”
“The same son of a bitch that I take it got away.” The pain was the same, but I no longer felt as if my lungs had taken the weekend off. Breathing was easier and talking doable. I appreciated that because I had something to say. “I asked you for a bulletproof vest. I felt the bullet fine. I didn’t feel the damn proof in it at all.” I pushed up on my hands and knees and groaned at the spike of pain. “Ah shit. What’s it made out of? Your grandma’s leftover yarn? Christ.”
He hooked his arm under my right one and helped me stagger to my feet before juggling the blob of metal in the palm of his other hand. “It’s a big enough round. Nine millimeter, same as I use. Without the Kevlar it wouldn’t have just hit your heart, it would’ve exploded it.”
“I told you the vest was a better choice for me than a gun.” I winced as I tried to straighten. “But I still think someone at the nursing home crocheted the damn thing. It feels like my rib is broken.”
“I’m sure it is.” There wasn’t much sympathy in the pronouncement. I could’ve used more–a whole lot more. “But a cracked or broken rib is hundred percent better than dead,” he finished matter-of-fact.
“And you didn’t catch the bastard?” I could be wrong. Ghosts could exist. This guy appeared and disappeared at will like one.
“I didn’t even see him and this isn’t a sniper’s bullet by any stretch of the imagination. He had to be close.” Once I could stand semi-upright and take a step without the threat of being shoved in a Notre Dame bell-tower, he let go of my arm.
“I swear, Allgood, if you had been behind me instead of beside me, I’d say you were the shooter. This guy’s goddamn invisible.” I swore out loud and proud with every step I took. I knew…knew I could feel the broken edges of a rib grating against each other.
“You’ve already read me. You know I’m noble and true. Red, white, and blue. Practically Superman I’m so damn heroic, but I couldn’t find a killer if you dropped me on Death Row at a Supermax prison,” he said bitterly.
“I’m lacking in social skills except when it comes to flattering my older female clients, but I have a feeling I should say something here. Something to comfort you in your time of emotional upheaval.” I took one more step, blasphemed against God, his son, and the Virgin Mary as my rib howled again. “Here it is: fuck your emotional upheaval. Be a man for God’s sake. At least your ass wasn’t shot.”
Strangely enough, that did the trick.