Third Excerpt/Call for Launch Team
Renaissance Humans, #103
Greetings dear readers,
This is a quick note to say I need your assistance.
I am recruiting—for a crack team of scrappy, roguish rapscallions, scallywags, gentlemen and women about town, flaneurs, bricoleurs, and raconteurs.
If you’re interested in receiving a free advance reader copy (ARC) of The Infernal Tower, simply comment below, reach out via Substack’s messenger, or email me directly at adam@adamkaraoguz.com. I will send you the novel in either PDF or EPUB format for upload to Kindle and other E-readers. And if you like what you read, I’d love for you to leave a review on publication day (April 3rd). Getting a critical mass of reviews the day of release will help curry favor from the algorithmic deities of the Amazon ecosystem, thus aiding discoverability for the novel.
If you’ve ever enjoyed something I’ve written, this would be a great way to help me concretely.
For those just joining, the first and second excerpts of The Infernal Tower are here and here.
And now, onto our scheduled programming…
“THIS PLACE LOOKS LIKE HELL.” Hark drove slowly and carefully, every now and then turning his head to look at the scenery. Needles littered the gutters, mixed with discarded fast-food wrappers, and assorted plastic containers. They passed bedraggled, strung-out humans of every stripe. “I heard there are addicts here that literally have flesh rotting on them. Zombie-apocalypse stuff. Or Escape From New York.”
Roz refused the offer of fresh clothing but consented to sit on an old towel. “Places we’ve been overseas didn’t look this bad.” He waved languidly to a swarthy Hispanic guy he recognized as they passed. Hector the Collector, a fellow vet. Marine. Tents dotted the sides of the avenue, and temporary encampments had sprung up in vacant lots. With the windows down, the sharp tang of feces intruded into the truck cab. A massive, two-story-high fire raged one block over, black smoke pluming into the clear-blue California sky. “Kurt Russell is around here somewhere, filming the final movie in the trilogy. Snake Pliskin: Escape from San Francisco.”
Hark laughed. “I figured you’d have a starring role in that.” His face turned serious. “When are you going to come stay with me out in the hills? I’ve got a room with your name on it.”
Roz shook his head. “Bad enough that you saddled me with this wretched animal.” He gestured to the backseat, where the dog sat, swiveling his head back and forth between them as if watching a tennis match. “I refuse to burden you any more than I already have.”
“Diogenes doesn’t need much,” Hark responded, sipping coffee from a travel mug. “And have some respect—you’re talking about a two-time Canine Medal of Courage winner. This hound has been in more TICs than we have.”
Roz rolled his eyes. “Just because he’s been in a few Troops In Contact, he lifts his leg to pee like the rest of us.” The apocalyptic-looking city blocks slowly gave way to taller buildings as they entered the downtown proper.
“Sophie texted. Said Colleen and her lawyers were there. Bella too. Lucky for you, the court is running late, but your case should be up in the next hour.”
“Lucky?” Roz closed his eyes. “How’s things with you and Sophie?”
“Good. She helps me run the non-profit in her spare time, when she’s not doing pro bono work representing joes like you in court.” When he got out of the military, Hark built an organization devoted to helping veterans transition from the service. He only grew busier as time passed. “I need to talk to you about something,” Hark said.
Never a good sign.
“Two somethings, actually. First, the bad news. Sophie can’t represent you anymore. Pressure from her boss. She’s in the window to make partner this year. They told her she’ll get fired if she keeps you as a client. Your radioactive half-life hasn’t quite decayed yet.”
Roz shrugged. “Sounds about right.”
“Now for the good news. You remember that guy we saved in Baghdad? Before…I went on R&R?”
Charitable of the Texan to phrase it that way. Not before you went to prison for murder and your life imploded like a sub at crush depth. “Berenger.” Roz felt for his smokes, but his pack was a sodden mess he’d dumped on the rocks.
“Yeah. Nicholas Berenger,” Hark responded. “Actually, his foundation’s headquarters is right...there.” Hark pointed between a pair of larger skyscrapers. “The old Pacific Bell building.” Unlike the newer structures, it was hewn of concrete and stone, with intricate Art Deco flourishes on the exterior. Built in a different time.
Roz grunted. “What about him?”
“Dude was in a plane crash in the Indian Ocean six months ago. Solo flight. Anyway, his assistant reached out. Remember that woman at the airport when we dropped him off?”
Vague recollections came back. Tall, whitish hair, elegant. “Yeah, so?”
“Well, old Nicky had a last will and testament. He named little old you and I—” Hark gestured with his hand at the two of them, “—to be part of a selection process when he died.”
“Selection? I’m done with selections, Hark. I’m more in the deselection phase of life right now, if you catch my drift. Besides, it sounds suspicious.”
Hark met his eyes for a moment. “At a certain point, you’re gonna have to trust something again. I’d be happy with almost anything at this point. This thing sounds interesting. It might be challenging.” When they deployed together, they used to do all sorts of stuff in the name of the all-sacred challenge. Work ridiculous words into their portion of team mission briefings, crazy workouts in the gym, hilarious pranks on other unit members.
“You’re invoking challenge?”
“Not yet,” Hark replied with a sly smile. “Don’t think I’ll need to. I texted the woman in charge—Justine. The cougar at the plane, remember? The one that gave us the business cards. She’s been trying to get ahold of you for the last week, but since your lifestyle is a bit...off the grid, she hasn’t been able to find you. I told her to catch you outside the courthouse, to formally invite you to the selection thing.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Don’t say no just yet. Listen to what she has to say. Might be good for you. I’ve been prepping for a few weeks, getting a gear list together. Doing some research on the other candidates. And on Dante’s Inferno.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” Roz had read the first part of The Divine Comedy as a second class at the Naval Academy but couldn’t remember much. That was the semester before his mom died, before he dropped out of the university. He remembered little from that time, curled up inside a bottle as he was then.
Hark shrugged. “On the invitation. See for yourself later.” He pulled up to the courthouse and put his hazards on. “Want me to keep the hound?”
Roz shook his head. “You saddled me with this cursed canine. He can go in and fake it as my service dog. Besides, he’s a bona fide war hero. I’m going to need that kind of credibility on my side in there.”
Hark laughed. “You know where I live, Kemosabe.” Roz opened the back door, and the dog bounded out, sniffing the concrete.
Roz gave him a sloppy salute as Hark drove away. Then he looked at the building, and his heart dropped into what felt like a buzzsaw in his guts. The dog gazed at him.
“Don’t look at me—I don’t have any answers.”
I’m in, if you still need me.
Made a note to he sure I enter my review on April 3rd 👊🏻