An excerpt from an old project: Sometimes Saints

About: I started writing a novel called Sometimes Saints in April. The novel was going to focus on a man whose family was notorious for being the founders of an outlaw motorcycle club in the northwestern port city of Tacoma, Washington, pictured below. I worked on it for eight days before abandoning the project.

While cleaning up the files on my computer, I decided to post a little bit of it for you all to read, enjoy, critique, etc.

Tacoma, Washington: the location of my April attempt at a new novel, had I not abandoned it.
Tacoma, Washington: the location of my April attempt at a new novel, had I not abandoned it.

Harmond-Ellysen Automotive and Detailing was a large lot pushed behind a few run-down storefronts. Faith pulled through the chain-link gate and into the paved parking lot. A large garage faced toward the front of the lot and a large two-floor building stood adjacent to it. A few small portable buildings were scattered here and there with much of the light blue paint chipping off and fading. A large neon sign was visible on the roof, advertising the name of the business and its offers. A few dozen cars were parked in the lot, not including the many motorcycles that lined a small grove of trees near the back of the lot.

Faith parked right in front of the management office and turned the engine off. She exited the air-conditioned car and entered into the warm outside air. She couldn’t remember the last time it had been that warm, although she could guess that it would have been last fall. She passed beneath the shade of the small deciduous trees that were placed around the parking lot- something Faith had personally planted for the shop. A few puffy white clouds skimmed the blue sky above, the sun reflecting off of the various cars and metal pieces lying around. She waved to the mechanics around her and headed for the door to the office.

The office was a small room cluttered with papers and garbage. A large white desk was plastered with forms and files of customers and sales records. A cork board with keys and photographs was nailed to the wall beside the desk and filing cabinets were wide open, their contents overflowing. She caught sight of Kenneth Delroy, her assistant, standing in the corner smoking a cigarette.

“I see that you have been busy,” she scolded him. “I take a few days off and the office turns into a hellhole. What did you do, bring your pet tornado to work?”

Kenneth’s face turned red. “I’m sorry Mrs. Harmond. It won’t happen again.”

“No,” she agreed. “It won’t. I am reassigning you to another position starting tomorrow. Good-day, M-i-s-t-e-r Delroy.”

She shooed him out with the wave of her hand and shut the door. It was no wonder the shop had been losing business for the past few years. The ones who ran the place were incompetent buffoons in Faith’s eyes. The place needed an overhaul, and perhaps Ryder could help with that.

She began to scoop up the loose papers and file them into the correct places, revealing a few lost sets of keys and payment plans from unsatisfied customers. An office plant was inside a filing cabinet and garbage was scattered on the floor.

“This place is shit,” Faith muttered, grabbing a broom and sweeping the garbage into a nice pile.

“Glad you see it that way,” Marshall replied, stepping into the office from the backdoor. He had a greasy rag in his hand, which he then proceeded to use upon his sweaty forehead. The grease smeared up his face like war paint.

“Oh dear, you just got grease all over your face,” Faith pointed out, grabbing a paper towel from the desk and wiping it off.

“Thank you baby,” he said, smiling from ear to ear. “What would I do without you?”

Faith put the paper towel in the trash can and smirked. “You would probably be in the Washington State Penitentiary.”

“Yes, those good old execution chambers and Walla Walla Onions.”

She kissed him gently on the check and then moved back to the desk. She started picking up papers again, the office already much cleaner than it had been earlier.

“I’ll be in a meeting with the Saints,” Marshall said as left the room, closing the door behind him.

Sometimes Saints. The motorcycle club was the one thing that held the family together. And the one thing that keeps it apart

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Author: Chase Charaba

Hello there! I'm Chase, an ambitious, aspiring young novelist and YouTuber who hopes to get a novel published one day. I'm also trying to produce the highest quality YouTube videos by constantly learning new ways to film and edit. I've been involved in journalism for 5 years, including 1 year as co-editor of a national award-winning high school newsmagazine and 1 year as the co-editor of an award-winning college newspaper. I write mainly epic/high fantasy, but I also mess around with science fiction, horror, and realistic fiction.

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