#PublicationDay #BlogTour The Picture by Roger Bray #Extract @rararesources @rogerbray22

The Picture by Roger Bray

I am proud to present to you today, publication day, an excerpt from Roger Bray's novel The Picture at the start of the current blog tour, courtesy of tour organiser Rachel's Random Resources.

Book description:

A warehouse in Japan used as an emergency shelter in the aftermath of the 2011 Tsunami. A distraught, young Japanese woman in dishevelled clothes sits on a box, holding her infant daughter. Ben, a US rescue volunteer, kneels in front of her offering comfort. They hug, the baby between them. The moment turns into an hour as the woman sobs into his shoulder; mourning the loss of her husband, her home, the life she knew. A picture is taken, capturing the moment. It becomes a symbol; of help freely given and of the hope of the survivors. The faces in the picture cannot be recognised, and that is how Ben likes it. No celebrity, thanks not required.

But others believe that being identified as the person in the picture is their path to fame and fortune. Ben stands, unknowingly, in their way, but nothing a contract killing cannot fix.

Context:  Ben Davis is a retired police office living in Portland Oregon.  This scene is from the start of the novel when he becomes an innocent victim of a robbery gone wrong.  This incident is the catalyst for Ben to be reunited with his estranged daughter who finds the truth of her father over the next weeks through his lifelong friend as they spend time together hoping Ben will survive. 

Extract:

He pushed the door open and glanced at the clerk before starting to turn toward the ranks of shelves. Something clicked in his mind, something was not right with the scene he’d witnessed, and he stopped and turned back toward the counter.

This was something he had attended many times post-incident but had never witnessed like this.

The clerk, a young Asian guy was feverishly pulling the bank notes out of his till and shoving them into a paper shopping bag, while he looked at a young, blonde woman standing on the customer side.

Ben took in the scene.

Robbery! his good mood sank.

The woman, well, girl; mid-twenties, but looked older, dirty disheveled hair; lank, touching her shoulders; slim, heroin chic, though completely at the other end of the scale to anything that could be called chic. She was wearing a dirty, hooded jacket, too big for her, hanging down below her knees.

Junkie, registered in his thoughts.

Ben looked up at her face, sunken cheeks, angular cheek bones protruding, acne and, when she shouted, “Fuckin’ hurry up,” to the terrified clerk, he could see her rotten teeth.

Crackhead, he corrected. Shit!

The girl turned and saw him for the first time and Ben saw the panic in her eyes, she pulled her right hand out of the overcoat pocket and pointed the handgun at him.

He raised his hands to shoulder height while talking in a voice that was a lot calmer than he felt.

“That’s fine, lady, you can take the money, I’m not going to try to stop you.”

Ben slowly moved away from the door, leaving the girl a clear escape from the counter and out onto the street. “Look …” he said, “… I’m out of your way; take the money and go.”

And stop waving that gun around, he didn’t add.

The clerk had finished and was trying to pass the bag with the cash in it over to her. The girl looked into the bag, her face clouding over with anger, and she pushed the gun toward him. His arms shot above his head and his eyes widened.

“Is that it? Is that fucking it?” she demanded.

“That’s all I got, lady, the float and some takings, slow night, haven’t got too much.”

“That’s it, lady. That’s all there is, take it and go. No need for anyone to get hurt,” Ben said softly but firmly.

The girl waved the gun first at the clerk, then at Ben, and back to the clerk. She screwed the bag of money up and shoved it into one of her coat pockets then took a half step toward the door. Fear, anger, agitation, and failure showed in her eyes and movements, indecision; should she take what she had and leave? What choice did she have? Leave or stay but she knew that there was no more money and she couldn’t force the clerk to give her money he didn’t have.

She quickly turned her body, stabbing the gun toward Ben, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Ben knew what was going to happen, as she finished, the gun went off.

The first round struck him in the left shoulder, in the center of the dimple where the shoulder becomes the arm.

Oh shit. Ben put his right hand up to where he felt as though he had been punched and turned his head expecting to see a jet of blood. He had no time to register if he was badly injured before the gun went off again.

The second round hit him half an inch above his left eye and Ben knew he was in trouble. He felt sick and his vision blurred as he rocked back from the nausea and shock. He felt his knees going out from under him and he grabbed a wheeled snack stand to steady himself, but only managed to push it off to one side as he crumpled onto the cold floor. As he fell Ben could see the horrified look on the clerk’s face and the slow realization in the haunted look of the junkie as she shoved the gun into her right pocket.

He sensed, rather than saw her run past him and he felt the cold and damp night air blow into the store as she pushed open the door and fled into the night.

About the Author:

I have always loved writing; putting words onto a page and bringing characters to life. I can almost feel myself becoming immersed into their lives, living with their fears and triumphs. Thus, my writing process becomes an endless series of questions. What would she or he do, how would they react, is this in keeping with their character? Strange as it sounds, I don’t like leaving characters in cliffhanging situations without giving them an ending, whichever way it develops.
My life to date is what compels me to seek a just outcome, the good will overcome and the bad will be punished. More though, I tend to see my characters as everyday people in extraordinary circumstances, but in which we may all find our selves if the planets align wrongly or for whatever reason you might consider.

Of course, most novels are autobiographical in some way. You must draw on your own experiences of life and from events you have experienced to get the inspiration. My life has been an endless adventure. Serving in the Navy, fighting in wars, serving as a Police officer and the experiences each one of those have brought have all drawn me to this point, but it was a downside to my police service that was the catalyst for my writing.

Medically retired after being seriously injured while protecting a woman in a domestic violence situation I then experienced the other side of life. Depression and rejection. Giving truth to the oft said saying that when one door closes another opens I pulled myself up and enrolled in college gaining bachelor and master degrees, for my own development rather than any professional need. The process of learning, of getting words down onto the page again relit my passion for writing in a way that I hadn’t felt since high school.

So here we are, two books published and another on track.

Where it will take me I have no idea but I am going to enjoy getting there and if my writing can bring some small pleasure into people’s lives along the way, then I consider that I will have succeeded in life.

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