Manuscript 2 (The Red Riders--The Syndicate Wars, October 6-21, 2109) is now less than 103K. I'm kind of hoping they don't completely disprove global warming, since I factored it into the city upheaval in Manhattan. Scrap the setting on two manuscripts--I could fix that though.
Anyway, I had a blast writing it. Syndicate Wars in a densely-populated city. What that would mean.
The head of the operation, my Detective Mel Kean, is well up on her Sun Tzu, her jakido, and her abiity to bullshit. She's a detective in organized crime bureau, who came out of a foster home in Nevada to become a police officer. The other protagonist is Leonidas J. Braudel, a homicide detective and naturalized citizen from Canada. Braudel fits into MPD chain of command. Kean is either a huge frustration or a huge solution wherever she walks. Either way, supervisors lose hair around her.
Her idea is to start a new syndicate and get access to the other syndicate leaders. The MPD is short-handed and overwhelmed by not just war but a suffering populace and constant riot conditions. So the unthinkable happens: her idea is approved. The brass figures they'll at least get street forecasts out of her.
So, Kean's teamed up with that short jerk Bud Fogarty of FinCrim and the unknown but obviously sour Hawkins. But then Braudel has related homicides. He and Carney of Electronic Investigations get drafted into the operation. This is Braudel's beginning assessment:
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No one had a name for the op yet. Braudel wanted to call it Fairy Tale. The plan was all Mel: a flow chart of action and reaction. Their war had two theatres of operation: the curbside and the ‘scraper high. They fought against two or three enemies: the deVane syndicate, the Gallagher syndicate, and the Fragonard Society if they could squeeze it in.
Fogarty would track money flows and cut syndicate income. Mel would track and reduce syndicate influence. The big bad wolves would be desperate for cash and juice. Little Red Riding Hood would scam them with the deal in her basket. They’d fall for it. Then Red Riding would have the hammer. Axe. Whatever. Manhattan would live happily ever after.
So, lying and faking. Also anti-racketeering. His homicides would have to fit in somewhere. He would have less time for them, even when he put his foot down.
He took Carney to the VendLounge for coffee. They conferred in the one place in Plaza where you would never be disturbed. They needed a lot of supply chain, fast. Fogarty would forget anything routine. Mel would go anywhere and do anything for her op, backed up or not.
“Poor Granny, you’re out of StreetKing,” Carney hooted. “And what big teeth you have. Rock and sword: we’re in the magic forest of crap and shit.”
She popped out of the mop closet and strode down the hall. Braudel followed her silver skimpants and yellow sweatshirt, red plastic flips and crazy blue-green hair back to the op room.
“Fogarty, pay attention,” she said. “I’m naming this op. It’s Red Riders.”
“Hey. Whatever. Just remember it’s my act of genius.”
So now Carney was fully invested in the op. Braudel could turn to items other than supply.
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