Fox Wilde - Variant Exchange - A Punk Rock Spy Fiction Novel

Despite his dismal countenance, the boy brightened measurably.

“Matt,” Mr. Collins continued, turning to his younger companion, “I trust that you know your own way into the bowels of the GDR, and whom you are to be introduced to?”

“Yes, Sir. I do.” he responded. “Shall I make my way there?”

“I am to escort him…” Dragon Lady attempted, before being cut off by Mr. Collins.

“I think my agent is more than capable of seeing this through.”

Casually, so as not to provoke a hurried response, Matt and Mr. Collins reached into their waistbands, before drawing two suppressed pistols. Matt levied his pistol towards the surprised face of Patrick, while Mr. Collins pointed his at Dragon Lady. She made a face that almost seemed to border on surprise.

“Matt,” Mr. Collins said, “Please inform the dead man that justice will be done on his behalf.”

“Patrick,” Matt began, “You’re…”

“I fucking heard him!” Patrick seethed. He knew very well where this was going.

A loud pop, like the sound of an air compressor off-valving, echoed off of the walls of the nearby barn as Dragon Lady’s head snapped back forcefully. She hit the ground like a sack of dry meat, and not a word was spoken in her defense. Yet Mr. Collins did not appear satisfied, yet.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

Round after round was squeezed into her twitching corpse until his magazine was emptied. This magazine was dropped, only to be instantaneously replaced by another quickly emptying one.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop!

The rounds fired faster this time, causing her to dance near-comically before the horrified spectators—all but Patrick, who stared with wretched approval. Blood poured out onto the ground below her punctured body, with her face twisted in the only appropriate emotion anyone had ever seen on it. It looked like she had just received a new car for her birthday; but anyone that knew her knew it was as close to the feeling of betrayal that her kind would ever feel.

“Is your account settled?” Mr. Collins asked, turning to Patrick.

“Yes… yes, Sir. Yes Sir, it is.” Patrick said acidly, with his eyes glistening. “But before you…”

Pop!

The same sound of an air-compressor off-valving echoed off of the wall of the barn again, as Matt pulled the trigger. Patrick’s head snapped-back sickeningly quick as his face struggled to grasp the violence of hydrostatic shock. By the time his body hit the ground, the bullet had bounced around in his skull a thousand times, but he likely didn’t even comprehend the first. Fully satisfied, Matt holstered his pistol as Mr. Collins turned to Vivika.

“Is your account settled?” he asked her.

“Almost.” she said, staring hatefully at the corpse. The look of gratification was plainly displayed on her face as she stared—not even the slightest hint of forgiveness was anywhere to be seen. She savored a few extra seconds, with no one in the vicinity making a sound. After the moment seemed complete, however, she turned slowly, sighing to herself. Methodically, she walked over to Matt York who began shifting uncomfortably. Step after step brought her closer, with the newfound, reddish hues on his face darkening, until the two stood mere inches from each other. For awkward seconds, the two stared at each other. Hundreds, if not thousands of emotions passed between them, with very few possessing a positive bouquet. Yet the emotions were complicated enough—a casual passerby might chance to see the look of forgiveness, if not forgetting wrought on the face of the woman.

“Matt?”

“Yes Vivika?” Matt responding, swallowing.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know I am.”

With that, the young woman stood up on her tippy-toes and kissed him lightly on his cheek. Not sparing even the slightest second more on him or whatever emotions he may have felt in response, she turned on her heels and walked back to the corpse of Patrick. The young woman hovered over him, staring right down at his face. She sucked air in violently, welling up as much saliva as possible in the back of her throat. Then, with a complete lack of pomp and circumstance, she spat a very unladylike loogie directly into his eye.

“Now.” she said firmly, standing to look at Mr. Collins, “ Now my account is settled.”

“Good.” he responded as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired. “Now that that’s all settled, let’s get to it. We’ve a long walk ahead of us.”

With that, they parted ways, with Matt going one direction, and the remainder of the group walking in the opposite. The sun continued to rise inches off the horizon, with the shadows shorter for the onset of late-morning. The crispness remained, and the dew still clung to blades of grass as if daring the sun to penetrate the chill more than it already had. Yet one could taste the varied amounts of warmth on the wind, as the currents meandered about in tufts and breezes that felt pleasant on the faces of the travelers. These faces all bore smiles at the promise of adventure to come, yet not a word slipped through. No words need be said, after all, nor any more observations described.

Except for noting, perhaps, a pair of binoculars gripped in the wizened mitts of an elderly case officer far off in the distance, nodding at the appropriate end to the story. He didn’t smile, but he approved all the same.

Dear Reader

I wish to extend a heartfelt thank you for giving my writing a shot. This has been a hell of a process! This book has taken hundreds of hours of studying and interviewing, and the following books (one of which is currently being written!) have already required far more. I strive to put everything I have into doing something fresh and new by breathing real life and genuine complexity into the final products. It’s how I ensure that I’m earning your money.

I don’t accept donations or offer subscription services, and I never will. I don’t look down on my fellow artists that do; rather, I cheer their successes and wish them the best. But in order for me to know that my art is truly worth it in your eyes, I want every penny you spend on me to have gone towards a product you can put on a shelf.

So with that said, if you genuinely enjoyed my humble offering, would you do me a huge favor and rate my book on Amazon?

For those who wish to know, there are some folks out there in the authoring business that market books by giving self-published authors like myself bad ratings in order to game the system. By you giving me a fair rating, it will go a long way to combating these sorts of nefarious tactics.

Thank you, and much love!

—Fox J. Wilde

www.foxjwilde.com

Copyright © 2019 by Fox J. Wilde

www.foxjwilde.com

Edited by E A Hatcher

Cover design by Andrej Semnic (aka semnitz)

Interior design by TeaBerryCreative.com

The TL:DR version of the legal nonsense: share it to your heart’s content. Burn the book if you don’t like it. Quote me if you like (but please do quote me), and no I don’t care about online piracy. Not in the least. Sweat your own blood, and don’t plagiarize.

The right of Fox J. Wilde to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Don’t hate the player; hate the game.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in a separate document or publication, digital, physical or otherwise, that bears the name of anyone other than Fox J. Wilde, without the expressed permission of Fox J. Wilde. If you think it’s illegal, it probably is.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental. Blah blah blah, you get the idea.