Patrick Logan's Blog, page 4

Butterfly Kisses - Snippet #6

Chapter 5“So the tweeker Rachel called it in?”Chase nodded, lifting the police tape across the red door and gesturing for Drake to enter. He hesitated.“After you.”Another eyebrow raise, but Chase made no move to enter.Drake shrugged.Chivalry really is dead.He crossed the threshold first.“Yes,” Chase answered, following him inside. “She’s down at the station now giving an official statement. Said that last night around three am, she was awoken by someone pounding on the back door, yelling to open up.”Drake’s shoes crunched on the ground and he looked down. It appeared as if someone had laid a thick layer of sand across what he thought might be concrete.“And she did?”Chase nodded.“She opened the door, then says that our vic pushed by her and went inside. Said he looked scared, eyes red, like he had been crying, maybe. Could have just been the rain though.”Drake remembered the drying puddles in the alley outside.“And then what?”“Rachel says someone bopped her over the head, and she was knocked out cold. Woke up in the alley a few hours later, came inside and found the body.”Drake cocked his head.“She said that the man knocked at three and she was out cold for an hour or two… so why are we only getting here at—” he checked his Timex, “eleven-thirty?”“She says she was scared, didn’t know what to do.”“You believe that?”“Rachel Adams is well known to the police—the uniform that took her to the station had arrested her twice himself: once for possession of crystal, the other for soliciting. The way I figure it, is that she needed to clean up some of her product before calling it in.”Drake thought about this for a moment.“Which would explain why she opened the door at three am instead of calling the uniforms right away. Probably expecting a custy or a delivery. She mention that she was waiting for someone? Her pimp? A dealer?”Chase reached over to a small box on the floor and pulled out blue shoe covers. After putting them overtop of her flats, she offered a pair to Drake. He took them and slid them over his worn loafers.“That’s what I was thinking. But no pimp. Uniforms say that she just turned tricks on her own in order to score—wasn’t a regular thing. A dealer makes more sense.”Drake bit his lip.“Did you ID the vic?”Chase shook her head.“No wallet.”“Hmm. Give the station a call, get them to question her about a wallet. If she was turning tricks to score some dope, I wouldn’t put it by her to steal a dead man’s wallet.”Chase stared at him for a moment, and Drake looked back, confusion washing over him. When her eyes darted to the radio on his belt, he realized why.“Sorry,” he grumbled. “It’s just that Clay was always the one to call things in. We can talk to her directly when we get back to the station.”Chase reached for her radio, and unclicked it.“That’s alright, I’ll let them know to hold her until we come in.”While she made the call, Drake looked around.They were in what appeared to be some sort of warehouse. One of the officers had set up a bright light in the corner, which cast the entire space in an artificial glow with hard shadows.He guessed the main room was eighteen to twenty feet long, but only about ten feet wide. The sand on the ground was disturbed in many places, and he saw long, flat depressions at regular intervals.It was a crack den, he was sure of it; the deep indents were from people sleeping on the floor. Toward the back of half of the room was a white plastic sheet that ran floor to ceiling, behind which he could make out the bright halos of other lights.There were several used condoms on the floor and a smashed bong by one wall, all of which had yellow tags with numbers on them placed beside each item. There were two uniforms inside the warehouse, and perhaps more behind the plastic curtain based on the shadows he noted within; one was busy taking pictures of the paraphernalia, while the other had his nose buried in his cell phone.He kicked at the sand with his covered shoe. Then he turned to Chase, who had since reclipped her radio to her hip.“Not going to find any usable footprints here,” he said. “What’s with the sand?”Chase started to walk toward the plastic curtain.“Junkies lay it down,” she paused. “You ever see someone deep in a k-hole?”Drake shook his head. He was familiar with the concept: essentially, if you injected enough Ketamine, your brain would completely disconnect from your body and you were lost in a sort of void.The k-hole.“Well, sometimes if you go deep enough, you can shit or piss yourself and not even know it.”Drake screwed up his face, and then leaned down and adjusted the boot coverings so that they covered his entire loafers.“So this is like some sort of kitty litter for crack addicts?”“Something like that.”When Drake continued to look at her, she raised a hand defensively.“What can I say? Worked as a Narc in Seattle for seven years.”Again, Drake was taken aback by this comment.Seven years? She can’t be older than… what? Thirty-three? Thirty-five at most?Chase looked away, clearly uncomfortable now.“Anyways, there’s something else you are going to want to see.”Drake had a feeling that this was coming.“The reason why our vic was shirtless?”Chase smiled.“Bingo,” she replied, then pulled back the curtain, revealing the crime scene.

BUTTERFLY KISSES - Snippet #5

Chapter 4Drake scratched at the beard that was starting to grow on his face, the length of which surprised him.“Yeah, I don’t know about that.”Chase squinted up at him, her manicured eyebrows knitting.“You don’t know about that? Well, here’s what I know: there’s a dead body here,” she sighed, as if this whole interaction was an incredible bore. “If this is going to be a problem, take it up with Sergeant Rhodes.”And with that, she spun on her flats and started down the alley. Drake watched her go for a moment, trying to catch his bearings.Partner? No one told me about a partner—shit, nobody told me about anything. Just, “take six months off, get cleared by the head shrink, then come back”.That was it.Not, hey we are going to team you up with some rookie homicide detective, a replacement for your partner. Shit, he’s been dead for a half year now, isn’t that long enough? Aren’t you over him yet?He cleared his throat, and then wished that he still had another sip of Johnny to get him through what was already turning out to be a bumble fuck of a day.With a shake of his head, he hurried after Detective Adams.“Wait up,” he said, but she didn’t slow. It was only when he made it up next to her did she start speaking, only she didn’t look at him this time.“White male, mid- to late-thirties,” she said, her voice flat, even. “Naked from the waist up, hands bound behind his back.”Drake’s brow furrowed.“Shirtless? What about the shoes?”Chase hesitated, but only for a moment.“Ah, dispatch,” she said with an air of understanding. “Yeah, dress shirt, suit jacket. Laid out nicely on a chair. Was still wearing his shoes; looks like they’re made of snake or alligator skin. Expensive.”Drake nodded. Clearly robbery was not the motive.“Cause of death?”Chase shook her head.“Unknown.”As they walked, Drake was keenly observing his surroundings, trying to piece together what had happened. The alley was narrow, devoid of street lights. A place to be avoided by a man wearing six or eight hundred dollar shoes. Clinton Hill was known for its junkies and the occasional prostitute, but mostly the former.Alligator shoes was a new one for him.“Is the medical examiner on the way?”Chase nodded.“A senior medical examiner by the name of… Dr. Beckett Campbell? Yeah, I think that’s it. You know him?”Something happened to Drake’s face then, something so foreign that at first he thought he was stricken by some sort of palsy. But after a moment, he realized what it was: a hint of a smile.Beckett was young, with bleach blond hair and tattoos covering both arms, which Drake suspected extended to his back and chest too, although he hadn’t had the opportunity to confirm.Beckett Campbell was pretty much the antithesis of Drake himself, but maybe that’s why he appreciated the man as he did. That, and Beckett had a way of speaking that made Drake feel like he had been to medical school, and not a fucking idiot who squeaked through high school by the thinnest of margins. In fact, it was probably this attitude and approach that had made Beckett so amenable to both his peers and to homicide, which had in turn more than likely contributed to his rapid rise to Senior Medical Examiner.“Yeah, I know him. Good guy. Better doctor.”Drake allowed his eyes to drift as he spoke. The alley was long and narrow, flanked on one side by a chain-link fence, and a row of buildings on the other. There were doors marking the building, all of them handleless and flush with the brick wall, mostly as a deterrent to burglars, although Drake hadn’t an idea what a potential robber would hope to steal here.All the doors looked the same, except for the red one that he didn’t need his detective skills to know that they were headed towards. That one was covered by yellow crime scene tape.“Who discovered the body?” he asked, eyes drifting to the windows that started ten or more feet up, all of which were covered with bars.“A junkie—Rachel Adams, no relation.”Drake waited for her to continue, but when she offered nothing else, he prodded. It was like pulling teeth.He shook his head and resolved himself to starting over.“Look, Chase, I think—”Chase suddenly stopped and turned to look at him. He expected coldness based on the abruptness of the maneuver, but was surprised by the solemn, almost sad expression on what he now conceded wasn’t just a face, but a pretty face.“Damien—”“Please, just call me Drake.”She raised an eyebrow as if to say, oh, so now we’re chummy, but then the look vanished.“Okay, Drake. I just want to let you know that I’m not here to replace Clay. I heard that you guys were close, and I’m sorry to hear about what happened to him. I know…” her eyes became vacant for a moment, then she shook her head briefly. “I just want to solve this crime, and move on to the next, you know?”Drake nodded and then surprised himself by holding out his hand. She looked at it, and he instantly recognized the expression.It was the same one that he had given Chase when she had offered her hand to shake. But unlike him, she grabbed his and pumped it twice.Her hand was soft and strangely cool to the touch despite the sun beating down on them. Drake went to pull his hand away, but she held firm, and then drew him closer. The act, as well as the strength in her small frame, surprised him.“And don’t drink next time you come to my crime scene, alright?”Drake’s eyes bulged slightly, and he looked away, feeling his ears go hot again. Chase released her grip and a smile returned to her face.Then she turned and continued down the alley, and Drake followed.

Butterfly Kisses - Snippet #4

Chapter 3Drake wiped the whiskey from his lips with the back of his hand and was about to reach for another when the radio on the passenger seat suddenly squawked.“Detective Drake?”It had been six months since his radio had come alive with all the clarity of an AM station in the Lincoln Tunnel. The first month, he had checked the batteries nearly every day, making sure that they were still good, hoping that he would hear his name being called.The second month, he had kept it close to his side.By the third month, he had begun to loathe the thing, and now, sixth months after his partner’s murder, it held all the appeal of a rotten banana.“Drake?” the staticky voice chirped again.Drake cleared his throat and grabbed the radio. No matter what had happened, he still had a job to do.“Drake here,” he said, surprised at how calm and even his voice sounded.“A body was found in an abandoned warehouse in Clinton Hill this morning.”What, no welcome back, Drake? No, we missed you, Damien?His brow furrowed and his brain immediately started to formulate a scenario based only on those four words: abandoned warehouse, Clinton Hill.“Where in the Hill?”“Luther Avenue.”And with that, his narrative was nearly complete.“Junkie? Tweeker?”There was a short pause.“No. Well-dressed man, expensive shoes.”The narrative dissolved.Expensive shoes?“Is it—”“Just get there, Drake.”The radio clicked, and Drake pushed his lips together, surprised by the dispatcher’s curtness. He debated pushing the button and asking more questions, but the abrupt tone and end to the conversation changed his mind.Drake suddenly wished that he had more whiskey left, but the only bottle remaining in his car wasListerine. He filled his mouth, swished, spat, and then started his car.Twenty minutes later, he arrived at his first crime scene in six months.***There were more squad cars than Drake expected, even if the victim had been wearing “expensive shoes”. Clinton Hill was no stranger to its share of homicides, but most were drug related, usually involving local residents.The last time he had been in the neighborhood, he had been investigating a small-time meth pusher who had been murdered by repeated blows to his head with a towel rack of all things.Three staggered police cars blocked the entrance to a narrow alley, and Drake had already been forced to weave between two others to gain access to the adjoining street.Drake parked next to one of the squad cars, briefly smelled his breath and then stepped out into the sun.He had taken maybe three steps before a man in uniform approached. He opened his mouth to say something, but Drake held up his shield before he got a word out.“Detective Drake,” he said, lips pressed together tightly. “Homicide.”The uniform was a dark black man with a bristly mustache and light eyes, as if he was wearing colored contacts. As a policeman for a decade, and a homicide detective for four years, Drake thought he knew most, if not all, of the beat cops in NYC. Not everyone, surely, there were over thirty-thousand of New York’s Finest on payroll, but someone like this, a man in his mid-to-late forties, in this neighborhood, he should have definitely come across in the past.But while he was a stranger to Drake, the way the uniform looked at him, as if Drake had uttered a blaspheme in church, suggested some recognition on his part.Drake made a face.“And? The body?”Dark lids slid over gray eyes in a slow blink.“Sorry, come with me please, Detective.”The lean black man, who hadn’t offered his name in return, briskly walked toward the alley. Several ofthe other officers that they passed stared at them, and it was all Drake could do not to stare back, to ask them what the hell they were looking at.His first thought was that Suzan’s psychiatrist had called him in, or worse, placed a complaint. But given his history, he knew that the strangely silent radio now clipped to his hip would have crackled like the Fourth of July if that were the case.You’re imagining things just like back at the school, he scolded himself.They had nearly reached the yellow police tape with the ubiquitous CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS written on it, when a young woman, not much older than Suzan herself, came toward him. She was short, maybe five-four, with dark brown hair tucked neatly behind her ears. Her eyes, which were locked on him, were a brilliant green color, but aside from them and a slight blush to her cheeks, her face was otherwise devoid of color.A reporter? Some broad straight out of NYU trying to boost her blog ratings? How did she get past the uniforms?Drake reached out and put a hand on the officer’s shoulder in front of him.“Hey, what’s she doing here? She a reporter? I—” hate reporters, he was about to say, when the man shrugged him off awkwardly and continued forward.Before he could speak again, the woman, for despite her short stature and smallish features he now saw was in her mid-thirties, lifted the yellow tape and tilted her head as an invitation for him to duck under.“Homicide Detective Damien Drake,” he said curtly. The woman nodded, and again gestured for him to pass under the tape.This time he obliged.When he was on the other side, she turned and started down what he now saw was an alley that extended for maybe a hundred and fifty yards.He reached out again, but pulled his hand at the last second.“Umm, and you are?” he said, trying not to sound like a complete asshole.She craned her neck around, and he was surprised that she was holding a hand out to him.“Chase Adams.”Drake hesitated, his eyes darting to her hand, before coming back to her face.“Yeah, but who are you?”A hint of a smile crossed her lips.“Homicide.”Drake raised an eyebrow, then quickly lowered it when he realized that his reaction was not only expected, but desired, as well.“I’m your new partner.”

Butterfly Kisses - Snippet #3

Chapter 2“Get away from the car, Suze. Get away from the car, right now,” Drake demanded. Even though he was speaking to the girl with the backpack, he wasn’t aiming the gun at her. Instead, the barrel was focused squarely on the shadow of the man’s head in the rearview window.“What the hell are you doing?” she snapped back, her thin eyebrows knitting together. Her face had turned a deep shade of scarlet. “Put the damn gun away!”Drake shook his head.“Not until you get away from the car,” he repeated.The driver side door suddenly flew open and a thin man hauled himself out of the Mercedes.“What is going—” he began, but stopped when his eyes fell on the gun in Drake’s hand. Unlike Suzan, any color that he might have had in his narrow face drained away.Without so much as uttering a word, he immediately tried to slide back into the driver seat.Drake didn’t let him.“Get out!” he shouted.The man’s eyes darted from Drake’s face, to the gun, and back again giving the detective just enough time to think don’t do it, before the man leapt into his car.Drake swore and rushed at him, lowering the gun to his hip.Thankfully the window was open, and Drake grabbed the opening before the man could put the car into drive.“Get the of the car, now,” he hissed. For a split second, Drake thought that the man—who he now saw was in his mid-forties, sharply dressed in a maroon V-neck and a pale gray sport coat—was going to put the car into drive anyway.But when he raised the gun again, not quite putting it in the window, but just raising it high enough that the sun glinted off the silver barrel, the man withdrew his right hand from the gear shift, and held it up with his left.Drake opened the door and then twisted his fingers into the collar of the man’s sport coat.“Get out,” he grumbled. This time he helped the man complete the request by yanking him from the vehicle.“I don’t know who you are, but I’m gonna call the fucking cops,” the man said. In that moment, he must have realized that others were around them now, standing a respectable distance from Drake and his gun.Anywhere else, they might have run screaming or thrown themselves to the ground and covered the backs of their heads with trembling hands.But this was NYC; they didn’t run when they saw a gun. Instead, they watched.And their presence seemed to imbue the man with courage.“Call the police! Someone call the police on this psycho!”“Shut up,” Drake spat. His fingers still gripping the collar of a very expensive feeling sport coat, Drake spun the man around and shoved him gruffly up against the car. Then he leaned in close, smelling his own whiskey-tinged breath even before he spoke. “You think you can come here in broad daylight and kidnap a teenager? You think you can—”“Someone call the police!” the man yelled. Drake pulled back then shoved again. The man’s nose bounced off the hood of the car and he groaned. Yet despite his obvious pain, he never stopped yelling.“Call the police! Help! Help! Call the cops!”Drake grit his teeth.“You better—”“He is the police!” Suzan suddenly shouted. “He is the fucking police!”And with this, the man with the now bloodied nose clammed up.“Yeah, that’s right,” Drake said, tugging the gold shield off his belt and flashing it in front of the man’s face as he looked over his shoulder. “You think in broad daylight you can drive around in your fancy car, wearing your fancy suit and lure young girls into your car? In front of a cop? You cocky—”Someone grabbed his arm, and Drake roughly shrugged the hand off. When the voice that cried out was young and female, he turned.Suzan was standing a foot behind him, tears spilling down her cheeks as she massaged her palm.“He’s not a pervert,” she said quietly.Drake’s grip on the man’s jacket loosened.“Suze, sweetie, you don’t know that. He may seem nice, and I don’t know what he offered you to get into his car, but men like this… I know men like this. All they want is—”Drake bit his tongue.The girl was already terrified, and nothing could be gained by making inferences to other crimes that her father had gone to great lengths to protect her from.She was shaking her head, and as he watched her hands went to her face, cradling her soft features.In the distance, Drake thought he heard a police siren. And then he was outside of himself, watching the scene play out before him not as the orchestrator, but as one of the bold spectators.What the hell am I doing?Drake’s hands fell to his sides, and the man on the car managed to flip around, only he was no longer clean-shaven, with neatly, if thin, cropped hair and gold spectacles framing his narrow face.Instead, this man had a thick brown beard and dark eyes. Eyes that were welling with tears.It was Clay Cuthbert’s face, his partner’s face, moments before he died.“Wha—” Drake croaked as he stumbled backward. If it hadn’t been for Suzan standing behind him, he might have fallen on his ass.“He’s not a creep,” Suze said angrily. “He’s my fucking psychiatrist!”Drake shook his head and turned to look at her.“Your what?”“My psychiatrist!” she screamed. And then, completely unexpectedly, Suze slapped him across the chest with both hands.“Suze—”“Don’t fucking Suze me! Only my dad calls me that!” she slapped him again, and Drake moved away.“You fucking ruined everything! Everything! Why don’t you just leave me alone?”Drake was shocked to the point of silence.Psychiatrist? Why was a seventeen-year-old girl seeing a psychiatrist?But he already knew the answer; after Clay had been killed, the use of a psychiatrist had not only been offered to all members of NYPD Homicide, but had been encouraged.And this offer had been extended to their families, of course.Suzan’s face was a mess, the tears streaming down her face spreading what little makeup she wore in streams like melted crayons.“You ruined everything!”Drake swallowed hard and slipped the gun back into the holster under his armpit.“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, holding back tears of his own. Now it was his turn to look around. Children stared at him from between the bars of the fence, the black metal framing their faces as if they were being held in a pediatric prison. Teachers stood gape-mouthed, clipboards clutched to their chests so tightly that a small breeze might cause the particle board to snap.Parents were frozen half-in and half-out of cars that cost at least five times as much as his own.What the fuck are you doing, Drake? What are you doing?“I—I—I’m sorry,” he stammered. He pulled his detective shield out again, this time holding it up for everyone to see. “NYPD—this is all just… just a terrible misunderstanding. Please, there is no danger here. Go back to your… to your classes.”Drake was saying the words loud enough for every bystander to hear, but they were only meant for one person: the terrified girl standing with her hands at her sides, her long hair now draped in front of her face.“I’m sorry.”And then he turned and hurried back to his car.“You got blood on my shirt!” the psychiatrist called after him. “I’m sending you the dry-cleaning bill, asshole!”Drake’s own face was burning now and his ears felt as if they were on fire. He knew that everyone was staring at him, but Drake’s only focus was on his rusty Crown Vic.His hands were shaking, and when he was finally within the safe confines of his vehicle he reached into his pocket for another miniature. And he would have pulled it out too, right there with everyone watching, when time unexpectedly burped forward and the sound of kids resuming their games as if nothing had happened reminded him of where he was.Clutching the bottle inside his pocket, he used his other hand to slip the car into drive and sped off, trying his best not to look at anyone, Suzan Cuthbert included.

Butterfly Kisses - Snippet #2

PART I - CaterpillarChapter 1A gunshot shocked NYPD Detective Damien Drake from his slumber. His hand immediately slid between his jacket and shirt, his fingers searching for the gun buried in the holster beneath his armpit.He blinked once, twice, then moved his hand away from the butt of his gun. Breathing heavily, he worked his fingers into the pocket of his worn sport coat, and squeezed the small, glass bottle between thumb and forefinger.As he teased the miniature bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label out, he tried to stretch his legs, pushing his feet into the floor of the car between the gas and brake. He groaned, then closed his eyes for a moment.He had heard a gunshot, but it hadn’t come from outside.It had been in his head.As had been the face of his partner, Clay Cuthbert, his eyes wide, moist.His pale cheeks hollow with the tangible wrench of terror.Drake heard another sound now, but unlike the gunshot, this one was real: the unmistakable clink of metal tabs breaking as he unscrewed the cap on the miniature.When he opened his eyes again, he was surprised that the sun had decided that today it would finally shake free of its frosty shroud. For March in New York City, this was no less than a formidable feat.As Drake brought the bottle to his lips and took a sizable gulp, he observed the squat brick building with the circular drive outside his window, his eyes skipping along the fence that cordoned off a small park.I must have been out for three hours, he thought, unwilling to confirm or deny this by expending the effort to look at his worn Timex.He supposed he could have looked at the digital clock embedded in the dashboard, but he had never bothered to set the damn thing. For twelve years he had owned the creme-colored Crown Victoria, and yet in none of that time had he bothered to fiddle with the damn thing. Unlike the sun, some things just weren’t worth the effort or frustration.He grunted, and took another sip. Aware that the interior of his car reeked of stale sweat and staler alcohol, he cracked the window an inch, relishing the familiarity of smog-tinged air.The sound of a bell ringing cut through the miasma that filled the Crown Vic. This time, Drake stopped his hand before it made it to the butt of his gun.Cut it out. Get control of yourself.As if to prove to himself that he was indeed in control, he finished the miniature, screwed the cap back on, and tossed it to the floor of the passenger seat. When it clanged against several other bottles, he cringed, expecting to hear the sound of glass breaking. But after several more clinks, it eventually settled, and he relaxed his shoulders.The damn things were usually made of plastic, anyway.The muscles in his upper back had tightened, and the fact that he had slept in his car more nights than a bed since his suspension had started had done nothing in terms of making him more accustomed to the conditions.Isn’t the body supposed to adapt? Get used to shitty thoughts, shittier accommodations?A gaggle of children, ranging by Drake’s estimation to be anywhere between five and fifteen years of age, flooded out of the side door of the school as if the building itself was regurgitating them. Their high-pitched squeals of glee, jubilant cries, and amorphous grunts filtered up to him through the crack in his window, and he instantly regretted opening it. And yet he made no move to close it.Instead, he watched their smooth faces, most lineless even in smile, his gaze following them across a paved area with basketball hoops that hadn’t seen an actual net for longer than most had been alive.The younger kids—Drake only identified them as such as they seemed to have not yet gained the insight of self-awareness, their eyes locking in on a play structure without first darting to their friends for approval—went mostly to the swings and slides, while the older kids moved toward the giant field at the back of the school. The field was bordered by chipped white soccer goalposts, but during all the days Drake had parked outside Hockley Middle and High School, he had never actually seen anyone playing soccer.Or basketball, for that matter.As the kids spread out and their incessant drone became more diffuse, Drake found himself staring at three boys with spiked hair and backpacks adorned with chrome spikes and patches from bands that he didn’t recognize. They shuffled instead of walked, their heavy boots barely rising off first the paved basketball area then the newly shorn grass field. The teenager on the left, who was two or three inches taller than the others and sported long blond hair that nearly reached his shoulders, leered at a much younger girl in a miniskirt.The boy said something, and while Drake was too far to pick out the exact words, and an experienced lip reader he was not, the toothy expression on the kid’s face said enough.The girl responded sharply, and her grimace allowed an exchange to play out in Drake’s mind.The boy stopped smiling and the trio tucked behind the school, their backs pressing up against the wall.What are they doing?But when the blond boy, eyes darting again, reached into his backpack, Drake felt a sudden pang in his chest.Columbine was a long time removed, and now most everyone in NYC expected the next attack to come from a dark-skinned man speaking Arabic, Drake still felt on edge.Without thinking, his hand snaked over to the door handle, and he gripped the warm metal tightly, ready to pounce.He let go when the boy pulled out a worn pack of Marlboro’s and furtively held it out to his friends.What the hell is wrong with you? Get a grip!Drake took a deep breath and looked away from the wannabe punk rockers smoking cigarettes, his eyes drifting back to the front of the school.And that’s when he saw her. At first, he tried not to overreact—it’s not her, just like the cigarettes weren’t miniature pipe bombs—but as he stared more intently, he realized that it could be her. Her back was to him, a pink backpack slung over one shoulder, her long, straight, brown hair descending halfway down her back. She was wearing tight dark jeans, and a pair of worn converse sneakers. A white blouse clung to her thin shoulders.It’s her.Drake swallowed hard and grabbed the door handle again, although this time he wasn’t trying to strangle the metal. Instead, he pulled gently and the door opened. Warm air rushing against his face, which he only now realized was covered in a thin layer of sweat.As Drake stepped out of his Crown Vic, another car pulled up beside the girl and the window slowly lowered. She turned and must have recognized the person inside, as she walked over to the car and leaned on the half open window.Now in profile, Drake knew it was her. He recognized that nose, straight but thin, and the long eyelashes, full lips.Drake closed his car door and started toward her, wondering who this person in the car was.The girl suddenly threw her head back and laughed, her long hair quivering like a cape.Squinting hard, knowing that he shouldn’t be here, that he was overreacting, he peered through the rearview window of the Mercedes.It was a man, he concluded. And judging by the way the shadow of his hair was thinning, it was an older man at that.No, this isn’t right.Drake realized that his hands were balled into fists, and he slowly forced them open.It’s nothing. A teacher, maybe. A friend’s father. Don’t overreact, Drake. Don’t lose it again.But when the girl reached for the door and started to open it, all rational thought fled him.She’s going to get in the car and never be seen again!He broke into a jog.“Suze!” he yelled. “Suze, don’t get in the car!”But either the shouts from the kids playing in the playground or the music that he could now hear coming from the car window were too loud and the girl didn’t hear him.He picked up his pace as she started to lower herself into the car seat.You’re never going to see her again. Never. Kidnapped. Raped. Murdered. And it will all be your fault.“Suze!” he yelled. “Suzan, don’t get in the car!”The girl turned, and when their eyes met, the smile slid off her pretty face.Hatred burned in those dark hazel eyes.Even before she raised her hand and flipped him the bird, he realized what was going to happen. She started to close the door, and he could see her lips moving.Go, let’s go, she was saying to the driver, who had turned his head around in response to his shouts.Drake could see what was happening, and there was only one way he figured he could stop it.If Suzan left in that car, she would be gone forever. For some reason, he was sure of this.Damien Drake reached into the holster under his left armpit and pulled out his pistol.“Get out of the car, Suze! Get out, now!”___________Hope you enjoyed Chapter 1 of BUTTERFLY KISSES. Remember, you can still pre-order your copy now for less than a buck (on all retailers!). Just click HERE.

Snippet from my upcoming thriller, BUTTERFLY KISSES

BUTTERFLY KISSESPATRICK LOGANUNEDITEDPrologueThe man wiped sweat from his brow and then hooked two fingers between his tie and throat and yanked it loose. Heart racing, he stumbled into the alley, heading toward the single light that cast a jaundiced glow over a metal door roughly halfway down the narrow passage.He hurried towards the door, no longer attempting to avoid the puddles that threatened to soak his custom alligator loafers. A delicate splash, like a marble being dropped into a swimming pool, sounded from somewhere behind him and he whipped his head around. Squinting, trying to force his eyes to focus, he scanned the alley.Where are you? What do you want from me?Remaining completely still, the man waited. When the sound didn’t recur, and he didn’t detect so much as a flicker of movement in the shadows, he turned his attention back to the door.His searching hand confirmed what he already suspected: the door had no exterior handle. There was no way to open it from the alley. The man swore, then, as much as he was opposed to the idea of being seen here, in this place, this alley, he realized that he had no other choice.Not with him coming.With a deep breath, he made a fist and pounded against the door. “Hey! Anyone in there! Hey!” he shouted. “Hey! Open up! Please!”The man’s voice was strangely tight, almost unrecognizable to even himself.With the hand not pounding on the door, he reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out his cell phone, hoping that it had recharged while laying dormant. Just enough to turn on, to make a single call. “Hey! Anybody in there?” His heart fluttered in his chest when rubbing his thumb over the button near the bottom failed to illuminate the screen. He swore again and slipped the dead phone back into his pocket. Desperation reaching a fever pitch, knowing that the man couldn’t be far behind, he used both hands to pound on the door now all the while shouting for someone to open up, to open the goddamn door.Something fluttered beside his ear, and the man yanked his head away, a scream caught in his throat.He swatted about his head madly with a free hand, his heart jackhammering in his chest so hard that he thought it might burst from his ribcage and thrum across the concrete alley like a gnat on a steel drum. “No,” he moaned, trying to evade the flying insect that seemed to have taken keen interest in him. “It can’t be.”The insect banked hard to avoid his palm, and the light reflected off it’s wings. “Please. That was so long ago,” the man whimpered, “Please.”The yellow light above the door reflected off the insect’s wings and for a brief moment, he thought that it was a Monarch butterfly, with beautiful orange wings segmented by smooth black lines. It can’t be—it’s too early for butterflies… it—it can’t be.But then the flying insect drifted upward toward the light, and he realized that it wasn’t a butterfly. It was just a generic moth, drawn, much like he had been, to the only light in the alley.And yet this realization did nothing to slow his racing heart.On the verge of hyperventilating, he pounded on the door again.Monarch or not, he knew that this wasn’t over.Not yet.“Please, someone—”And then, unbelievably, the door did open, if only a crack.“Shifty, that you? Whatchu doin’ out der at 3 AM? Whatchu—” a woman’s scratchy voice demanded. The man didn’t hesitate. He thrust his manicured fingers into the two-inch gap between the door and frame, and gripped it tightly. The woman immediately tried to pull the door closed again.“You ain’t Shifty,” she said, a tremor in her voice. The door was crushing his fingers now, but he didn’t care.Nothing in this world would make him let go now.The sound of footfalls in puddles in the alley behind him forced the man into action. Gripping the door tightly, ignoring the pain as the metal bit into his knuckles, he pulled with all his might. At first the woman in the dark interior of what he thought might have a been a crack den, resisted, but she was no match for his strength, for his determination.After all, she didn’t know what was chasing him.The woman cried out. She had been trying so hard to keep the door closed that when it was finally swung wide, she went with it, her rail thin body thrown into the alley. The man saw her emaciated arms peppered with red track marks, her damp, mangy hair, and sunken eyes as she flew by him.“You ain’t Shifty!” she cried, as she pulled herself to her feet in an action that was all knees and elbows. “You ain’t Shifty!”The man ignored her and stepped inside the pitch black building. As he did, the toe of one of his loafers clipped something lying on the floor. The object skittered across the surface, which seemed uncharacteristically soft, like sand or dirt. It made a whoop whoop whoop sound as it receded into the darkness,  before it struck something hard and exploded into what could only be breaking glass.Where are the lights? Where are the lights? His mind screamed. Where the hell are the lights?He ran his hands along the wall, ignoring the rough texture that scratched his palms.“You ain’t Shifty!” the woman screamed from the alley, her voice even more shrill now. That’s good; keep yelling, wake others. “Shifty gonna come back and he gonna—”Her words came to an abrupt halt, and without looking back, the man stumbled deeper into the building, frantically rubbing the walls now, desperate for a light switch that didn’t seem to exist.Sweat dripped down his forehead and stung his eyes. Just when he was about to give up hope, his fingers struck something jutting from the wall.Yes! His mind screamed. He flicked the switch up.Nothing happened.He flicked it down. Still nothing.Close to tears now, he flicked the switch up and down repeatedly, as if trying to manually prime a building whose only electricity seem to feed the sickly yellow bulb in the alley.“Please,” he moaned. “It was—”But a gloved hand slipped around his nose and mouth from behind, cutting off his sentence just as it had done to the crackhead in the alley. He screamed, but the sound was muffled by thick leather. His own hands grabbed for the glove, tore at it, trying to peel it from his face. But the grip was just too strong. Something sharp pricked him in the side of the neck, just above the collar of his dress shirt.And then… nothing.Time seemed to slow, and he thought that the hand on his face was loosening.Hope crept him into him like a virus. Hope that he might just make it out of here after all. That the man would let him go, forgive him his sins, his transgressions, like a compassionate priest or Chaplin.But then he felt a deep burning sensation in his throat and lungs, a burning that flooded his system with such intensity that it dropped him to his knees.From there, the man was lowered gently to the ground, before being flipped onto his back. This deep into the building, the darkness was all encompassing, but the man in the alligator loafers thought he saw something in the blackness nonetheless.A butterfly. A beautiful Monarch butterfly spreading its wings and ascending toward the heavens.And then it, like the man in the suit, was gone.***Butterfly Kisses is on pre-order now for only 99c. Price is going up once it's released, so don't forget to head over to amazon and pre-order now!

Free book? Yes, please.

WITCH (Family Values Trilogy Book 0) is now available and it's COMPLETELY FREE. All you have to do is sign-up to my newsletter at www.PTLBooks.com.Just in time for Halloween. Enjoy, you freaks.Pat

Daddy's home!

FATHER, Book 2 in the Family Values Trilogy is now available... it has everything from possession, to murder, suicide, mental patients... you name it, FATHER has it. It picks up just a short while after Mother but not to worry, some of your favorite characters from Book 1 in the Family Values Trilogy make an appearance. It was a blast to write as well... it's fast-paced, but clocks in at around 80k words. If you liked MOTHER, than you are going to love FATHER.GRAB YOUR COPY FROM AMAZON.COM TODAY!

PARASITE is LIVE

... and PARASITE is finally LIVE -- Book 4 in the Insatiable Series is now available on AMAZON.COM.75k words of mayhem and horror, PARASITE brings together characters from the previous three books in an action-fueled continuation of the horrors first encountered in SKIN.You know those ratings and warnings they have before TV shows? Last night I was thinking about how many tags I would have to use for PARASITE if these were also required for books.This what I came up with:18+V - violence: graphic

MOTHER

Mother, the first book in the Family Values Trilogy, is now available from Amazon! Keep your eyes peeled for Books 2 and 3 out this Summer.  In other news, Parasite, the fourth book in the Insatiable Series, is also available for pre-order.  Make sure you sign up to my newsletter at www.PTLBooks.com to keep up to date on new releases and contests.