buried

I apologize if this is too long...

It always starts the same way. I get a cup of coffee, eat a bagel, and then some fat crackhead (yeah, that's right, a fat crackhead) sadly attempts to convince me that she has never been a prostitute. I'm surprised she can tell me this without laughing.

She's repulsive, her hands and lips covered in burns, and she has three,
very stained, protruding teeth. Even so, men pay her for sex. I stuff her
into the back of my police car and take her to jail. The entire trip she spends trying to convince me everything is going well in her life. She's got a new job. Her oldest daughter just made the honor role. All lies! Her breath reeks of burned metal, from sucking crack smoke through a car antenna, an odor I never quite get used to. Her arrest prevents three shopliftings, several disturbances, and no less than forty illicit sex acts. But nobody really cares.

This morning everything was different,though. There were no crackheads, no fight calls, no "crackery." I had breakfast, my usual conglomeration of black coffee,fresh pastries,and several unfiltered cigarettes, which always leaves me feeling much like a bloated water bottle. Then, according to routine, I stopped at the BP station to relieve myself in their outdoor facility. This particular location is ideal because I can access it without having to speak to the attendant, or any patrons, all of which overcome mind-boggling
obstacles to find stupid questions for me to answer. I once had a guy jump a chain-link fence to ask me, "How's it going officer? How about the
humidity today? What do you think about that?" Why would I "think" about humidity?

But instead of urinating, a streak of good fortune befell me.
I parked on the back side of the building and turned off the patrol car. As I didso,the rear door opened. I turned to see an older gentleman, wearing a trench coat,black gloves, and a wide-brimmed hat. He sat down in the rear seat, and with no expression on his wrinkled face said, “Don‘t turn
the car off, Williams. Lets go.” His bushy eyebrows touched, creating a
wavy gray stripe than ran the width of his head, and his eyes were
a diminutive, sea-foam green. He scanned the parking lot quickly as if
checking for followers.

"What?" My name was Connor, so I assumed he was insane. But something
about his demeanor, as well as his neatly groomed beard, led me to believe he might be sophisticated. Might even have been rich. Couldn't he see my nametag?

"C'mon, Williams, we have to hurry. Take 440 to NewBern. We have to do this quick." He then leaned down in the rear seat to hide himself.

I have no idea why, but I drove. I pulled onto the Interstate and headed
toward NewBern Avenue as Soft Cell's "Tainted Love" poured out of my car stereo.Something compelled me. Some unknown driving force that I felt in the pit of my stomach. Something good was about to happen. Something beneficial, I had just knew it.

"I never figured the savior would be a cop." His deep voice resonated from the rear floorboard. "I thought I'd be giving it to a priest, or maybe a child. But I never thought it would be a cop."

"Yeah," I said, completely unaware of what he was referring to. "Isn't that odd?"

"I guess not all cops are bad." He laughed loudly, the raucous, barely controlled laugh of someone under a lot of pressure. Someone who was finally getting a release. "In Nigeria,they almost had me. I thought the prize was lost, our cause at an end. Are you married,Williams?"

"Does it matter?" I answered.

He was silent for a moment, except for a rasp I heard in his breathing. "I guess not. Dodson's dead, you know."

"Dodson, dead?" Thats a shame," I said, fighting back the
urge to ask, "Who the fuck is Dodson?"

"He was a good man. They got him on the bridge. Damn Nigerians! Turn here." He pointed to the Howard Johnson Hotel, a run down little joint that offered hourly rates to the local hookers.

I pulled around to the rear parking lot and stopped at room 66. "I'll be right out," he said. "Leave the engine running."

The old man was a blur of movement. He was in the room and out in seconds, his wrinkled face constantly panning from side to side. I started to think he might be schizophrenic, but I couldn't leave, after all, he might have had money.

He approached the driver window. "Remember, don't put it on until its time to fight. They'll know if you do." He produced a Crown Royal bag from his coat pocket.

As my palms touched the bag, I felt something shift from within the velvet confines. I fumbled to untie the strings.

"Don't open it here," the old man said, his voice raising an octave.

"It's Okay," I said. "Remember, I'm the chosen one."
Inside, I found a palm-sized cross. It was crafted from a mineral I'd never seen before. An opaque, porous stone with flecks of charcoal gray dots scattered evenly. It was attached to a thin, silver chain that reminded me of a necktie my father wore the last few years of his life. He’d been idealistic and pious, unlike myself.

"Williams, remember, don't wear it until it's time to fight. You can't be beat if you have it on."

"Right," I said. I hoped the cross might be worth something. It was my intention to have it appraised and then sell it in ebay. It had to be worth something. I’d just have to be careful that my wife, Kristin, didn’t see it.

I looked up from the necklace and the old man was gone. I never saw him walk away. It was as if he'd vanished.Something about the old man’s insisting that I not wear the necklace made doing so irresistible. I looped it over my head and tucked the translucent cross beneath my bullet-proof vest.
It was warm, as if it had been heated in an oven. Instantly, I felt something-not that I’ve ever believed in magic or any such nonsense-change inside me.
I have no idea how to describe the feeling other than to say I felt in control.
In control of my faculties, in control of my destiny.

The dispatcher’s voice snapped me back to reality. A domestic dispute
on Bragg Street. Normally, I’d be irritated at having to break up yet
another fighting couple. But this day, with a soothing warmth spreading
across my chest, I was completely calm. I entered the apartment without waiting for my backup. The two, a huge black man with goatee and shaved head, and his morbidly obese common-law wife, who smelled like bacon grease, were screaming obscenities at each other in the front yard. I intervened and immediately both combatants stopped, as if my presence were an impenetrable barrier erected between them.They succumbed to my will, and within moments, were peacefully enjoying a bag of pork rinds and a forty-ounce malt liquor on the mildewed couch on their front porch. The lady even offered me a slice of homemade peach cobbler, but I politely declined, as I was sure it would somehow contain fatback.

My shift close at end, I decided on a cup of coffee at Starbucks.
The barista was a blond with blue eyes, a hot body, and working on
her masters degree at the University. I’d ogled her for several years,
but she had never even hinted at having the slightest interest in me.
Today, though, she was smiling and chatting as if she had been waiting
for me in particular, and after foaming my latte for an inappropriate
amount of time, she scribbled her phone number and address on the back
of my receipt. This, she handed to me discreetly, with a quick wink
which promised more at a later time.

Her apartment was utilitarian, which I liked. No frills, flowers,
satin sheets, decorative towels. It was merely a place to sleep
while not at work. I guessed she did most of her studying in the
library as I didn’t see a book in the place. I barely made it in
the door before she was clinging to me like a wet t-shirt, her skilled
lips caressing my neck. Naked, except for the cross, our bodies
sweating profusely, I climaxed over and over, with seeming endless
supply, until she begged me to stop. She wept and told me she wanted
me all to herself. Later, I detached myself from her sleeping arms,
gathered my clothing, and silently left.

Kira the wanderer

This is in your very first sentence, and then a paragraph or two down you have this

It repetivie and unneccessary. You should replace it with "the usual" or something. I like the description more the second time you use it so I'd keep that one. But there is no need to repeat this.

All that this needs is a comma after change. I don't think the dash quite works there, but that's just preferance.

I loved the story. its very interesting and the narrarative is extremly engaging and realistic. this guy's personality is a real one, making the character extremly human. I would keep on going, very good story. I want to read the next chapter.

TheReMonstor

There were some grammar things that I caught, but I'll point them out later. Overall though, I liked the story. There were some things that I thought were odd. I know this is fantasy, but still, there has to be reason within fantasy to immerse the reader. The cop's actions didn't seem to fit that of a cop. I mean, how many cops would just drive away after an old man in all black hopped in the backseat. No check for weapons, no questions, not even a surprise at the old guy. Now, I know he's feeling the mundane and everyday life wearing on him which might want to make him go off on an adventure, but still, cops are pretty strict, by the book kinda guys (at least the ones I've unfortunately encountered).

I had a thought that if you changed this guy's occupation to a cabbie or something, it wouldn't make that much of a difference. Then the old guy getting in would be more believable and even more shocking that a cabbie would be recieving this "gift". But then you'd lose the interaction with the people, but you could just alter it to the different people the cabbie drives around. Just a suggestion. Plus, it'd be even more shocking that a hot little phillie would want to be all over a cabbie. And speaking of that, I LOVED the jump from getting the number to getting it on. It was just really effective. Unexpected b/c of the mention of the wife, but understandable (well, you know what I mean, I'm not condoning it...) b/c of the mundane, etc.

But I did love the old man. But if the old man knew the chosen person's name, how come he didn't also know he was a cop? He was well characterized for only being around for a second. One thing, the back door of a cop car can't be opened from the inside. This was also a great piece of writing:
Great way to show how his voice sounded and altered. It really shows how crazy he thought the cop was for trying to open it there and it implies how valuable this thing is. I thought it was funny that the old man had been so far as Nigeria, trying to escape all these people and had it in a Crown Royal bag

Here was some great insight into the character, placed very well:
That sentence carries more weight than is actually there. Love it. But the sentence after it merely tells us about the father while this one shows and is much stronger. I would omit the "idealistic and pious" part. Maybe insert somthing about his father's occupation to infer the "idealistic and pious".

Like I said, he doesn't seem like a cop, but the parts about him being a cop were well done. Especially the crackhead couple part and the bacon grease. And the hooker pleading her case. But it was only those parts that reminded me he was a cop. That's really the only problem I had throughout was the fact that he seemed too laid back for a cop. So do with it what you will, but other than that, pretty awesome story you've got here. And I need to get one of those crosses b/c I know of a sweet lil honey down at my local Starbucks.

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Emmett89

Pretty good, but I'd change this first line. Because when I read this it sounded like he hate some fat crackhead, after he finished off his bagel.

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If you, uh, feel like critiquing something of mine:

http://www.writingforums.com/fiction...apter-1-a.html