The incarnation of Jack

So, in like two seconds of my last post, I know the answer. Of course crime novels written by women sell less than ones written by men. Why? Because plenty of research shows women are dismissed by men and by women. Women are less serious, less talented, more inclined to sentimentality, more likely to be bitchy and irritable and manipulative.

A woman’s chances of being read by anyone — whether male or female — are smaller than the chances of a man being read.

So, GANI & SEAN is now written by me, and my name is Jack Winter.


Most likely before I go to sleep tonight, I will have crossed the ‘finish line’ in Camp NaNoWriMo. My finish line is set at 50K in 30 days. As of right now, I’ve written 49,719 words toward GANI & SEAN, my novel. 

The novel is not done, however. I have several challenging problems to solve before the closing sentence is written.


Excerpt from GANI & SEAN, novel-in-process

Sean LePen comes out from behind the trash container after forty minutes during which time the alley is not patrolled by a cruiser and she hears no sirens nearby. She walks back to the unlocked cellar, enters. She sits against the moist stucco wall next to her Dragunov still safely in its case. Sean takes out her smartphone and calls Gani.

Gani picks up his iPhone from his desktop as it rings. “G. here.”


“Oh good, you’re okay.”

“Yes,” says Sean.

“Where are you?”

“I’d rather not say,” says Sean.


“Something odd happened right after we talked this morning.”

“What happened?”

“I think,” says Sean, “perhaps you know.”

“Yeah,” says Gani, “I know you took out —.”

“Besides that,” says Sean.

Gani plays dumb and worries he overplays his hand.

“Look,” continues Sean, “I’m really tired. I haven’t had enough sleep and I still haven’t had that breakfast you promised. So, I’m going to disappear for a few days — okay? I need to find a place to sleep this off.”

“Well,” says Gani, “I don’t understand but hey — you do what you must.”

“Okay,” says Sean. Then she adds, “And G. — watch your back.” She then presses the end symbol on her smartphone and places it in the inside pocket of her long jacket. She stretches out on the dirt floor of the cellar and — within moments — is asleep. Sean dreams the voice comes up the stairs, on to the roof with gun in hand, fires multiple times, puts several slugs in to her torso so that she bleeds out in moments. When she wakes later, she’s sweating. Not enough sleep, but it’ll have to do for now. Sean rises, stretches her thighs and calves, picks up the case and exits the cellar. She puts the case under an arm and, despite its awkward length, attempts to carry it as if it holds a musical instrument rather than a sniper rifle. On a main boulevard, Sean flags a taxi.

“O’Hare, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

At the airport, Sean purchases a one-way ticket to Los Angeles under one of her alternate passports. Before going through security, Sean places her Kimber inside the case with the Dragunov and rents a large storage locker. She puts the key in the right pocket of her slacks, then goes through security without incident. On the plane, Sean sits near a window and sleeps again. This time her dream is of Gani putting himself deep in her, moving in perfect tandem with her, coming to orgasm at the exact time she does. Sean sighs in her sleep and the man next to her smiles. When the jet lands, Sean startles awake, reaches expectantly for her missing weapon.

Once out of the airport, she takes a taxi to a gun shop to purchase a replacement for her Kimber Pro. Before she enters the shop, she asks the driver to wait. He’s reluctant until the woman shows him a Benjamin. Inside the shop, the clerk behind the long case shows her several ‘girly’ weapons before Sean grows impatient. She leans in close to the burly man and whispers, “If you show me one more of those pocket pistols, I’m going to come around this case and kick you in the balls.”


“You heard me,” she says. 

The clerk hesitates only a moment, then shows his odd customer a Walther PPQ M2 semi-automatic pistol which Sean buys on the spot. 

She smiles at the man who sells her the gun after she passes the brief background check, and says, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he says. Sean knows the clerk wants to ask her what’s she’s planning to do with the Walther. She smiles again, points to the several pocket pistols the man tries to first sell her, says, “I like to target shoot but not with those shitty guns.”

The man finally smiles back at Sean and nods. He says, “Got it.”

From the gun shop, Sean takes the taxi to Bel Air. She pays the driver, tips him generously. Then, she walks along the side of the Cock’s house to John’s apartment house. She knocks. She hears the  dog bark. A few minutes pass; Sean knocks again. She waits. Finally, John opens the door. 

“A sight for sore eyes!” he says when he sees Sean LePen. “Get in here, girl.”

“Hey John!” And Sean steps passed the big man, heads for the couch. She sits down, leans back. Lady whimpers and wags her tail. Sean pets the German Shepherd, says, “Hey there, Lady.”

“You look exhausted,” says John as Lady tries to jump in to Sean’s lap. 

“I am, John.”




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Copyright 2014 Jane Cooper Easton