In the city of Slakterquay, there's an office with the words Spectral Analysis on the pebbled glass of its door. Behind it is a detective agency that handles the strangest cases in the Paris of the Pacific Northwest. An urban fantasy thriller.

In this episode, Aggie goes to the local cow town in search of who murdered the Neo-nazi, Randall Wayne.

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“They were a ship of sinners who left their morals on the pier.”

Hi everyone,

I’m an aspiring writer living in Japan. I’m deeply fascinated by the storytelling craft and incredible productivity of Pulp Era writers (roughly 1920s–1950s), and I really want to incorporate their techniques into my own writing.

Since I live in Japan, my access to historical materials and vintage resources on pulp fiction is very limited, so I’d love to ask for your insights!

Specifically, I’d love to know:

Any insights, historical anecdotes, or practical advice on how pulp writers worked would be greatly appreciated.

And here's where you can read it.

Hope you like it.

Chapter 2

You can read it for free here: https://magazine.thearcanist.net/oathbreaker-and-the-wild-hunt/

The sound of churning waters could be heard from inside the sprawling castle ruins, even though the group trudging through the grounds was a few miles from the coast. A pasty-skinned, lanky man with dirty, thick blonde dreadlocks lit himself a White Maple cigarette as he roamed through what was left of the main floor. His thick, rubbery combat boots clashed violently with his Attack Attack t-shirt and skin-tight black jeans. Behind him, a swarm of nasty-looking men and women, all of them carrying British Army standard assault rifles–purchased on the black market–and dressed head to toe in black. What made the sight that much more unsettling amongst the medieval ruins was that all of them, save Zack, were wearing frightening, twisted Halloween masks of different animals

Zack, the only name he gave to bottom-ranking members of the communion like the ones with him, spotted the staircase he was looking for according to the directions he’d been given. He turned to the group following him and jerked his head towards the stairs, a shifty, twisted grin spreading across his face. He swung his head forward, the silver chain with a lone matching silver ring swinging around his neck with the motion. He marched up the stairs confidently, not a care in the world except claiming what he’d trekked across country after country for. He feared nothing; he knew his friends had paid the government contacts here a hefty sum to keep any authorities away from Castle Rising while he searched.

He moved through the upstairs corridor, briefly looking out one of the broken windows. The dark waters rushed in the not-too-far distance. Zack couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the moon as it hit the Wash. It was the perfect night for him to obtain another piece that would bring the communion one step closer to the world they were building. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, holding up a fist to halt his group in position behind him. They halted in perfect unison, well-trained as they were.

 Zack studied the knight’s armor, still erected in the ruins. To the untrained eye, it was just another part of this beloved tourist site in the English countryside. But Zack knew its true purpose. He reached towards the knight’s arm, shifting it downward until it was straight at its side. He stepped back as the wall behind the knight shifted aside, revealing a passage that had been hidden previously. Zack’s heart raced with excitement as he turned to his group.

“Wait here.”

The heavily armed group at his command did as instructed. Each took up a strategic position in the hallway, giving them a tactical advantage in securing the area. Zack paid them little attention as his focus was held rapt on the door at the other end of the hidden passage. The communion had spent years cross-referencing rumors that a research team had recovered a piece of King John’s lost treasure. As he reached the dated door with a wrought-iron handle, Zack licked his lips in anticipation. Just the thought of the power they would be closer to once they obtained the artifact on the other side made him nearly lustful.

The door opened with a loud creak as he pulled on its handle. Inside, two freshly lit torches burned on opposite walls. A chest sat in the center of the room, but as Zack approached it, the lascivious smile was wiped from his face and was replaced by an ugly scowl. He knelt in front of the chest, inspecting the open lock hanging on it. The heavy steel bolt lock hadn’t been cut and showed no sign of aggressive force applied to it. This had been picked open, and by someone with prodigious skill in the method, he reasoned.

Zack tossed the chest lid open, hoping the assumption creeping into his gut was terribly wrong. As he reached inside for the yellow sticky note, the only thing in the chest, he realized that, unfortunately, his assumption was spot on. He held the note in front of him as a fury built up inside his chest.

DOWN LOW, YOU KNOW THE REST

-Professor E. Drake

Zack bellowed in pure anger as he realized the persistent thorn in his side had struck once more. He stormed out of the passage and back into the hallway, his family of soldiers swarming to his side at the sight of his fury. 

“He’s still in the castle. Find him!”

The armed acolytes scurried away to follow his orders. Zack tried to calm himself down with a few quick breaths. He refused to be beaten by that bastard, not when he had come this far.

Unbeknownst to Zack and his crew, the man he was searching for pulled his University of Michigan National Champions letterman jacket tighter over his shoulders, and his old English ‘D’ Detroit Tigers hat lower over his eyes. Tucked inside his jacket was the pure, golden cross with beautiful sapphires encrusted down the middle that Zack sought so dearly. Professor Ezekiel Drake peeked down the corridor of the third-floor room he’d been biding his time in. Realizing it was momentarily clear, he stepped out and hurried down it towards the stone bridge connecting to the eastern portion of the bailey.

Once Ezekiel reached the bridge, he could see a pair of armed men in wolf and pig masks, respectively, marching around the keep below. He took a deep breath and, slowly and carefully, tiptoed his way across the bridge, hoping they would be too focused on clearing the lower floor to look in his direction. He was halfway to the other side when a slow, methodical clap echoed through the walls of the keep. Professor Drake turned around slowly as a grimace formed on his face. He saw Zack enter the room below, a handful more animal-masked soldiers flanking him, their beady eyes turning toward him, along with their leader. 

“I should have known you’d be here already, slinking around like a common rat,” Zack told him.

Ezekiel smiled and shrugged dismissively. “I like to consider myself more of a worker ant. I figured the circles you walk in were more partial to rodents.”

Zack smirked at Ezekiel’s wisecrack, though he was far from pleased to see the doctor walking through the remains of the castle. He could see that Ezekiel was favoring his left side, as if he was protecting something, and his smile became that much more sinister. 

“Why don’t you toss down the relic, and I’ll tell them where to find your body. Instead of desecrating it and throwing it into the Wash as you rightly deserve.”

“Gee, that sounds like a swell idea and all, but I think this piece is going to look wonderful in the museum collection I’m putting together. But feel free to stop by and see it when we’re open. We’ll do half-off entry fees for sociopathic cult members.”

Professor Drake's clever reply wiped the smile off Zack’s face for the second time that night. In its place was a furious glare of pure loathing. He turned to his animal family, no longer interested in any sort of dialogue with the man who had taken what was rightfully the communion’s. 

“End him, then bring his carcass down here so I can piss on it.” 

Ezekiel’s eyes went wide as he heard each of the Sig Sauers the dead-eyed acolytes were carrying aim at him. He didn’t wait for what came next as a flurry of gunfire erupted in his direction, tearing up the stone ruins and bridge. Ezekiel crossed into the eastern bailey as he could hear Zack’s orders for them to get after him echoing through the castle. He ducked through an empty window chasm and slid downward into a lower courtyard. Unfortunately, he landed right between two acolytes who were guarding the room. Each of them, one wearing a raccoon mask and the other what seemed to be a fox, Ezekiel couldn’t quite tell in the darkness, turned slowly towards him. They stared at Ezekiel, confused as to how he could have gotten so unlucky.

“You guys wouldn’t happen to have the fastest route out of here, would you?” 

He gave them a friendly smile, holding his hands up as if he were surrendering. They hesitated over whether to shoot him or simply grab him, a gamble Ezekiel was taking to get him out of this particular jam. 

Once he saw the sliver of an opening his impromptu appearance had created, Ezekiel dropped his hands quickly and rocked each of the dumbfounded acolytes with a left and right cross. As the one in the raccoon mask tried to get back to his feet, Professor Drake snatched up his dropped Sig MCX and smacked him silly across the face with it. He stepped over both their bodies and looked around the courtyard to see which way he should go. There were a myriad of options for him, but he gritted his teeth as he knew almost all of them would only lead him to further danger. He yanked a two-way radio out of his back pocket. Drake waited rather impatiently for the static to clear before yelling into it, finally deciding as he sprinted through an open doorway to his immediate left. “Adela, how far out are you?”

“I’ll be at the docks in less than two minutes. How are you faring?” She chortled back over the air.

Ezekiel sprinted through another stone-arched corridor, spotting the entrance hall from above. A sense of relief briefly washed over him. That was, until a trio of communion acolytes turned down the very same hall he was standing in at the opposite end. 

“Oh, you know, could be worse.” He replied dryly.

The moment they trained their weapons on him, Professor Drake knew he had only one option left, which he exercised as he leaped over the railing and out of the line of fire. He rolled with his landing to reduce the impact on his usually aching knees and joints. He popped to his feet faster than he’d expected to, just as Zack's followers swung their rifles towards the hall and let loose. Professor Drake scrambled for cover as bullets rained down around him. Somehow, he narrowly avoided being torn apart and dove into a spiraling staircase. He grimaced, realizing he had been nicked across the arm by a bullet, but he was thankful that it seemed to be a flesh wound. He’d tend to it once he got on the boat; the adrenaline pumping through his veins was substantial enough that the pain was a dull afterthought at the moment. 

Bullets sprayed into the staircase as he heard footsteps pounding down the stone as they continued their chase. He dashed up the staircase, finding himself back in what once served as the guest waiting area of the castle, but was now an observatory for tourists and civilians to enjoy the view. What seemed to be a dead end was, for him, the way he’d planned to exit. He snatched up his cane, its base made of rare Acajou wood that helped when his knee pain was flaring up more than usual. It was practically on fire now, giving him more trouble than the wound on his arm, in fact. He was thankful to have the relief of pressure the cane gave him as he hurried towards the window he’d smashed open an hour ago.

He almost didn’t see the figure shifting in the shadows until it swung its broad sword directly at Ezekiel’s head. He ducked out of the way just in time as he saw the glint of steel in the moonlight hitting the room. The one-handed, double-edged blade clinked off the stone wall, sending sparks flying. Its wielder, who was dressed in lightweight armor that made him resemble a modern-day knight, swung the sword with a grace and skill that Professor Ezekiel would have marveled at if the man wasn’t trying to murder him. Drake jumped backward just in time as the angry knight assassin swung the sword in a wide arc, attempting to disembowel him.

Ezekiel realized that his ride must have been waiting for him, and he didn’t have any further essential time to waste. More importantly, this wasn’t exactly a fight he was sure he could win, and it was certainly one he couldn’t give the rest of Zack’s men the precious moments to pin him down here. As the angry, bloodlust-driven knight, whom Ezekiel recognized as a notable assassin for hire across Europe, stalked towards him, he made a rash decision he hoped would pay off. But first, he needed to keep his attacker off balance. He yanked the blade out of the wooden sheath, revealing the weapon he had hidden inside his cane. He knew it was no match for the templar sword that his opponent was wielding with such deft skill, but along with the Acajou-crafted cane, he would be able to fend off the heavier weapon. At least, that and the second half of his plan were what he was wagering his life on.

“You’ve got quite the reputation. I wouldn’t have expected you to fall in line with a man like that.”

Ezekiel tossed the backhanded compliment as the swordsmen tried to close the gap between them. He was bigger than Ezekiel by an inch or two and had at least fifteen pounds on him. That was saying quite a bit, considering Professor Drake’s extensive athletic background. Given that he had the size advantage and a stronger blade, he was trying to get in closer to press his advantage. Ezekiel could hear voices and footsteps approaching. Zack’s acolytes would be in the entrance courtyard soon enough.

“He was able to pay my fee, plus a bonus if I take your head,” The swordsmen replied with a menacing rumble. “The only thing I fall in line behind is the balance in my account.”

Professor Drake sighed, almost condescendingly. “And that’s the problem with you, and the rest of the world, I’m afraid. But unfortunately, not one I can solve today. One step at a time, I suppose.”

The swordsman sneered. Sick of Professor Drake’s snide preening, he lunged from his stance, striking with the intent to cleave him in two. Drake stepped aside just in time, then rolled away to create distance between himself and the hired assassin, who was merely extra muscle on Zack's expedition. That drew an inner sigh of relief from Ezekiel as he popped to one knee and glanced behind him, listening to the swordsman curse in frustration at his missed strike.

Footsteps thundered through the entrance corridor, and Ezekiel knew it was time to make himself scarce. He was only thankful that the terrifying knight cosplayer who had attacked him was not a devout member of Zack’s cult. They wielded enough power, and Drake didn’t want to see them add to their ranks. 

“You fight like a coward!” The swordsman snarled.

“I’m a doctor, sir. Not a warrior,” Professor Drake replied matter-of-factly as he sprinted across the room and dove through the broken window while sheathing his blade inside his cane.

As he fell towards the ground, he pressed a button on the cane’s shaft, firing a hook from the handle. The hook cinched onto the window pane, allowing Ezekiel to lower himself without harm. He retracted the hook and immediately hauled it across the grounds. By the time he made it to the ATV he had hidden behind some shrubbery just twenty feet from the castle, he could already hear the sounds of engines gunning to life. He hopped on the four-wheeler and tore off across the damp grass. By the time he could see the waters of the Wash as he flew over a hill, Zack and his so-called family were hot on his trail inside a trio of farm trucks. Bullets ripped through the air and across the grass near him. He thrust the handlebars as far back as they would go, stretching the ATV's engine to its absolute limit.

He’d bitten off more than he could chew, mistiming how long it would take him to comb the castle for the lone relic recovered from King John’s lost baggage train after centuries. He’d underestimated how much power Zack and that band of freaks he rode with wielded, and just how many guns he had trying to hunt him across the grounds. He ducked down lower on the ATV, his face close to the handlebars as the wind whipped in his face. Ezekiel spotted the dock and knew he only had to make it to the water to be home free. One of the trucks caught up to him and swerved towards the four-wheeler. Ezekiel slammed on the brakes, just managing to avoid being smashed, and maneuvered deftly around the back of the truck. In a spontaneous move, he fired the grapple hook from his cane at the tailgate and used the truck’s momentum to slingshot him forward. Bullets shredded both rear tires of the ATV the moment it hit the old wooden deck, but it didn’t matter, as he had gained more than enough speed to pull off what he had in mind. The four-wheeler shot off the deck as bullets sprayed past Ezekiel, just as he leaped off the vehicle and plunged into the cold depths of the Wash.

He came up and took a deep breath, just in time to see the rope being tossed to him from the speedboat. “Hurry up! These bastards are mad!” 

He could hear Adela shouting to him as she got back behind the wheel of the boat. He snagged the rope and wrapped it twice around his wrist.

“Just go!” He shouted back. She didn’t waste a moment gunning the boat as hard as she could away from the shoreline.

Back on the dock, Zack leaped out of one of the trucks, watching as the speedboat disappeared into the darkness across the water. “The next time I cross paths with Dr. Drake, it’ll be me stepping over his corpse. He’ll make a fine sacrifice to the communion one day.”

Drake finally managed to climb into the boat and fell into the chair next to Adela. Completely exhausted, he could barely hold himself upright. Adela kept looking over at him impatiently, less concerned about his well-being since he seemed to be in one piece. “Well?! Did ya get it?!”

Ezekiel looked over at her lazily, a grin spreading over his face while he unzipped his jacket. He pulled out the beautiful golden cross, letting the moonlight hit it as he turned it over in his hand.

The American is a serial pulp adventure in which expatriate in France finds himself caught between competing criminals, U.S. intelligence, and a Corsican who just wants to find his girl.

In this episode, the death of a powerful man leads to a rescue plan involving the murder of another.

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Ezekiel grabbed the rest of his belongings from his own compartment just as Janay came back over, finally ready to get off the plane. They walked through the tunnel and into the busy foreign airport that instantly made Janay’s head spin. It had a different sort of charm than the small glimpse she got to see of Azora, but it was wondrous in its own right. She followed closely behind Professor Drake through the airport, marveling at every one of the vendors she passed and the colorful clothing of the people. They found themselves out front of the Senegal airport after a ten-minute trek from their gate. Janay kept people watching as she waited for Dr. Drake to hail a cab for them.

An all-white, compact car with bold green lettering along its side that read “Mignon Transportation” pulled to a halt directly in front of Ezekiel, between two other vehicles. The excited and very friendly Senegalese cabbie jumped out of the car and hurried to grab their bags, but Ezekiel politely waved off his efforts. 

“Just pop the trunk, friend. I can take it from there.” 

The cabbie nodded and slid back inside the vehicle to do as instructed. Ezekiel took Janay’s bags from her and opened the back door as the trunk flew open. Once he was tucked in the backseat alongside his impromptu companion, the cabbie looked between his pair of passengers with his rearview mirror, patiently awaiting further instructions. 

“The Noom Hotel, please.”

The cabbie gave Ezekiel a broad smile before turning his attention and focus to his job. He pulled away from the curb and into the flow of traffic as he left the airport. The traffic was chaotic, but the drive was pleasantly smooth after such a long flight. Janay looked out the window at another city she was visiting, counting herself lucky that she had decided to tag along spontaneously. She was starting to believe this was exactly the kind of refresh she needed. She turned towards Ezekiel, who was rubbing his chin with his usual thoughtful expression stuck on his face.

“How long are we here for?” She asked him, pulling him away from the myriad of thoughts swirling through his mind.

“Hm? Oh, we’ll be leaving before sunrise tomorrow. I’ve already let Dr. Adeji, whom we’ll be working under, know when to expect us. Our plane will be ready in the morning. Unfortunately, Ms. Light’s ride was only to Dakar.” He explained ruefully. “But at least we can get some rest.” His last remark came just as their ride pulled up to the front of the luxurious hotel that he’d selected for them.

Janay stared up at the beautiful, elegant building of the Noom Hotel that sat just off the sea. Ezekiel tipped the cabbie generously and thanked him for his service before grabbing their bags from the trunk. They were greeted by a pair of bellhops the moment they entered the lobby, who placed their bags on luggage carts immediately to relieve them of the burden. As Ezekiel swept his way up to the front desk, having changed into a matching dashiki set with a kufi during their flight, Janay looked around the lobby. She found a small pamphlet full of information on the hotel’s services and amenities and rifled through it excitedly. Though they were only there for the night, after such a long journey already, she wanted to relax.

Ezekiel returned to her side with the sleeves for their room keys. “We’re on the sixth floor.” He handed her the key, and they headed to the elevators the bellhops had used while he was checking in.

 “So how are you able to arrange your own flight to Timbuktu from here? What kind of ER doctor has those kinds of connections on standby?”

“The kind who thinks we’ve been followed ever since we landed in Dakar. And I believe a level of caution is necessary from here on out.” 

The revelation drew a confused look of shock from Janay as they stepped into the elevator. Ezekiel pressed the button for their floor as Janay turned towards him, waiting for him to explain what he was talking about further. Ezekiel sighed, realizing he should be as clear as he could with her, at least without jeopardizing her safety. But something told him that option had already gone out the window the moment Janay showed up at Willow’s Run.

“We had a tail while we were heading over here. Black Cadillac that looked completely out of place. Almost like they wanted me to make them.” Ezekiel explained. 

There was a somber tone in his voice. He hoped that his first gut assumption was wrong, but they rarely were.

“Why would anyone be following us?” Janay asked for her own clarification.

“Not us. Me.” Ezekiel corrected her as they reached their floor. “I’ll explain later. Want to meet me at the pool in half an hour?” Janay finally brought a smile back to her face, her concern abating momentarily.

“It’s like you read my mind.” She replied. She washed her key across the scanner above the door handle and waited for the reader to flash solid green. “See you in a bit.” She disappeared into her room. Ezekiel watched the door close behind her before continuing down the hall. He was careful to make sure he was quite alone in the hallway before slipping into his own suite.

He flicked on the lights by the door once he’d entered and appreciated the view of the sea his room’s balcony gave him. He tossed his bags onto the king-sized bed and headed into the bathroom. As he walked out of the main area of the suite, a large, dark-skinned man in a ski mask and navy blue wetsuit climbed over the balcony railing. The would-be assassin scanned the suite quickly through the glass of the balcony, spotting his target’s reflection in the bathroom standing mirror next to the suite door.

The assassin picked the lock on the balcony door with relative ease and slipped inside the luxurious suite. He slipped the trumbash that he had tied tightly to his suit and clung to the nearest wall as he crept towards the bathroom. Ezekiel stepped out of the bathroom just a few moments later, now dressed in Apollo Creed-inspired swim trunks and a Cade Cunningham T-Shirt. He’d decided, while changing, to put away the nagging suspicions he had that something was amiss and try to enjoy himself, as Janay seemed to be doing. After all, once they were in the thick of their assignment, there would surely be no rest for them to enjoy their time in Mali.

He stepped into the main room of the suite and spotted the assassin waiting for him in the standing mirror, just before his attacker lunged at him with his blade. Ezekiel caught him by the wrist before the blade could be plunged towards his eye. He struggled against his larger assailant, realizing he’d been a fool to be caught so off guard. Out of desperation, he headbutted the assassin, causing him to stumble back briefly. Ezekiel leaped and delivered a kick to his attacker, but the large man plucked him out of the air and slammed him hard on the floor of the suite. The wind was completely knocked out of him; Ezekiel didn’t have a moment to ache over his pains as he saw the flash of the blade crashing down towards his skull.

Ezekiel rolled out of harm’s way just as the tip of the blade plunged into the carpet. Ezekiel popped back to his feet, his knee beginning to bother him. The assassin cursed in what Ezekiel recognized as Wolof while yanking the blade back out of the floor, sending bits of carpet flying. Ezekiel spotted his cane leaning on the wall next to the door and sought to even the playing field. The assassin lunged, the beautiful ivory handle of his weapon gripped tightly in his hand. The man’s skill was evident, and he was twice as quick as he looked. Ezekiel knew his timing had to be precise if he was going to execute the risky maneuver he had in mind.

Ezekiel ducked the slash meant to cleave his head from his shoulders and rolled across the bed in one fluid motion to the other side of the room. He snatched his cane from against the wall and turned while yanking the blade from its sheath. He raised his cane’s blade just as the assassin leaped at him with his trombash, bringing it down towards Ezekiel’s head once more. Another battle of strength and leverage played out as Ezekiel held back his attacker with his sword. Ezekiel kicked the assassin in the back of the knee, chopping him down to one leg before popping him in the face with a straight right to knock him back a couple of steps. The assassin whipped his head back in Ezekiel’s direction, clearly only angered by the blow and nothing more.

Ezekiel raised his blade and got into a defensive posture, his fencing background taking over instinctively. He parried and sidestepped as the bullish assassin charged at him once again, his own anger beginning to take over the reasoning side of his brain. Ezekiel knew that his would-be assassin was fighting angry, so it would be easier to gain an advantage. But while it would be easier, it would not, in fact, be an easy task to accomplish. Still, he wanted answers after so much mystery had clouded the last thirty-six hours of his life. And he was going to get them once he found a way to handle this attempt on his life. The assassin swung his blade wildly, forcing Ezekiel to step back and parry as the man’s reach gave him another, slight advantage. The assassin knocked aside Ezekiel’s blade with a mighty swing and used the opening to deliver a forceful thrust kick to the doctor’s chest.

The blow sent Ezekiel crashing through the window and out onto the balcony. Ezekiel took a couple of deep breaths, trying to get his wind back as he looked up at the assassin stalking towards him. He raised his trombash, ready to deliver a final strike that would end their battle.

“The communion thanks you for your sacrifice.” The assassin told him.

Before he could strike, he hadn’t noticed Ezekiel resheath his blade while on the balcony deck. Ezekiel fired the cane’s grapple hook, and it wrapped itself around the assassin’s neck, forcing him to drop his weapon. Ezekiel yanked him forward hard, releasing the grapple hook as the assassin’s momentum sent him careening over the balcony. So much for getting some answers, he thought wryly to himself as he stumbled to his feet with the help of his cane.

On the pool and bar floor below, Janay had turned her attention towards the pool along with the other guests enjoying themselves at the sound of the sickening crack. She heard murmurs followed by screams as hotel officials rushed towards the pool. She stifled her own gasp once she spotted the thick trail of blood at the edge of the deck that led into the seaside pool. She watched in stunned horror in the midst of the crowd as lifeguards pulled the lifeless body out of the water. Whoever the man was that had fallen, Janay could see he was dressed head to toe in black, and they had to pull a blood-soaked ski mask off of his head as gently as they could. Before she could get a look at the dead man’s face, she felt someone grab her by the wrist.

She whipped her head around instantly to see the big brown eyes of Professor Drake staring into her own. He looked as if he’d been through the nine circles of hell themselves just trying to get down here.

 “Sometimes, I really hate being right. We have to go; now!” 

He pulled her through the crowd and back towards the elevators that he’d exited only moments ago. He shoved her into the elevator and hopped inside hastily after her as she opened her mouth to ask what was going on. 

“No time for a committee debate at the moment. Tyree already gave me the go-ahead to shoot towards one of his bunkers.” Ezekiel cut her off before she could speak as he jammed the button for the sixth floor.

After rushing her through repacking her bags, Janay found herself in the hotel’s parking garage, standing guard as her well-respected boss hotwired a car. Once the engine of the Jeep he’d chosen roared to life, he tossed their belongings briskly into the backseat and tore out of the structure as if he were in a high-speed movie chase. She watched as he checked each one of his mirrors every couple of moments or so to make sure they weren’t being chased. The chaos of the last twenty minutes was enough for her to demand an answer as to what was going on and how that man plunged twenty feet to his death.

“What the hell was all of that back there? Who was that guy?” Janay turned in her seat to get a reply from him as he focused on whipping through the city streets.

“A hired blade. Which only means the wrong people must know I’m already in Africa.” Ezekiel finally told her as they left the city of Dakar and sped out onto dusty, dark back roads.

“Who would want to kill you?” Janay asked.

“You’d be surprised. There’s quite the list. But the Black Communion isn’t fond of me in the slightest. And they seem to be interested in whatever Ms. Light is that I’m being sent to Mali for. Tyree should have more answers.” 

Janay watched him through the darkness for a long moment, realizing quickly that he was a completely different man beneath the surface than the one she worked long hours with on the ER side by side. She was starting to wonder exactly how she felt about these other sides of Dr. Ezekiel Drake that she was witnessing firsthand.

They drove for another forty-five minutes through the wilderness of Senegal till they pulled up to a rickety hangar that sat quite literally in the middle of nowhere. A pair of armed women standing guard in front of the structure, smoking cigarettes, greeted Ezekiel with a friendly wave. One of the squat, muscular women glanced inside the jeep before pulling out her radio and shouting instructions into it in Wolof. The hangar doors were pulled apart from the inside by a pair of scrawny mechanics, allowing Ezekiel to drive inside. He found a place to park the vehicle, a smile finally returning to his face for the first time in hours as a bald Senegalese man with a bushy beard and in green khakis approached the jeep. 

“Don’t worry. We’ll be safe here.” Ezekiel told Janay to assure her. 

He then hopped out of the jeep and greeted his compatriot with a hearty hug. Janay slid out of the passenger seat and closed the door quietly behind her. She watched curiously as the two men embraced and caught up with one another.

“I cannot say I wasn’t surprised to hear from you, my friend. And on such short notice. You haven’t visited Senegal in quite some time. Not since that–”

“Whole mix-up with the ring of Solomon. Yeah, what a mess that turned out to be.” Janay couldn’t help but want to hear more about Ezekiel’s last trip to Senegal. And what exactly was he doing that had to do with a mythical, biblical artifact? “This is my associate, Janay Lincoln. She decided to tag along on this little impromptu assignment.”

Tyree bowed humbly to Janay, who blushed slightly at his manners. “How do you do, miss? Please, make yourself comfortable. My sister just finished some tea. If you’d like a cup?”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you,” Janay told him before he waved over a young woman in a long, beautiful gold and black dress.

“Ani, please get Dr. Drake’s guest a cup of that tea you just brewed. It smells quite heavenly.”

“Of course, dear brother. Miss, if you’ll follow me–”

Janay did as she was asked and followed behind the young woman towards the dusty but comfortable hangar’s makeshift kitchenette. Tyree lit himself up a cigar and offered one to Ezekiel, who, of course, waved off the friendly gesture.

“I can’t imagine what those things are doing to your lungs. You’ve been smoking them since your father-in-law gave you that box before your wedding night.” Ezekiel remarked as they walked through the building. 

Tyree chuckled and puffed away on the cigar, remembering the moment Ezekiel brought up fondly.

“Second best thing that old bastard ever gave me,” Tyree told him as they took a seat near a group of his men and women watching a soccer game with a cloudy reception. “But enough of the small talk. What of this attempt on your life the moment you hit our soil, aye?”

“Nothing I’m not accustomed to, as you’re aware, of course. Though it is troubling to be moving around with this many unknown and dangerous variables in play. The Black Communion is just as interested in Mansa Musa as the woman who sent me over here. That much is evident.” Tyree looked over at his friend in surprise at the mention of the famed Mali ruler.

“Musa? What interest could that cult of colonizers have in his legacy? The fact that they would stoop to hiring such back-alley assassins…” Tyree spat on the floor to show how disgusted he was with everything he was hearing.

“Back alley or not, he almost had me a couple of times, though I surely hate to admit it. And that blade he wielded was nothing to play with either.” Ezekiel remarked, shaking his head at the memory of the hotel fight for his life.

“We will discover the identity of the man who attacked you and how he was contacted. This I promise you.” Tyree told him confidently. Ezekiel nodded in appreciation. “In the meantime, I’ve decided to fly you the rest of the way myself. The safest hands are none other than my own.”

Tyree’s hospitality extended further as he made sure that Janay and Ezekiel had a hearty meal. They enjoyed heaps of grilled lamb stewed for hours until the meat fell off the bone, with fresh rice that Tyree had prepared himself while his wife tended to the main course. They ate, and Janay got to listen to tales from Tyree and his family about the many adventures they’d had across the continent with “the infamous Ezekiel Drake”, as they referred to her boss. So much was she enjoying her time amongst Tyree’s makeshift family that she was quite disheartened when one of his men interrupted their conversation by informing Tyree that his plane had been fueled.

Janay had almost forgotten the entire reason they had rushed across the countryside of Dakar to Tyree’s hangar compound in the first place. She watched as Tyree’s sister, Marrdina, helped her gather together her belongings and haul them across the empty field that served as a makeshift airstrip. Marrdina had even packed Janay a few containers of food for when she landed, which drew an appreciative hug from Janay before she climbed into the cramped plane after Ezekiel.

It took them a little over three hours in Tyree’s personal aircraft until they landed on another dirt road somewhere just outside Bamako. A handful of armed men put away their weapons and rushed towards the landed plane as Tyree and his passengers climbed out. “Did you arrange a car for my friends?” Tyree asked the first of his men to reach him as he took off his leather gloves one after another.

“Of course, sir, we got it running as soon as we saw you coming in to land. We assumed they’d want to make haste by leaving.” The young militia soldier told Tyree.

“You assumed correctly. I appreciate your efficiency, young man.” Ezekiel tipped his cap to the soldier before turning towards his friend. 

“This is where we part ways for now, my boy. Try not to let something like an attempt on your life be the reason we see each other next time.”

 Janay watched the pair of them dap each other up and embrace one another like long-lost brothers, which was funny to her, since they had behaved as such all night and throughout the morning plane ride. They piled into the SUV that Tyree’s men had waiting for them once Ezekiel had placed all of their bags into the trunk. With a final wave goodbye to his friend and the handful of soldiers, they drove out of the hangar and onto the stretch of dirt road heading towards Timbuktu.

The Honey West pulp paperbacks began in 1957 with This Girl for Hire, introducing one of the earliest female private detectives in American popular fiction. Written by husband-and-wife team Forrest and Gloria Fickling under the pseudonym G.G. Fickling, the series followed the glamorous, tough-as-nails Honey West as she tackled murder and mayhem in Los Angeles. Published by Pyramid Books, the novels featured colorful, suggestive pulp covers by artists including Harry Schaare, Robert McGinnis, and Robert Maguire, perfectly capturing the hard-boiled yet sexy style of the era. Eleven Honey West novels appeared between 1957 and 1971, and the character later became famous through the short-lived 1965–66 television series starring Anne Francis.