A taste of Russell Browning’s World

To give my readers a true taste of Russell Browning’s world, here is a high-tension “Sneak Peek” dialogue between him and his antagonist, Baxter Matheson. This scene happens in a rain-slicked parking garage under the gleaming headquarters of Texarite Industries. Browning finally has cornered Director Matheson, the man responsible for “erasing” the city’s inconvenient witnesses.

The concrete was cold, and the air tasted of exhaust and ozone. Russell Browning leaned against a structural pillar, his coat damp from the relentless city rain. Ten feet away, Director Baxter Matheson stood by his armored sedan, a man that lived in the light of boardrooms but thrived in the darkness of the basement.

“You’re a hard man to find, Browning,” Matheson said, his voice as smooth as a polished marble. “Most people in this city want to be seen. You… you seem to prefer the gutters.”

“The gutters are where the truth washes up, Matheson,” Russell replied, his voice a low rasp. “I just happen to be the one holding the flashlight.”

Matheson chuckled, a sound devoid of humor. “And what exactly do you think you’ve found? A missing girl? A few misplaced files? In a city of ten million, those aren’t secrets. They’re rounding errors.”

Russell stepped forward, the light of a flickering overhead bulb catching the hard line of his jaw. “Her name is Eliza. She’s not a rounding error. She’s a person you tried to turn into a ghost because she saw the rot in your foundation.”

“The foundation is what keeps this city standing, Russell,” Matheson snapped, the mask of civility slipping. “Individual lives are the cost of progress. If you blow the whistle on the foundation, the whole building falls. Do you really want that on your conscience?”

Russell stopped just outside the circle of light. “I’m a Moral Observer, Matheson. I don’t care about the building. I care about the people you buried under the floorboards to keep it level.”

Matheson reached for his car door, his eyes cold. “You’re a ghost story, Browning. And ghosts don’t win fights against machines.”

“Maybe not,” Russell said, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “But we’re the ones that haunt you until the machine breaks. And I can hear the gears grinding from here.”