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  BROKEN SKY

  SAURAV DUTT

  BROKEN SKY

  Saurav Dutt

  Broken Sky

  © 2014, Saurav Dutt

  CreateSpace Publishing

  CreateSpace

  4900 LaCross Road

  North Charleston, SC 29406

  USA

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  This book is written to gain the respect of those I respect. Thank you interested reader for your

  purchase and contribution

  Proceeds from this book benefit the following

  charities:

  PATH Los Angeles

  Shelter

  Habitat for Humanity

  Headway

  American Stroke Association

  Praise for the Author

  Stand Alone: The Films of Mickey Rourke

  “I found the book extremely well researched, reasoned and written. I can only give it 10/10, I wish I could rate it even higher”–Amazon.com

  “The author's voice is present throughout and although I disagreed with some observations, I'd highly recommend this book to Rourke newbies and long term fans. The author is clearly a fan and this book a labour of love”–Amazon.com

  “You get comprehensive reviews, analysis and debate and it made me curious about his lesser known movies such as Homeboy and Bullet, i could not recommend this highly enough!” –Amazon.com

  “I can't recommend it highly enough-this really was a pleasant surprise and I've learnt more than a few things about Rourke as a long term fan”–Amazon.com

  “If you’re planning on buying a book about Mickey Rourke, make it this one”–Amazon.com

  License to Dream: The Life of Corey Haim

  “Make no mistake about it, if you're a fan of Corey Haim, this book is a must read.” –Amazon.com

  “I am grateful to the author for writing it, about time somebody wrote about the 'Haimster'.” –Amazon.com

  The Pugilist’s Son

  “As a boxing fan I have never come across anything like this. The characters are brilliant and the story had great depth, especially for a short story”–Amazon.com

  “Page turner is a cliché, but I finished this in one sitting. A great read. The author does a masterful job of getting the reader in the minds of the characters.” –Amazon.com

  “I have never seen a more intriguing story full of animated characters and a sense of invincible victory and overbearing defeat.” –Amazon.com

  “This short story makes a huge impact in a very brief amount of time. The author is a wordsmith who uses the English language to its full potential for description and setting the tone of the piece”–Amazon.com

  “The prose is sparse, snappy, graphic and laced with tension and like most good short stories, ends with the reader wanting more. This is great book that I would recommend to all boxing fans who enjoy a good read about the sport they love.” –Amazon.com

  Message from the Author

  I thank you reader for purchasing my book ‘Broken Sky’. I genuinely appreciate the time and effort you’ve taken to choose this book, and I appreciate the time you will invest in reading what you have in front of you. I sincerely hope you enjoy this effort and also I welcome the fact that you are helping out a number of charities through the part proceeds of this novel.

  This is a story about fractured relationships, about homelessness and how a loved one can cope with the effects of a stroke and acquired brain injury. It’s part drama, part thriller, part character study and above all a story about the human psyche and relationships. The charities this book benefits-PATH (People Assisting The Homeless) in Los Angeles, Shelter, Headway (a brain injury charity) as well as Habitat for Humanity-have all placed their support behind “Broken Sky” as well as other organisations like the American Stroke Association and Big Issue.

  I genuinely desire your feedback. Like all wordsmiths there’s a huge amount of self belief, self doubt, confidence and even arrogance behind an endeavour such as this-whether authors admit it or not-writing is in my blood and I shall continue to write through thick and thin. Through lavish praise and mind numbingly painful criticism. If you loved ‘Broken Sky’ or whether you hated it, whether it moved you or whether it left you disappointed, I want to hear about your reactions. You can contact me at [email protected] to let me know your thoughts.

  Best Regards,

  Saurav Dutt

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Under the glassy, dark pallor of a Manhattan sky, deep within the fall, Madison Avenue is teeming with people. Commuters and shoppers scurry past like frenzied ants, paying no attention to a woman who has been sitting there loitering for months on end. They pass her by paying no attention to the vacant stare and sullen expression wrapped around her worn features. She has no name. She is homeless, wandering the streets and denying any memory of the past and any hope for the future.

  Though she finds no hope amongst the throng of uncaring faces around her, she is sat there for a very careful and deliberate purpose. One that will bring her closer to the daughter she left behind years ago and which at the same time will place both of their lives in mortal danger.

  Chapter One

  Maybe I’ll pick a spider from the web, she thought to herself. She thought of picking the one nearest to her street corner, holding it in her palm and pointing it towards the ocean. She was distracted, redirecting her thoughts away from what she saw. As he made his way through the crowd, her eyes glanced across the street and saw that he was approaching. She felt her pulse quicken as he grew closer, agitated by the fluttering in her stomach, the dryness in her throat as she anticipated his return to the same side walk, the same street corner, at the very same time each morning. She knew he had seen her, his eyes dancing across the street as they tried to avoid eye contact. As she shuffled from side to side, she rehearsed the awkward exchange of words in her mind that would begin each ritualistic conversation. The way they both stumbled over their words and the careful exchange of laughter at the other’s incongruous timing. The entire awkward routine had embedded itself into her brain like a carefully choreographed ballet.

  She looked away once more and gently leant forward, her eyes peering up from the pavement, her lips pursed as their eyes finally locked and a rehearsed, immaculately timed smile rose to her cheeks as a beaming grin fluttered across his. “So tell me” he quipped “who are you supposed to be today?”

  ‘The real question is why you still keep turning up every morning to talk to me....’ she replied, offering a crooked smile as she squinted sharply up at him, sharing another awkward laugh as the spring sunlight bore down upon the busy sidewalk through feathery white clouds, its amber-coloured warm rays offering no respite from the bitter chill of a typical March morning in d
owntown New York.

  “What do you mean?” he asked as he moved closer to her, noticing she was wearing clothes too fashionable for her downtrodden visage as she sat on the street, two dusty suitcases sitting either side of her.

  She wore tatty dark grey corduroy jeans, the coat zipped up to her neck and just the one misplaced velvet glove on her left hand was discernible as she looked up at passer bys, fishing for a dime or a quarter. “Well,” she flashed him a glare “look around, I live down here on the pavement and you…”

  “-I gotta tell you this straight up” he interrupted, wearing a look of bemusement that curled around the lines of an angular shaped face, a few months shy of its forty seven years “..and I think this every single morning I talk to you…you don’t look like a bum to me lady; you look like someone pretending to be homeless” he offered as he flipped a quarter into the black bowler hat she had at her feet. “I mean look at those shoes” he winked “you must be a woman of some substance judging by those alone. You look...what’s the word?…classy almost..but the thing is, every time I see you, you’ve moved maybe ten feet down the same sidewalk or another altogether..you don’t stay put..” he chuckled as he pointed at her feet, focusing on the pair of black high heels she was wearing, both shoes having seen better days.

  “I get around…” she answered “it’s comfortable for me here. And nobody tells me where to go. I mind my own business and they mind theirs” she smiled, inserting a crumpled cigarette between her lips, rifling inside her coat, looking desperately for a light.

  “This is the fifth day in a row I’ve seen you here…since you uh..moved sidewalks” he muttered “you don’t go to the park, bum around on the entrance to apartments, you just sit here outside this same hotel or near enough. I’m surprised they don’t haul you outta here or just call the cops” he shook his head “and come on, is that a mink coat you’re wearing? Whose is that exactly…?” he scoffed, kneeling down to feel the fur between his cold fingertips, gazing into her hazel eyes.

  She was probably in her mid-forties, attractive despite the fact that her weathered features were shorn of make-up, her dark blonde hair tasselled and ragged and that she probably hadn’t showered in days, if not longer judging by the greasiness of her hair.

  “I dunno…got it out of a skip I think…real or not, who gives a shit?” she replied as she chewed down on the cigarette “anyway, a real gentleman woulda offered me a light by now, what’s your excuse?” she piped up.

  “Tell you what” the man replied “‘I’ll do you one better…I’ll get you a light if you have an early lunch with me..or a late breakfast, whatever floats your boat” he offered. She peered up at him. He wasn’t tall, but he was handsome–hewn, rough but broodingly sexy features, voluminous dark hair with speckles of grey, a long face with sparkling brown eyes offset by sharp intelligent features and a mischievous smile. He had to originally be Italian, or maybe Greek, she thought. “Well..” she sighed “you’re too short for me anyway. Not my type.”.

  “Who says you have to like me to eat with me?” he replied “anyway, it’s on me. Now only a fool turns down a free breakfast”

  “What’s in it for you? Why would you want to eat with someone like me?” she shot back, flashing stares at passers-by who observed her with both scorn and distrust.

  “I get to eat with a beautiful lady, of course” he mumbled as he extended a hand of friendship, pleased with himself “I know a great place a block from here; they do an amazing lasagne and the best goddamn meat balls downtown. I know the chef…and if scrambled eggs and bacon floats your boat, then we can do that too-whatever ya want” he added with a shrug.

  “You got nobody else you can have breakfast with?” she replied “why you wanna waste your money on me?”

  “No I don’t..” he shook his head.

  “You don’t what?”

  “I don’t have anybody else I can have breakfast with, you’re my designated best friend for the day-now let’s go before I change my mind, whaddaya say?” he shot back.

  “Well actually, no” she shook her head “we eat in there, or nowhere else” she pointed towards the entrance of a hotel some twenty feet away.

  “I have a name, lady.. in case you forgot. My name is John, I told you yesterday” he replied, waiting for her response.

  “Well John…” she winked “I wonder why you’d wanna buy breakfast for some bum on the street on a complete whim, and I gotta tell you one thing, I don’t do no favours, catch my drift?’ she hissed.

  “Don’t worry..” John replied “no strings attached I promise you-now what is it about that hotel that’s so good?” he asked pointing further down the sidewalk towards the Regent Continental.

  “It’s important to me” she replied “me and that place, we’ve got…history”

  “Even a glass of lemonade costs about $15 in that place” John shook his head.

  “I knew it…” she answered with a coy smile, peering back up at him, her tongue firmly in cheek.

  “What do you know?” John enquired.

  “That you’re a cop…” she nodded “tell me I’m wrong..”

  “You’re not” John shrugged his shoulders “is that a problem?”’

  “You don’t recognise me?” she asked, narrowing her eyes as she feigned disappointment.

  “Well…” he smiled “only from yesterday and the day before that”

  “I didn’t mean like that” she frowned “you honestly don’t know me?”

  “I just moved to Manhattan a few weeks ago” he replied “and no I don’t know who you are-and you’re probably wondering why I’m asking you to have a meal with me..well it’s not out of pity for you, and it’s not because I’m a cop…I just would like to..”

  “Well I know one thing about you in the short time we’ve known each other” she smiled “you’re a bad liar”

  “No” he chuckled “you are, I know you’re not what you look like-but right now I don’t care, are you gonna eat with me or not?”

  “You’re a strange kinda cop..” she mused as John stared back at her.

  “Would it make you happy to know that my whole department thinks exactly the same thing?” he sighed “now are you gonna take me up on that offer or you gonna make me ask twice?”

  “Sure I will” she retorted “I like the way you talk”

  “So let’s do this” he said as he extended his hand again “you’re gonna have to get up y’know, they don’t do take out” he added with a smile.

  She sat there for a moment, deep in thought, and then whistled- one so sharp and piercing it punctured the malaise of sound in the oncoming crowd of hundreds of pedestrians around them.

  Almost on cue a small, chubby little ogre of a man waddled into their immediate vicinity. His coat was tattered, the hat he wore on his potato shaped head was crumpled, and his spectacles were misted over from the cold.

  “Yeah?” he muttered nonchalantly at her, hiding his annoyance well.

  “Look after my stuff Pollard,” the woman groaned as she took John’s hand and yanked herself up off the sidewalk, pointing at the suitcases either side of her “I’m going to eat and I don’t know if I’ll be back in five minutes or five hours”

  Pollard stared at John with the intensity of a microbiologist studying a specimen in his lab and then turned to her. “Who’s he?” he asked, pointing at him suspiciously.

  “He’s taking me to breakfast or lunch. I haven’t decided which yet. So are you gonna look after my stuff or not Pollard?” she demanded.

  Pollard thought it over and then nodded slowly, careful not to avert his gaze from John who stared back at him, struggling to stifle the inevitable feeling of laughter emanating from within at the little imp of a man before him.

  “Good” she nodded as she rose to her feet, wrapping the coat tightly around herself, waiting until Pollard had taken her place on the sidewalk. John shook his head in bewilderment as he watched the pair of them exchange places.

  “You’ve
got a great arrangement there lady. He’s like a pet monkey. I bet he does tricks too” John chuckled as he slowly followed her down the sidewalk, weaving in and out of the oncoming rush of commuters.

  She ignored him and strode towards the entrance, only for John to quickly catch up to her.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, staring down at his hand, which was gently pressed against her abdomen.

  “I think you better let me handle this” he warned “they might throw us out otherwise.”

  “Bullshit” she scoffed “they know me here..don’t ya Harry?” she yelped, catching the attention of the doorman.

  A tall, wiry man dressed in a gleaming black tux turned towards her with a wry smile. ”Well hi there, Lauren” he said, feigning a look of surprise “and what can I do for you today?”

  “You know this woman?” John shook his head “Lauren? What’s going on here?” he demanded as the smile slowly drained from his face.

  “Harry knows me” she replied with a wink “he lets me stay here on the sidewalk. If the cops come, he warns me and I move on. We got an arrangement going. Everybody’s happy” she added as Harry rolled his eyes, allowing them both to step through the revolving doors of the hotel and step into the foyer

  “Lauren?” John exclaimed as he blocked her path.

  “Yeah,” she shot back with a grin as she studied her surroundings.

  ”So you do have a name. I told you mine. Since I’m buying you lunch, you could at least have told me yours” he scowled.

  “That’s not my real name,” she laughed “he calls me that because he thinks I look like Lauren Bacall”