Soul Institute library director Milt Glouair secured his appointment through his grandparents, influential donors to TSI who somehow outmaneuvered the usually politically astute Soul Institute Director, Alfred Burlcron, who hates Milt and threatens to bust the snippy martinet down to student shelver. Skinny, with thin blond hair, a pointed wedge face, gold wire-rimmed glasses, a huge mole on the left side of his nose, red cheeks, and icy blue eyes, Milt wears dark three-piece suits as library director, but when on combat patrol at the college, overseeing the teen thugs of the Kaiser Death Gang, he dons camouflage fatigues and a green beret.
Okay, so I didn’t feel like drawing the huge mole or the pointed wedge face nor probably most of the description above or below. Sometimes the psychic feel of a character just emerges from a drawing I didn’t intend as a novel character when I started. From The Soul Institute:
Milt Glouair slung the lightweight gun over his shoulder and drank from his thermos. The PeneTraitor X-12 fully automatic machine gun, manufactured for the Red Chinese Army and illegal in the U.S., held five hundred rounds and was probably the world’s foremost military weapon.
And Burlcron comes up with six! One for each of us and himself! What a guy!
Glouair’s checked his watch as his combat boots clomped on the sidewalk through the Central Woods. 0300 hours. Good. Everything on schedule. His fatigues swished around his thighs. His knife sheath rode pleasantly against his hip. The coffee was wonderful. Belgian SynapseFritz–gourmet coffee from the Command Post!
Who’d have thought a shit like Stain Caruck had to have gourmet coffee? Well, Glouair supposed it kept the Kaisers alert. There was the English Building. Hit it fast and then back into the trees. No need to let the Security boys know where he was. Of course Burlcron had TSI Security checking the dorm and the parking lots. Keeping them from the north fields and the Kaiser Death Gang Command Post.
Glouair was pleased to see a deadly soldier in camouflage fatigues reflected in the glass of the English Building. He certainly cut a different figure in this outfit than in those three-piece suits he wore as library director! He adjusted his green beret.
There he was, all five-foot-six of him a professional soldier. He tucked his thin blond hair back under the beret and took in his wedge face, wire-rimmed glasses, the red cheeks, the icy blue eyes. He looked deadly and he knew it. Especially the icy blue eyes. People told him that. “The way your eyes just dominated that meeting, Milt!”
The mole on his nose was damn ugly, he knew. But it stopped people. Put them off just long enough for him to slip his agenda in.
Glouair fell back into the Central Woods. Caruck was in the wooded area around the Director’s house, Bip Elliott further north on Carson’s property, and Muscles Maguire was setting up in town. They’d meet at the sewer at four. The Mesquite kid, down at the sewer, had made their first kidnapping an hour ago–an unexpected piece of luck.
The boys had done fine on Jutland. He’d had no idea the place would blow like that! They must have hit a gas line.
copyright 2017 by Michael D. Smith