The Seventh Son Of A Seventh Son

That title and that pic have nothing at all to do with this post. I just needed something that had to do with seven, and as it turns out, the Magnificent Seven are surprisingly meme free. My esteemed partner in crime Norma tagged me for something a few days back (she used the term shame him into doing it), and I figured, why not? So, here are seven sentences from the seventh page of Heaven & Hell, which I am (finally) getting back into polishing up.

Several days later, the Old City was busy as always in the afternoon of an early March day. The tension was always lingering there, though. Living in the midst of turmoil meant never knowing if today was going to be one of those very bad days. For two uniformed policemen on foot patrol near the Jaffa Gate, a routine day shifted suddenly into bloodshed and violence.

Yehuda Rabat was the senior officer, shepherding a young officer through his first year on the street. Rabat was experienced, in his late thirties, long since schooled in the ways of Jerusalem, of the obstacles and issues to be faced here. He looked the part of a veteran officer, proper in his uniform, his dark eyes constantly scanning his surroundings.