 Barely fourteen, Ceci Prejean is a tomboy running wild in the hot Louisiana summer. After breaking the nose of a local boy, her father decides to enlist the aid of Hecubah, a beautiful Creole woman, with a secret past, who takes Ceci in hand and turns her into a lady.
Now, eighteen-year-old Ceci meets and falls passionately in love with a handsome young northerner, Trent Sinclaire. Trent is a cadet at the West Point military academy. He acts as if he knows Ceci. They begin a torrid affair, even as the southern states begin to secede from the Union. Only weeks before their wedding, the Confederate army attacks Fort Sumter and the civil war begins. Trent is called to active service in the north, leaving Ceci heartbroken in the south. Swearing vengeance on the union, after the untimely death of her family at the fall of New Orleans, Ceci meets with infamous spy master, Henry Doucet. He initiates her into the shadowy world of espionage. After her failure to avert the catastrophe at Gettysburg, Ceci infiltrates the White House. There, she comes face to face with Abraham Lincoln, a man she’s sworn to kill. Forming a reckless alliance with the actor, John Wilkes Booth, she is drawn deeper into the plot to assassinate the President of the United States. A Confederate spy in love with a Union officer, her next decision will determine whether she lives or dies. CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE
0 Comments
 THE ABDUCTION CHRONICLES is an abridged version of two books, An Abduction Revelation and its sequel, Abduction Revelation II. Based on some true mysterious and compelling life events of the author who experienced some unusual phenomenon in his life. His ex-wife claimed they were abducted, on several occasions, by beings who were not of this world. He was unaware of them until he melted their instilled memory blocks. Who are the abductors? Where are they from? What do they want? The answers will torment his reality. An intriguing adventure packed with action, drama, mystery, romance, comedy, and a few exhilarating plot twists that will surely knock your socks off. The dialog is written in a memoir conversational style. So pull up a chair and join ‘The Comeback Kid’ on his incredible life’s journey as he unravels the secrets behind his abductions and comes face to face with his abductors. CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE EXCERPT
“Tom. It’s CJ. (My ex-wife was calling herself CJ these days). I really must tell you this. No, wait. Listen. Don’t hang up. Please. You remember how I talked about the night we drove to Carmel, and they took you. Well, actually they took us both. I’ve been fasting and abstaining from sex. That helped me to melt their mind block. Yes, their mind block. I thought then they were aliens, but they’re not. Now I have discovered the whole truth. I’m not me. You’re not you either. No, wait. Let me explain. We’re someone else. We are...(spoiler). No, I’m not insane. No, no, I’m not delusional. You need to become a vegetarian and abstain from sex, and then you can melt your mind block and discover the truth. No, don’t hang up.” But I had heard enough. Her babbling made no sense. If you remember, right after our divorce, she said we had been abducted by aliens. Now she claims that we are...(spoiler) and the abductors aren’t aliens. Needless to say, I figured she had to of had a few loose marbles. Keep in mind, that at this time in my life, I hadn’t yet melted my mind blocks, so I had no idea what the heck she was ranting about.  Andi’s step-mother is a real piece of work! But is Ruby a murderer? Andi Anna Jones, so-so travel agent/amateur sleuth, puts aside her resentment of her father’s widow and books a 60th birthday cruise to Cancun for Ruby and three friends. Never does Andi imagine the cruise will lead to the murder of a has-been lounge singer—or that Ruby will be the main suspect. Flirting with more than danger after arriving in Mexico, Andi connects with the charming local sheriff, Manuel Rodriquez. After an embarrassing night involving the sheriff, too many margaritas, and a Mariachi band, a chance to check out an eyewitness to the murder leads her to Las Vegas. In Vegas, a mysterious meeting in the Bodies Exhibition, a body preserving in the prep-room, and an evasive owner of a dance studio, give Andi clues to help Ruby. But when Andi is mercilessly drugged and locked in a storage room, she realizes dear old step-mom isn’t the only one in jeopardy. CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE EXCERPT
“Tell me what’s going on. Slowly, and about fifty decibels lower. Why are you in jail?” “Well, honey, I’m not sure. Oh, I know what they’re saying, but I didn’t do anything. I swear. Well, at least nothin’ I can remember. You see, it all started on the cruise ship dance floor, quite innocently, mind you.” “What started?” I located my slippers and shuffled to the bathroom. “As I was saying before you interrupted, it all started on the dance floor. You know, they play such romantic music on these cruises like, Shadow of Your Smile and Mandy. Oh, don’t you just love Manilow? Well, anyway, Lenny and I were having a lovely time, and he was obviously enamored, if you catch my drift.” I knew this was a mistake. Still, I asked, “Lenny who?” “Why, Lenny La Mour, of course!” I drew a blank. “Lenny La Mour,” Ruby huffed, “The famous Las Vegas performer? He’s the reason I picked this cruise. He had his own humongous nightclub and everything. Oh, Andi Anna, don’t tell me you’ve never heard of him. Why, women my age swoon at the sound of his voice. But, I suppose your generation only has eyes for that Bon Ami person.” “Uh, are you, by any chance, talking about Bon Jovi?” “Well, you know who I mean.”  In the midst of a raging storm aboard a stolen sailboat, Scott and Aiden fight for their lives on the open sea against modern day pirates, hunger, a rapidly disintegrating boat, and mother nature herself. The two desperate teens must find a way not only to survive, but to navigate back home. Their only hope is to salvage a sinking friendship and work together. Their survival depends on it. Red Skies is from Survive, an EPIC Press series. CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE EXCERPT
Scott lost sight of his best friend, Aiden, between colliding walls of gray seawa- ter. Had Aiden been washed overboard? Was he dead? The icy curl of the latest wave pounded into their sailboat, knocking Scott down hard. With the boat’s deck now slick with seawater, Scott lost his footing and smacked his head into the now empty metal cleat next to him. Only minutes ago the rope that had held the torn main sail had been ripped away from the cleat by the force of the winds. His ears rang. As Scott drifted in and out of con- sciousness, his mind went back to a time earlier that day when life was normal, almost boring. -- - Even at fourteen years old, Scott knew the harbor wasn’t just filled with boats; it was packed with the dreams and hopes of grownups. Some sailboats were drifting along, shiny and new, and some had not left the harbor in years. A few of the boats were in disrepair from neglect, while some were just well- worn from many adventures. Scott knew when they visited the sailboat that “just stopping by,” as his dad would say, really meant they would be there at least a few hours. Scott looked out his parents’ car window at the winding road down to the sailboat harbor. The boats lining the dock baked in the afternoon sun of a blue, cloudless sky. Scott was a passenger along with his mother, and his old friend Aiden. His dad drove, all the while radiating a child-like energy as he talked to them about his newly purchased sail- boat now tied up in the harbor. “Today we seal up any leaks, boys. Then we do more preparation for our maiden voyage.” Scott looked over at Aiden, whose face was buried in a computer tablet game. After watching Aiden feverishly tap the touch screen, Scott said, “Looks like we are almost there. What level are you on?” “Oh, man! I just got another bonus chest with 400 gold and a protection spell.” “Awesome. Thanks for coming along.” Aiden didn’t answer, but scrolled through sev- eral screens before finally looking up and saying, “Huh?” “Thanks for finally coming along to see my dad’s sailboat.” “Your dad has a sailboat?” Sometimes Scott was embarrassed that Aiden was even his friend. He caught his dad looking at them in the rearview mirror. He must have heard Aiden’s stupid question. Scott let out a breath. “Yes, Aiden, he has a boat! We’ve talked about it almost every time you’ve been over this summer. Seriously dude, do you even care what’s up with us, or do you just come over to use my computer because your parents banned you from playing anything online?” “Um . . . little of both. Hey, a boat sounds cool.” One thing about Aiden was his honesty. Sometimes it was infuriating, but Scott always came to appreciate it eventually. He and Aiden had been friends since kindergarten. Aiden had stood up for Scott against Jimbo Tykes, a third-grade thug who had it out for Scott. Even though Aiden sometimes acted stupid, he had moments of brilliance. And Scott felt bad for Aiden; his parents were basically letting him raise himself. Aiden looked back down at his computer tablet as Scott’s dad pulled into a parking spot. When Scott exited the car, he noticed how many people had already come down to the dock to work on their boats. Some families ate picnic meals while others walked along the shore admiring all the boats tied in their slips around the floating dock. Scott’s dad headed toward the trunk of the car. “Dad? Do you want help?” “Of course! Let’s put Aiden to work, too.” His dad turned back and rummaged around a short while in the trunk. He gathered a few supplies and headed toward the dock while Scott’s mom stayed back with the boys. Aiden looked up at them in confusion and Scott’s mom extended her hand to ask for the com- puter tablet back. Scott thought he seemed sincerely baffled. “What?” Scott’s mom smiled knowingly. “Aiden? It’s best to let me have that so it doesn’t get in the water.” Aiden handed over the pad and headed after Scott’s dad toward the sailboat. Scott didn’t know if he should stay with his mom or run after them. His mom seemed to know what he was thinking. “Go on, Scott. Your dad loves it when you help him work on it.” “Okay, Mom. See you down there?” “I’ll be right there. I’m going to say hello to Mrs. Hernandez first.” Scott didn’t need to hear more than that. Mrs. Hernandez would talk his mom’s ear off for an hour, and he would be stuck there with them if he stayed. He bounded over to catch up with Aiden. The way along the wooden dock smelled like the worst part of the sea to Scott, with barnacles and some kind of greenish slime growing along the sides of the path. When it was hot like this, with no afternoon breeze and a heat that sat over the water, the smell got concentrated in his nose. Aiden and Scott hopped on the boat after his dad and watched as he took out a few things he’d saved to add to the boat’s cabin supplies. 10 “We’ll be able to take her out for the first time, soon. I figure we can gradually move some of the cans of food and things that won’t spoil anytime soon into the cabin while we clean her up.” Aiden looked impatient, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He brushed the long strands of black hair from his face. Scott went to the side of the deck and started to scrub the portal of the cabin. This was one of many tasks his dad had assigned him last time they visited the boat. Scott was so focused while cleaning that he man- aged to tune out Aiden’s obvious boredom for a few minutes. When he glanced up at his friend, Scott was surprised to see Aiden looking with some inter- est at the ropes that kept the sailboat in its place against the dock. “Do you think you’ll ever actually take this thing out, sir?” Aiden asked Scott’s dad. “Of course, we are going to take it out, Aiden. There are just steps you have to do first to be ready for any voyage.” “Couldn’t we go out today, just for a little while?” His dad paused. “No, Aiden, she’s not ready.” “But what’s the point of having a boat if it just sits here?” Scott watched his dad’s patience strain. Aiden sometimes talked like this; he liked to push peo- ple’s limits. Most of the time, Aiden didn’t notice he was doing it. Afterwards, when Scott tried to explain, Aiden’s response was always, “But I was just curious!” “We’ll take the boat out when it’s ready,” Scott’s dad calmly replied. “What kind of knots did you say those were?” Aiden pointed at the nearest knot that held the 1978 Ericson sailboat’s slick white hull in place against the bobbing of the sea. “That is a cleat hitch. That’s the best kind of knot to use to attach a line from the boat to the dock.” Scott’s dad was smiling; he seemed pleased that Aiden was showing an interest. 12 “Why don’t they just make a knot? Why do there have to be fancy, special knots for stuff?” “Because each knot can accomplish a different type of task. If you like, I can show you how to tie one of those.” “Sure,” Aiden said enthusiastically, and Scott moved over to watch as well. Scott’s dad soaked up the attention—he was practically beaming. “First, you have to untie it, of course. Why don’t you try it? It will make it easier to show you how to do up a knot if you see how to undo it.” Scott’s dad encouraged Aiden with a wave of his hand in the direction of the dock. Aiden leaned over and started to pull at the knot. Scott realized this was going to take a long time doing it this way so he bent over the edge of the boat and showed off his skill by quickly undoing the cleat knot. “Scott! Hey, I was going to do that,” Aiden protested. Scott’s mom called out to them. “You forgot that new table for the boat radio you bought the other day, honey. It’s up in the car. I can’t bring it down by myself. Someone want to help me out with it?” Scott’s dad was up and out of the boat to help her. “I’ll be right back boys. Then we can take a look at sealing the portals.” “Okay, Dad.” Aiden moved over to the other cleat knot hold- ing the sailboat in the dock and started to undo it. He must have watched how Scott untied the knot and copied him because the rope came undone in seconds. “Aiden! Dude, what are you doing? You can’t undo both knots or we’ll drift out of the dock. Put it back.” Aiden popped back up and looked very guilty. Scott felt a wave of panic come over him. He looked up to the parking lot and saw that his mom and dad were now walking to their car with their backs to him. Scott went to yell for them, but knew 14 they would never hear him now—it was way too noisy, and they were too far away. His dad’s sail- boat, named The Long Wavy Home by its previous owners, was made for the sea. It answered its call once it was untied from its moorings like a race- horse to the field. It started to drift out of the dock quickly. Scott ran for the rudder. Aiden laughed. “Come on let’s just take it out for a little bit.” “No! Absolutely not!” Scott grabbed the wheel as the boat slipped out of the dock toward the open sea. “Come on. You’re the one who says you know so much about sailing. Prove it” “I know how to sail. That’s not the point!” Scott looked back at the dock. His dad was a dot in the parking lot, but he could tell that dot was moving quickly back toward the dock. “Aiden, we need to go back.” “Come on. You should be able to do this. Just around here.” Scott saw his dad make it out to the dock where his beloved sailboat had been. He was shouting, but Scott could barely hear him. “Scott! Get back here!” “Dad! Wait there, we will be back in . . . ” Scott looked to Aiden for the rest of the information. “Half an hour.” “Half an hour!” “Tops.” “Tops!” He saw his dad wildly waving his hands. The boat was picking up speed away from the dock now. Scott thought he would just take it out for a bit since Aiden had already gotten them out there. He figured maybe he’d use the outboard motor to show Aiden how it was done. By the time his dad had a chance to cool off and see Scott had everything under control, he’d just bring it back into the dock. His dad might even be proud of how well his son handled the boat. What could happen? he thought as he turned to start the motor that would guide them around and 16 back to the dock. He wouldn’t be in that much trouble. It was Aiden’s fault, after all. The sound of a pulled rope greeted Scott’s ears as he looked over the outboard motor. “Hey, this knot is a lot easier to loosen than the ones holding the boat.” Aiden smiled as the rope holding the main sail came untied. “Cool.” Aiden continued, grinning. “Okay, you know so much. Show me how you paid attention to all that stuff your dad talks about.” The silky, white fabric billowed out then gath- ered the wind and pulled the sailboat out into the sea far away from the dock. This was the moment Scott realized that he didn’t really know how to sail at all. CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE THE SERIES Animal Graph by M. Black This novel came to her in a dream. SUMMARY: Set in the Amazonian jungles of South America, M.Black weaves an action-packed tale in this original YA Amazonian Eco-Fic Dystopia set forty-two years after a nuclear war. Jin—a prisoner of King Borran—and Adan—another Graphed—have to fight for their survival in a utopia gone wrong. In a world where animal cells and neural tissue have been grafted into humans, and humans are connected by brain waves to chosen animals from the Amazon, will Jin and Adan survive? Will they ever find their Animal Graph counterparts? Can the Earth find harmony with humanity and the animals or will those wanting to destroy it all win? Socially relevant, dark and sexy, with themes that hang on environmental concerns and animal welfare…ENTER TOMORROW with ANIMAL GRAPH. A novel along the lines of Hunger Games meets X-Men. If you’re a fan of The Treemakers, The Sowing, Simulation, Age of Order, A Brave New World or A Canticle for Leibowitz, you may also enjoy this novel. EXCERPT My feminine bottom slides down the wet, slippery cliff at the end of the path of foliage, dropping me forty meters into the abyss below where I thrash, arms flailing about me in a sure drown, water gulping down my tight throat in a struggle for air. My long, auburn hair is drenched to my side like a second skin. I barely know how to swim, but I have no other choice but to sink down where I won’t be seen. They’re on my trail and the choking gas has almost reached me. Glancing skyward, under a thin layer of water, I see a cake of the pinkish fog choke the plants and moss above, that grows off the dark stones there—the only elegance out here. Water cascades into a beautiful waterfall toward me in a steady stream, and I hear the loud fog horn-like sound from my pursuers alerting everyone in the vicinity that I’m nearby. They’ll need to find me before sundown or risk encountering the savage wildlife of the Amazon rainforest, like Radguars, a mutated form of the Jaguar which began to appear after the radiation hit. No one ever lives after facing one. They’ll tear a man to shreds. I hear them coming, five of them—they always come in fives—their thick boots hitting the forest floor in a scratch-scratch as they approach the end of my path. I’m not even sure how I do this—hear them. The distance is more than thirty meters away and the rush of water interferes with my ears. I never would have been able to do this before they took me. Taken in the middle of the night by Borran's soldiers while asleep in my cell, a two-by-three-meter room in which I’d been locked for a year, since I was sixteen, after I’d stolen a loaf of bread from a village vendor. Too many of us end up behind bars for petty crimes, to ensure as a whole we comply with the laws. When they registered me for prison, they scanned the bar code on my upper arm, denoting my full name, region of residency, and any prior arrests. I didn’t have priors before, but now my bar code will always show I was in prison. Block D, Cell 47; D47 was my designation. Hadn’t heard my real name—Jin Maharaj—in a year. Even my cellmate referred to me as D47. By cellmate, I mean he shared the concrete cell next to me and we could speak only through a barred opening between us, the size of my hand. We all got used to calling each other numbers. When they first took me, I’d sit in my cell for hours daydreaming about my family, about Lila—our good family friend. She was married to a medicine man and tried to help Papa and my sister May when they got sick. I’d remember her words of encouragement, ‘Nature has all the answers. Stick to nature.’ But I’d always be interrupted by our mandated chores: washing clothes, floors, toilets, gardening, or working in the shops to make rubber. Slop three times a day was pushed under the cell door to keep us alive for all the work. Prisoners were the first to undergo the Graph procedure to enhance human abilities by grafting animal cells and neural tissue into humans. As a side effect, electrical pulses from animal brain waves would fuse—or Graph—into the human’s brain waves and form an intuitive bond with the animal. I struggled, kicked, and maybe even screamed before a team from Borran’s Animal Graph facility injected me with a sedative, their faces growing fuzzy, my hands grappling for something—anything—to hold on to, before I fell asleep in the arms of my enemy. From under the thin layer of water, I watch the edge of the cliff, forty meters away, where two soldiers turn their heads left and right in a frantic search for me. I can see so much detail I shouldn’t, like the lines over their left chest pocket designating rank, and the mud splattered on the sides of their boots. Even the freckles splayed across the nose of one of them. They’ve been ordered to hunt me—to find me and then kill me, as part of their training. I feel weak, as if I could drown at any minute, because I can’t hold my breath any longer; surely I can’t. My brain tells me I need to breathe, and breathe now! Yet I’ll have to ignore the incessant thought creeping into my mind. Maybe the water can take me, take my breath and end me, make it all come to a close. I’m exhausted, tired of running, and it’s been a year since I’ve seen my mother—Ariana, and my younger brother—Carlos. They were forbidden to visit me in the cell, as all visitors are nowadays. My padre and older sister, May, both died from illness six months before I was thrown into prison. It’s easy to die in this world where medicines are kept only for the Prestige—the upper class that makes up 3% of the nation’s population. The rest of us poor live in sporadic villages or face the nights alone, and food is hard to come by. Meat, including fish that survived all the radiation from the Atlantic or rivers, is supposed to be given to the village guards when they come in for their monthly visits. Villages only get to keep 5% of their catch. That’s why I stole that loaf of bread for my brother. He’d gone two days without eating. Some villages grow flax or chia seeds, and others wheat or barly, still some lucky ones have chickens and eggs—but it’s never enough. If we try hiding our fish or eggs, if caught—we’re killed on the spot. I’ve seen a family murdered when I was just ten in Guiana for storing forbidden meats. Because of the radiation, good meat is hard to come by.  Graph Secrets by M. Black "I READ IT IN A FEW HOURS!" -Von "ALL FIVE STARS, NO SURPRISE THERE. IT IS A GREAT STORY." -Marina "I HAVE NEVER READ THIS CONCEPT BEFORE!" -Amazon Reader Check out a new Survival-Fiction! Animal Graph is an original, NEVER BEFORE SEEN CONCEPT, a YA Amazonian Eco-Fic Dystopia with themes on wildlife and nature conservation, which asks questions about what happens when a greedy dictatorship rules the nation, and the harsh consequences to the Earth of a nuclear war. Animal Graph series is the third ebook release from author M.Black (Simulation, Exotiqa, Animal Graph) whose brand is ENTER TOMORROW, if you dare. Enter http://MBlackDystopianThrillers.blogspot.com for more dystopian thrillers that will take you into our future. In Graph Secrets, Jin finds out her Madre, Marina, is kidnapped by King Borran Khan and she learns the truth about her origins, and she is propelled back into the Amazon...this time to hunt Borran down. Will she rescue her madre in time? Will she get her capture? Find out in this breath-taking, fast-paced unique thriller about survival and fighting for freedom---book 2 of Animal Graph. EXCERPT Inking our backs with Borran’s mark feels like a betrayal to everything I believe in, a permanent stain to remind us that we belong to Borran—whether we like it or not. And if we’re caught, Borran has one more reason to kill us. Inking is illegal in the villages, to prevent any false Borran marks on Graphs. I close my eyes, and focus on Mama’s photos as the needle pierces my back, leaving trails of blood to sink to the crevice of my bottom and splashing on the cave floor beside me. Memories of blood flood my mind. …Blood slides down my inner leg and my palms clasp my round belly. Six months in this hell hole and I’m showing. I’ve kept my pregnancy a secret for months, afraid of being transfered to the white building. No one returns from the white building. No one ever sees their baby again. As the inking needle pricks my back, I’m jolted back to the present. Juan inks me—performs yet another illegal thing—I begin to suspect that he was the one who leaked the Graph technology to the world. Who else? He’s obviously brilliant, and had mixed feelings about what he was doing. Ostir already confessed that he and she were both at a PAPE meeting. As I wash up in the waterfall basin, Juan needles Klen and Ostir. By the time I return to the cave, the siblings are heading to the basin to bathe and Adan is biting on another branch. Seems all Adan does around me lately is get torn up somehow. “Stay still,” Juan implores while leaning into Adan’s back. “I was stung by bullet ants once. Hurt like hell. Not going through that again.” “I’ll stay still,” Adan says firmly, the bite over the branch harder as the needle goes into his back in a precise poke, poke, poke. Juan keeps both hands on the needle, instead of one on the back as he did with me. Afterward, Adan’s back is soaked with blood and he exits for the falls fast. Juan turns to Lila and she shakes her head vigorously. “No way I’m getting one of those on my back. I won’t be flaunting my nudity anyhow.” Juan half grins. We can all imagine what that image is. I lean into Adan’s chest at the falls after he’s washed off the blood and shirted himself. I hang there like I could stay all day, letting my forehead and cheeks rub his stubbled chin. Adan looks down at me, half-grinning, satisfied, but with a brow arched as if to ask ‘what the hell?’ I’m not sure what else to say. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” “I do.” Adan explains. I’m almost hopeful. “But you’ve got to learn to control your urge to mark.” He laughs, and then I laugh with him. “Sorry.” “Don’t be. It’s cute.” He clears his throat. “And makes me feel guilty about being so curt with you when we first met in the Amazon.” “Yea, what was up with that?” I glance up, my eyes meeting his. “Impatience at needing you to keep up, and pressure. Lot’s of killing of people I knew, led me to save you that day. I guess a part of me was angry at you for being saved.” “But you helped save me.” I feel my brows twist as I gaze up at him. “Still, too many mixed emotions. You got to live. Friends I knew died. I couldn’t kill another illegal Graph, and yet looking at you reminded me of everything my dead friends would never have. I guess I expected you to learn quick—to be worthy enough.” “And did I?” “Yep, you did.” He grins, and leans his lips over mine, close enough to almost feel him, but not close enough to touch—to contract my blue dart poison. We’re all exhausted and haven’t slept for over twenty-four hours, but we have to do this. Spider and Borran’s soldiers won't give up and we don’t have time to rest. We should wait until we’ve gained more distance. At least we all ate soup at Lila’s. Before we head out, I grab Juan’s wrist. “Wait. You need to take a sample of my blood.” Adan nods. “Smart. Keep evidence here of your birthright.” Ostir keeps her hand over my shoulder. “When you challenge him, you’ll definitely need proof.” “And a fight to the death,” Klen adds. “We all know that’s how things are done nowadays. Borran won’t just give up his kingdom to his half-sister.” “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” I stretch my arm to Juan. “For now, I need a vial of my blood.” After Juan shambles for a tube and needle in his supplies, he sticks my vein and withdraws enough blood to run several tests on my DNA to prove I’m a Khan. He adds some kind of fluid to the vial of blood, and then hands it to me to hide. I keep the blood in the basket with Mama’s things. Then, we head out to make new friends. If we’re going to ambush Borran and his BAG facility, Juan is right we’ll need more than just us. Juan takes us to the outskirts of Annai, further southeast, to where several illegal Graphs that he’s performed operations on live. They keep quiet and off the grid. Living outside the cities and villages allows the illegal Graphs to avoid being discovered by Borran’s guards and killed. Getting to where we need to be to meet them is almost a diagonal path downward from the waterfall and takes about three hours. We arrive at just about two p.m. After Jade sniffs the air, I hear a man shout “Over here!” He’s a robust man with no shirt on, shouting to another man of almost equal stature, girth and attire; except that the first man has black, matted hair and the other’s is blond. Both have dark complexions and are too muscular to go unnoticed. The blond man throws a small pinecone into the air and yells “Incoming!” When the pinecone comes dangerously close to hitting the matted-haired man in the face, he whips out a long stick and bats the pinecone away, sending it across the field and hitting a palm tree trunk, the cone shattering. “You are going to have to throw better than that!” the matted-haired man grunts in a chuckle. “Right you are, Cai, right you are.” Juan waves his hand, drawing attention to himself, causing both men to turn in our direction and jump into an attack stance. I then notice the matted-haired man’s set of teeth. His jaw crunches open and shut with an awkward smile on his face, as normal human teeth become sharp and long. Juan leads us ahead, toward them, gesturing with his hands in a downward motion for the two men to calm themselves.  Graph Lies by M. Black
A Never-Before-Seen-Concept! A YA Amazonian Eco-Fic Dystopia! HUNGER GAMES meets X-MEN! JUNGLE BOOK meets DR. MOREAU! Safe in San Felipe, the team will have to scrounge for food to survive which leads them to the lost girl who draws them into Guambi mountains with the Prestige. After Jin, Adan, and the misfit band of Graphs head to the Experiment Facility in the jungles on the Amazon to rescue friends, they'll have to face Borran head-on and their greatest nemesis, spider. An action-packed series that leaves readers guessing. "Unputdownable!" "This Series Rocks!" and "I can't wait for the next book!" are just some of what reviewers are saying! Pick up your copy and find out why! EXCERPT “Dammit! They’re still coming!” Adan yells, entwined in a few vines. I toss up my head and glance back, my bottom still on the ground and my knees scraped with wet grass stains. My auburn hair whips around and slaps my cheeks. Sum frantically pulls vines off Adan to untangle him, but my eyes can only zero in on the oncoming madness. Behind the thicket of swamp titi, I hear the booming screams of howler monkeys warning us to stay off their territory. I scramble to my feet, gripping on to a low-rotting branch. My neck is tilted back to keep my eyes on them. So many of them with spear-like teeth aiming for us, and their eyes—their eyes are crazy! Sum grabs Adan’s arm and yanks him forward. “Come on!” I race in front of Sum shouting, Adan close to his side. “Get moving!” I don’t hesitate. The monkeys look ravenous. My feet dart across the wet grass beside the Orinoco River in an anxious padding as we race toward Puerto Carreno. “Just leave the raft?!” I ask worriedly. It took a long time to reinforce after our trip from Manaus. We lost about half the raft by the time we reached San Felipe. “We’ll pick it up on the way back!” Sum shouts from behind, his voice gravelly, while I turn my head forward. My eyes catch the warm afternoon sun in the sky. It took just half a day to get here, but getting what we need and getting out will take longer. I listen to Sum; next to Carlos, he is the closest thing I have to a brother, and I’m not sure when I’ll ever see Carlos again. Though Mama and I want to send for him, we know he’s safer where he is. The large, embracing hand of Adan plops against my back when he and Sum catch up to me. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.” Glancing to Adan, half teasing, I respond, “And you said we’d be in and out before the day ended.” “How could I have known?” His cheeks glisten in the sun and rise with his trademark half-smile. “What the hell is going on? Monkeys don’t act like this.” I see the worry line between his brows, the furrowing, like they did when we landed in San Felipe and found Cai’s village nearly empty. An illness spread through the villages there, killing three-quarters of their inhabitants. Vendors had been cleaned out by surviving village folk, leaving no food to spare. We ran out of our Amazonian supply in a day. Adan shakes his head. “It’s like they’re drugged.” “Crazed,” Sum adds. I must stay focused on the goal ahead, and forget that we’ve become prey to a savage pack of hungry, wild beasts. They don’t look Burned, but they act like they are. We keep up our pace, but the loud screeches of howlers aren’t far behind, and the warning call reverberates throughout the shaking trees as they jump from limb to limb. There are large mountains in the distance, some within the Puerto Carreno boundaries and most to the east where the Guiana Highlands sit, where the Prestige live high and mighty. We just need to make it to Puerto Carreno, and then we can steal a crate of food meant for the Prestige and return to San Felipe. Our friends haven’t eaten all day. We at least had some Brazil nuts and dwarf bananas on our journey. We even managed to illegally catch two fish from the river. Most of the area near San Felipe is barren, fruits and nuts picked daily and packaged weekly for delivery into Puerto Carreno, and there is no one left in the villages to make bread. If we can’t get this crate of food, we’ll risk starvation. There are just too many of us to rely on the sparse resources in this area. That’s why it’s so barren of people. Suddenly, Adan pushes into me, knocking me over into more red and black titi. Two howler monkeys leap out of the trees, and all I can see are their sharp, pointy teeth as they pound on top of Adan and Sum. Sum’s apricot hues stain with dirty howler pawprints and I hear a thunderous scream before the monkeys open their mouths to bite, but Adan quickly expels his leathery bat wings, and the heavy flapping pushes one monkey off him. When the other monkey is about to bite Sum, Sum instead bites the monkey in the neck, and the small primate howls in agony before leaping off Sum and scurrying away in a panic. Adan pulls me to my feet as Sum yells, “Keep going!” The three of us traverse across the wet terrain, interspersed with shrubs and river plants. All I can think about is how pissed I am that the Prestige get all the goods. Even in Colombia, it’s no different than in Guyana—worse, even. At least in Guyana there are still sporadic trees with fruits. Of course, all the tasty food like guavas we have to give up to Borran. Exhausted, sweating, and hungry, I just want to get to our destination so we can head back to San Felipe. The sooner we return to our new home, the sooner we can devise a plan to free our friends, and the sooner I get to face Borran again. This time, it’ll be to kill him. When we meet another thicket of trees, another howler lunges towards us, but this time at me, and lands on the back of my neck. It screeches like it’s caught a coveted meal, and bounces up and down on my back. I react instinctively, lost in the moment. I grab its neck with one hand twisting behind me, and grab its leg with my other hand. I yank the monkey forward, pulling it off me and tossing it with a jerk to the ground. Adan just stares at me, as dumbfounded as I am. The monkey writhes on the ground as if I’ve twisted something in him—and maybe I have without realizing how hard I’d thrown him. When the monkey’s mouth falls agape, tongue sticking out and body lifeless, I can’t believe what’s just happened. “How did I do that without feeling anything?” “No pain?” Adan confirms. “None. It’s like I have no Connection to it whatsoever.” “I didn’t feel anything either when I hit the monkey with my wings.” “That doesn’t make any sense.” I turn to Adan, while Sum just watches us a few meters away, unsure of how to relate to all this mysterious disconnection. He never had the Connection anyway. “Maybe it’s us? Maybe something happened to our Connections?” Adan says fearfully, his almond-shaped eyes bending to mine. I shake my head. “No, I can still feel my harpy, my Bengal. I’m still Connected.” Adan’s contorted expression leaves me with no answers until Sum suggests something. “It’s not you two, it’s the animals. Look at ‘em. They ain’t normal. Something’s wrong with ‘em.” “But what?” The three of us poke our heads closer to the monkey, now dead on the ground, a white foam sticking to its crooked mouth’s corners. “I think we should hide him, take him back with us for Juan to examine,” I suggest, as I tuck the dead monkey under a bush, and Adan nods. “Sure.” We trek further up along the side of the river, keeping to the trees, and almost to the gates of Puerto Carreno. Howlers scream in the distance farther behind us, and I can even hear a few of them biting at each other and maybe even killing each other. At least they seem to have lost interest in us. We had to vacate our raft because of the monkeys, the moment we passed Puerto Ayacucho. Riding the raft on the mini river from San Felipe for a few hours worked, and then we had to walk till reaching the second mini river that took us into San Fernando, blending into the Orinoco. We followed the Orinoco all this way, only vacating once when we spotted a BAG patrol heading downstream. Probably sent to pick up a crate of goods from Puerto Carreno. But things got bad after Puerto Ayacucho. More BAG patrols and crazed howler monkeys. Still, we had to leave our raft eventually anyway, because there is no way the Puerto Carreno port patrol will allow Adan and me through this time. Both of our arm barcodes surely now read wanted: dead or alive. When we reach the gates of Puerto Carreno, I look to Adan. “What are we going to do?” “The gate is made of wood,” Sum answers, “maybe silk floss. Can’t be too tough.” “You suggesting we break it down?” Adan shakes his head. “No, no, we need to climb it.” He points left. “If you look at the western wall, there aren’t many guards. Just one there, and one towards the end.” Sum looks at Adan’s stump of an arm and his forehead twists in disbelief. Even with a wooden peg sewn into his sleeve, he can’t climb with that. I squint, using my eagle vision. “We can scale the wall,” Adan repeats. “How?” I ask, perplexed, with Sum still eyeing his stump. “You can stand on my shoulders and I’ll lift you up. You can reach the ledge if you stretch. I’ll stand on Sum’s shoulders. He can’t get in anyway. They’ll identify him as a Burned in no time.” Sum looks at Adan, his brows all ruffled, like he must still be joking. “This can work,” Adan insists. Sum argues, “And how do we avoid being seen? There’s a guard right there.” Adan’s face lights up. “I’ve got an idea.” “An idea?” After Adan turns from us and races back into the thick trees, I shout, “What are you doing?!” “Just follow me,” Adan insists. If he were any other man, I wouldn’t. But we’ve been through so much together and he’s always come through for me. So, I follow him, with Sum beside me, both of us unsure of where this will lead and what Adan’s getting us into. After all, he told us that this excursion would be quick. He should know, being from Truezuela and having ridden the Orinoco many times. A quick trip to Puerto Carreno to steal a crate of food so that we could have food for the next few days while we rest, heal our wounds, and devise a plan to rescue our friends. Sounded easy enough. “What are we doing?!” I demand in a huff as I catch up to Adan. He looks up and I see the howler monkeys just staring at us, salivating. Drool spills from their mouths and onto my sleeve. “Howlers?” “They’ll be our distraction.” Adan throws a fallen twig at two of them, which immediately stirs a reaction—the reaction he wants, I guess. After the two monkeys drop from the trees to chase us, another four monkeys come racing behind them, their movements erratic, eyes bloodshot, and mouths covered with white foam. “Our distraction, or our death?” I ask as Adan, Sum, and I all sprint back toward the wall. When we push through a cluster of bushes, where the wall sits, Adan pulls me aside with his good hand and we duck with Sum behind a large Brazil nut tree. The monkeys dart forward in reckless abandonment, leaving the safety net of the forest, and hurdle at full force into the wall, scaling crazily upward like ravenous beasts and toward the unsuspecting guard sitting in a chair, smoking a cigarette. The event takes less than thirty seconds. Before I blink, four howlers are toppling the guard while the other two are screaming in a frenzied dance on top of the wall. The two dancing monkeys snarl before lunging at each other, and the guard at the far end finally hears the commotion. When a crazed howler savagely bites his neck, the first guard screams and falls backward off the wall. Adan looks to me. “Now’s our chance.”   Games People Play: Thirteen-month-old Lily Hamilton is abducted from Ayr beach in Scotland while her parents are just yards away. Three days later the distraught father turns up at private investigator Charlie Cameron's office. Mark Hamilton believes he knows who has stolen his daughter. And why. Against his better judgment Charlie gets involved in the case and when more bodies are discovered the awful truth dawns: there is a serial killer whose work has gone undetected for decades. Is baby Lily the latest victim of a madman? For Charlie it’s too late, he can’t let go. His demons won’t let him. CLICK HERE TO READ A SAMPLE CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE  Old Friends and New Enemies The body on the mortuary slab wasn’t who Glasgow PI Charlie Cameron was looking for. But it wasn’t a stranger. Suddenly, a routine missing persons investigation becomes a fight for survival. As Charlie is dragged deeper into Glasgow’s underbelly he goes up against notorious gangster Jimmy Rafferty and discovers what fear really is. Rafferty is so ruthless even his own sons are terrified of him. Now he wants Charlie to find something. And Jimmy Rafferty always gets what he wants. There is only one problem... Charlie doesn’t know where it is. CLICK HERE TO READ A SAMPLE CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE  Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead:
Gavin Law was a whistleblower. Now he’s missing. Just another case for Glasgow PI, Charlie Cameron, until he discovers there is more to Law and his disappearance than anyone imagined. Wallace Maitland, the surgeon responsible for leaving a woman brain-damaged may have abandoned his sacred oath and become a killer. Did the hospital which refused to accept responsibility for the tragedy have Law silenced permanently? Or, with his wife little more than a vegetable, has David Cooper, believing he has been betrayed yet again, taken justice into his own hands? Charlie comes to realise the world of medicine can be a dangerous place. Across the city, East End gangster, Sean Rafferty is preparing to exploit the already corrupt city council in a multi-million pound leisure development known as Riverside. The project will be good for Glasgow. But not everybody is keen to work with Rafferty. With more than money at stake, Sean will do anything to get his way. His motto, borrowed from his old man, is simple. Never take a no from somebody who can give you a yes. If that means murder, then so be it. Charlie has crossed Rafferty’s path before and lived to tell the tale. He may not be so lucky a second time. CLICK HERE TO READ A SAMPLE CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE  Amanda Steele wanted to be a cop, like her dad. Instead she's a Girl Friday for a private investigator. Then she's asked to go undercover at a high school, as a student to solve a drug problem. When a student is killed, Amanda has to turn to her father's colleague, Jim Andersen for help. The two clash swords. Can they work past their differences to solve the case? CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE EXCERPT
“I can’t believe you Dad! You seriously want me to work with him? He’s a troglodyte!” Jim huffed loudly at the word, glowering at her. She smirked at him. “I’m sorry! Would you prefer another term? How about Neanderthal?” He choked. “Hmm, no, I’m guessing words of more than two syllables would be too much for you to handle. How about caveman?” Okay, he thought. I don’t have to take this from some jumped-up little princess who thinks she’s better than me simply because her father’s my boss. “Just who the hell do you think you are, little girl?” he said silently, narrowing his eyes at her. “Bitch!” The word came out before he could even think to filter his language. He shot a glance at his boss, who was just watching them, his gaze moving back and forth as if he was an umpire at a tennis match. He seemed faintly amused as they began to exchange insults. “Jerk!” “Brat!” His glare was almost glacial. At least, he hoped so. “You know I might have to work with you, princess, but I sure as hell don’t have to like you.” Her glare was the opposite, as if she wished she could set him on fire. “I suppose you think you’re God’s gift!” she growled. More insults followed. Jim finally turned to look at his boss. “She can’t do it,” he said. “She’s too immature!” Amanda huffed loudly in protest, calling him a jerk. “That the best you can come up with?” he scoffed. Peter held up his hands as if he was a referee at a fight, forcing them apart before the bickering could devolve any further. “All right. Cut it out! The pair of you. Before I start knocking some heads together.” He glared at Jim. “Act your age. And stop antagonising her!” He then turned his glare on his daughter. “And you … try to act like a lady, if that’s even possible!” Amanda spluttered, trying to act as if none of this was her fault. Her father continued to glare at her. “I mean it, Amanda. This is not going to be a walk-in-the-park. Most girls your age wouldn’t even dream of getting an opportunity like this and I’m not going to let you blow it because you can’t work with the man I’ve asked to keep you safe. So you do as you’re told and stop whining!” Fuming, Amanda glared at Jim, who glared back, arms folded. Sighing, Pete walked out, leaving them to it. Jim looked at her. Amanda stood in the middle of the room, a stubborn look on her face. He huffed and started to follow his boss out the door, then paused to look back at her. “By the way, a troglodyte is a cave dweller, not a caveman. There’s a difference. If you’re going to insult someone, get your definitions right.” Amanda snorted. “Potayto potahto.”  Billy Bob Joe Block, the basis of 'Gators, Goons & Guns on the Bayou is at it again. Along with assorted cousins and associates, they're pursuing their animal-control/security-consulting/reality-show production businesses in Louisiana bayous. In the process, they seemingly just accidentally, encounter many exciting, often deadly, and nearly always hilarious run-in with mob family and drug cartel operations and assassins.
Add to this the bumbling interference from do-gooders who would like to see "the Gang" in jail, or at least shut down, and you have a hilarious stream of events that will keep you laughing. Billy Bob and his Gang's on-again, off-again relationship with the FBI, DEA, and CIA are hilarious to everyone. Everyone, that is, except certain agents of these organizations. Get ready for a wild ride! CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE  MURDER. BETRAYAL. REVENGE It’s not the homecoming Detective Inspector Tudor Manx was expecting, but solving the case is just the start of his problems. Recently transferred from the London Met to the North Wales Constabulary, Detective Inspector Tudor Manx has come to the Island of Anglesey hoping for a quiet life. But his hopes are dashed when a brutally mutilated body is found crucified to the bow of a fishing boat sending shockwaves through the peaceful community. Manx’s faces pressure to solve the case quickly equipped with an inexperienced team. Is the body a message or a premonition of more murders to come? Adding to his mounting problems, Manx’s troubled past returns to haunt him. Manx left the island after the disappearance of his younger sister, Miriam; a cold case that still remains unsolved. Can Manx solve the case before the body count rises? How will he cope when he is forced to choose between his family and his duty as a police officer? This is the first book in the thrilling new DI Tudor Manx series. CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE EXCERPT
It took Manx several turns of the key and a string of romantic phrases he’d be too embarrassed to utter in the bedroom, before the Interceptor cooperated. When it finally rumbled to life, the large V8 engine purred out of the driveway and onto the main Amlwch road. A midnight blue, 1971 Mark Three Jensen, with a seven-litre engine was hardly the most practical choice of transport, but the car was a gift, conferred to him by his father, Tommy, and had been in storage for the past part of a decade. The car, Manx had concluded, suited him in a manner that, ten years ago, he would have dismissed as ridiculous. The worn leather interior, the temperamental nature of the electrics, the grumpy reluctance of most of the moving parts were all strangely comforting, as if the Jensen itself was empathetic to his own state of mind and bodily condition. Trading the car in for a younger, perkier model would have seemed like a betrayal, carrying with it an odour of middle-age desperation he was not willing to surrender to; at least, not yet. PC Priddle was at Cemaes Bay harbour, a fifteen-mile drive via the A502. As Manx drove past the overgrown hedges hemming the dual carriageway, he was reminded of how abruptly night could fall here, like the unexpected drop of a theatrical curtain mid-performance. At eight fifty-five, Manx pulled up at the harbour, and peered through the rain-soaked windscreen towards the sway of boats, tossed like toy models in the gale. He stepped from the car, and flipped up his jacket collar. Somewhere in the cacophony of wind and rain, there were frantic shouts. “Inspector! Inspector! Over here!” Manx recognised the scrawny outline of PC Priddle, looking in his high visibility vest like an under-filled, neon windsock. To the right of Priddle, two other officers shuffled their feet, unsure of why they were there, and wishing they were elsewhere. “Why isn’t the area cordoned off?” Manx shouted. The wind tore the words from his throat. “What’s that?” Priddle said, leaning closer, and providing Manx with an unpleasant, vinegary whiff of his fish and chip dinner. “The caution tape,” Manx shouted. “Oh, right! Bloody storm blew it out to sea, didn’t it? Bloody lucky it didn’t carry us with it. Dai here reckons it’s the worst we’ve had in ten years.” Dai, the larger of the two officers, nodded solemnly. Manx felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention, as he listened to Priddle’s thick, North Wales accent. Having been away for over a quarter of a century, Manx had forgotten how fully chewed-on the English language could sound in the mouth of a native North Wales speaker. His own accent had been eroded over the years to such a flat, non-descript burr most people would be hard-pressed to pinpoint to any specific region other than, “not from ‘round here.” Manx took a quick inventory. “Make sure no one else comes past the harbour entrance before forensics arrive.” “Got it, sir,” Priddle said, his attention distracted by large slip of green, wind-blown tarpaulin scraping across the harbour floor like a ghost. “Didn’t call me away from my pint to admire the weather, did you?” Manx said, with a stiff edge of impatience. Priddle stood to attention. “Oh, yeah! Follow me, sir,” he said, walking towards the harbour wall. “And be careful, the seaweed’s bloody lethal.” At the harbour’s edge, Priddle directed Manx’s gaze towards a small fishing boat, no more than thirty feet long tethered to the mooring pegs. A large wave caught the keel of the boat, and raised her several feet above the waterline to reveal the name: Bendith Magdalen. “Magdalen’s Blessing,” Manx translated to himself, as the boat levelled for a moment on the crest of a wave then crashed violently into the harbour wall. “Jesus!” Manx said, stepping back from the violent spray of seawater. “Gets worse, sir.” Priddle directed his torch at the boat’s port side. Manx squatted, his eyes tracing the path of the beam. There was something attached to the boat: a pig carcass, thick, pink, and fleshy. He wiped the seawater from his eyes. As the tide hauled the boat upwards, the figure rose, like an alien creature, from the surface. Manx stepped back. “Jesus Christ.” He was right; it was a carcass, but it was human, not swine. The body was naked, bound with thick ropes around his wrists and ankles. Manx’s first impression was the man had been crucified. His arms were spread outward, his head leaning towards his left shoulder. As another wave surged forward, the boat rose and slammed into the wall. This time, the body took the brunt of the impact. Manx winced as the bones crunched against the ancient stonework. “They’ll have a bugger of a time identifying the body,” Priddle said. The boat reeled back. “Anyone else been down here?” “Just the two specials.” Priddle gestured at the two Community Service Officers, their heads bowed low against the rain. “I hope you kept them clear of the crime scene,” Manx said. “Not that there’s any evidence to botch, even for that lot.” He watched as the boat rolled under the swell. “Not much chance of boarding either, until this storm blows itself out. ETA on forensics?” “Half hour, or so,” Priddle said. “And the photographer?” “On his way. Weren’t too happy been called in on a Saturday night.” “Yeah, welcome to the club.” “Aye, sorry sir. I know it’s your night off, an’ all, but it looked serious- like, so I had to contact a senior.” “You did the right thing,” Manx said. “Who called it in?” “Dick Roberts.” Priddle indicated to the man in a yellow sou’wester, sitting on the wooden bench outside the lavatories. “It’s his boat.” Manx looked at the fisherman, who was attempting to light a cigarette. “Told me he came down to check on the boat, because of the storm. Called us as soon as,” Priddle added. Manx nodded. “Secure the boat,” he said. “Radio the Coastguard. Throw some anchors and ropes, or something, over it, and tie it to the harbour. Pinky and Perky over there can give you a hand while I talk to Captain Birds Eye. And, for fucks sake, don’t drop him in the brink.” “Mr. Roberts?” Manx asked, shaking the rainwater from his jacket. The fisherman nodded, and kept a fixed, steady gaze on the sea, as if he were waiting for something to materialise over the horizon. Manx wiped the drizzle from his face, and sat. “Jesus, this rain, gets right in my bones.” Dick Roberts kept his gaze seaward, and pulled hard on his roll-up. “Used to come down here all the time when I was a kid,” Manx said, gesturing towards the crescent-shaped bay below. “There used to be a cafe down by the beach, with a big tin roof on it. Made a hell of a din when it rained. Good place to meet girls, if I remember, decent jukebox, too.” Manx smiled, caught in a memory he hadn’t tapped into for several decades. “I know who you are,” Dick said. “You’re Alice Manx-William’s son. Left years ago, didn’t you? Why you back, then? Run out of money?” Manx reached inside his jacket, and carefully peeled a length of a King Edward Cigar from its wrapper. “Maybe I just missed the friendly locals.” Dick flipped the butt of his cigarette onto the ground. “Do you mind?” Manx said. “Always leaving mine at home.” Dick passed over his lighter. Manx had smoked King Edward’s since he was sixteen. He’d bypassed the whole teenage, cigarette rite-of-passage and opted for the fattest, cheapest cigars he could afford. It was another one of his bad habits he had every intention of breaking, someday. He drew on the cigar, and watched the smoke dissipate into nothing. “Tough job, fishing, these days, I’d imagine, especially on a small boat.” The fisherman man spat on the ground. “I do all right.” “All those commercial trawlers? Must cut into your income, though?” “Why are you interested? Got a better offer, or something?” Dick said, meeting Manx’s eyes for the first time. Manx noticed how the vein in his neck twitched, as if he resented every word he was required to utter. “So, what’s the catch of the day? Mackerel, flatfish?” “Anything I can sell. Pubs want it fresh, don’t much care what, so long as it’s still wet.” “Gastro pubs, eh? I bet you can’t flog a lobster, without some chef wanting to know where you caught it, and who its next of kin are.” The fisherman looked to the ground. “Why did you come down to the harbour tonight, Mr. Roberts?” “Had to check the boat.” “Many fishermen do that?” “They do, if they’ve got something to lose.” “Not much you could do though, was there? I doubt you could even board with the sea that rough. Then again, I’m no fisherman.” Manx let the sentence hang; Roberts resisted the bait and kept looking out to sea. “Was there anyone else here at the harbour when you came down?” Dick shook his head. “Just saw that bloody mess. Called you lot, as soon as I realised what it was.” “About what time was that?” “Seven, maybe. Don’t remember exactly.” “Really? I was enjoying my first pint of the evening about then. There was no sign of a storm where I was, not until around eight-thirty.” “Depends where you are. Storm works its way around the island.” “And you’re sure you saw no one else? No cars, strangers?” “Told you already, no one.” Manx leant his arms back on the bench. “We’ll need to take a statement. Any plans to leave the island? No tropical vacations, exotic safaris?” “Expect you’ll be all over my bloody boat, too?” “Shouldn’t be more than a couple of days.” “You won’t find nothing, you know,” Dick said, licking at a freshly rolled cigarette, and settling it tightly between his lips. Manx turned up his collar, and gestured toward the boat with his cigar. “It’s a crime scene, Mr. Roberts,” he said. “It’s unusual if we don’t find something.”  Here is a reason behind this bold letter book which you will have to indulge on the inside of. If law enforcement can boldly, continuously kill unarmed black men and teens then why shouldn't these racist deaths be typed in the bold center fold of these crimes.
Being a plus size woman as Eric was a plus size man gave the cops an excuse that his size killed him. Do you mean to imply that if I as a black over weight woman, was to be arrested, would my weight be a reason to kill me as well? This tragic story has the world wondering about the reasons to kill a black unarmed teen, father, son, husband and grandfather. As you look at the video and in the eyes of several law enforcement men and women, what did you see? Did anyone see love, concern, safety, gentleness to Garner's head that just was left to hang low. I Can't Breathe was stated to be common, popular words from many that are arrested. I Can't Breathe was ignored 11 times. I Can't Breathe became words that no one cared to hear. The last words, I Can't Breathe took away a husband, friend, father, son, giver, care giver, grandfather. If Garner was so unhealthy, then how come he didn't demise when he had just previously broken up a fight? How come Eric didn't catch an asthma attack after what he did? Many people enjoy watching a good fight which can lead to death. Before he was killed Eric Garner stopped a fight and remained alive. Being big, tall and black with no knife, gun or any type of weapon caused the NYPD to walk away with another black crime. Click the book to learn more! Click HERE to purchase the book! |
Archives
January 2019
Categories
All
|
RSS Feed