My novel – “Shelter”

In 2001, I wrote and published a harrowing crime novel called ShelterThis novel is not for everyone, as it is graphically violent and holds nothing back. The following is from the back cover of the book:

Two men, worn boot heels clicking on time-smoothed asphalt, pass beneath a dimly glowing streetlight. In the eyes of one there shines the very slightest glimmer of hope, yet he is filled with anger.

Anger directed at a world that has taken everything from him and cast him aside. The other man’s eyes show no change or emotion as he slips into the murky night and clicks softly into darkness. His eyes are as black and empty as his soul.

These men without homes move purposefully through the frigid night, edging closer to victims yet unknown. Tired of begging, they intend to take what they want from a city that attempts to ignore and deny their mere existence. In the end…. a mother will weep, a father will curse, and two young women will pick up the pieces and begin their lives anew. In time the victims will heal.

One of the homeless men will die… and the other will find “Shelter”.

 

I also published another crime novel in 2ooo–The Devil’s Dust. It’s a rambunctious, fast moving story about a drug heist that goes terribly–sometimes hilariously–wrong. It’s packed with sex drugs, murder, and general mayhem, and if you want to read a doozy of a page-turner, this is one you need to get. You can even buy autographed copiesof both my novels from my friends, Linda & Russ at Texas Trading Post.

Here’s a sample of what you’ll find inside the book: “I’m telling you, man,” Bill said into the phone, trying to keep his voice low. “I can get at least two kilos, maybe three, tonight. They’ll never miss it. By the time they do, they’ll be so confused they won’t be able to remember how many they had, or how much they’ve sold. I need you to stash it for me.” He paused, listening, then sounding impatient, said, “Just be there, okay?” He glanced toward the kitchen as the whir of the blender stopped and whispered into the phone. “Nine o’clock. Gotta go.” As he was placing the phone receiver into its cradle, he heard a gasp from his left and looked over to see Denise, a pitcher of margaritas in one hand, a stack of plastic cups in the other, staring past him, eyes wide and mouth agape. He turned slowly, ice water running through his veins, and thought surely his life was over as he looked up into Gene’s grinning face.

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