Carl Brookins' The Case of the Deceiving Don - A Sean Sean Mystery

Back in my office I considered what I had learned. My former boss, Duke Fararra, the owner of the agency where I’d trained to be a P.I., taught me that sometimes you had to kick the tires to dislodge the rust. I was going do that, metaphorically. On the main floor of my building was a small print shop where one could do some typing and mailing. I used an old portable typewriter they had lying around to compose a brief letter in which I explained I had some information the letter’s recipient needed. For a fee, I’d provide it. The information I had. I could have done the letter on my computer, but I wasn’t good with it for things like this. Besides, I wanted a deliberately low-tech appearance. 

I typed that the information was about the recently dead Augustus Molinaro. I suggested they call my representative, detective Sean Sean, and I put in my office telephone number. I signed it, Martin Levy. I addressed it to the Elite Agency in Edina. I didn’t wear gloves, and I didn’t care about other traces I might leave since I just wanted to see if I could break something loose. Rattle a cage or two, so to speak. 

Elite knew where my office was, and they knew where I lived. So I mailed the letter and went home. The next morning, after a peaceful night with my cats, a delicious steak and baked potato, and Yo-Yo Ma on the stereo, I sat down at my home computer, a nice, state of the art Dell, and Googled up Mr. Augustus Molinaro. I spent a couple of hours wandering the Internet dipping into various government and media sites, collecting bits and pieces on Don Molinaro. Some of this research had been done before and by others. But I was looking with a different eye. I wasn’t just collecting information, I was looking for clues. I was searching for something like a loose thread I could pluck out of the fabric of this event. What I assembled gave me some clues as to what might be going on. Molinaro came out of a Boston family. He spent some time in New York and then went off to Pennsylvania. I got the impression he was kind of a visiting fireman, or maybe a trusted liaison. In any case, he settled down in Mechanicsburg where he then rose steadily through the ranks to become a kingpin of the Eastern Pennsylvania Mafia.

Mechanicsburg is a small place, essentially a western suburb of Harrisburg in east-central Pennsylvania. It’s on the Susquehanna River. Which wanders through the Tuscarora and Appalachian mountains on its way to Chesapeake Bay. Pretty country out that way. Why is it important? If you drive north along the river a few hours you come up to Milton. It’s an easy scenic sort of drive with the White Deer Ridge rising ahead. You’ll see signs for the town of White Deer and another place called Allenwood. Allenwood has seen a lot of mobsters and other assorted criminals over the years. It’s the site of a large federal prison complex. One of the biggest in the federal prison system. So Mechanicsburg isn’t such a bad place to be headquartered if you function as a kind of inside/outside liaison. And you might acquire a lot of juicy secrets. And if you were a careful Don Augustus Molinaro—greasy Gus—after a while you might just become a liability. Or not. I was going to find out, hopefully not by traveling to Pennsylvania. There was a surprising amount of information, both official and not so official, about Allenwood on the Internet. There wasn’t a floor plan of course, and the maps were a little short on exactitude. So I called the Bureau of Prisons. Yes, under certain guidelines and under the rules for particular prisoners, almost anyone could visit almost any prisoner. If said prisoner agreed. 

Now, in spite of what they tell you about security, information flows back and forth. So does contraband. I was getting an idea that just maybe Don Molinaro was targeted for past actions or indiscretions which may have only come to light in recent times. If that were true, knowing what changes had occurred could lead me to the why of the bomb. From there it could be an easy step to the who of it. So the question of the moment became what sorts of information and other illegal goods might the good Don have been handling? I would find out. I went to my office and checked the roof across the street. It was empty. I checked the street. No ice-blue late model Audis in sight. I ran my new blinds up and down a couple of times. Nice and smooth. The telephone rang. 

It was my cop friend, Ricardo Simon. “How’s tricks, dude?” he asked. “Okay. I’m still a little jumpy, as you can imagine. Any information for me?” “Not on the Molinaro thing. I’m calling because we got a notification that Mrs. Higgins has been released.” “What, probation?” “Yeah. Good behavior. Thought you’d want to know.” “I appreciate the heads up, but I didn’t take her daughter’s threat seriously, did you?” “Nope. Just wanted you to know,” he said. “Is she staying in town?” “Oh, sure. Her listed address is their place on the south side.” “Thanks. Let’s have dinner one day.” “On you. Take care, Sean.” Simon hung up the phone. Mrs. Higgins. Huh. I’d been instrumental in getting her put away back a couple of years. She’d had an accident on the job at some insurance company. Figured she knew enough to stiff the company for a whole lot of money. Nice older lady, until you got in her way. Then she could turn nasty. I followed her around for a while and discovered her back and hip problems weren’t anywhere near as bad as she and her doctor said they were. I’d testified in court that my pictures and video of her cavorting in the water at Hidden Lake were true and unedited. I guess it didn’t help that she wasn’t wearing any clothes. Anyway, when the jury convicted her, she stood up in court and called me some names in most unfortunate language, concluding as the bailiffs muffled her that she’d get me. 

I hung up and went to the bathroom. When I got back to my office, the message light was blinking so I played the recording. There was only one call, from Blanche at the retirement home. “Hey, sonny,” she said. “Good recording on your answer machine. Get your buns out here as soon as you can. I got some intelligence for you.” Uh oh. If these imperative calls became a frequent pattern, Blanche could get to be a nuisance. On the other hand, she might have something significant for me. I decided to compromise with myself. I’d go over to Sheltering Limbs tomorrow morning on my way into the city from home, instead of right now...

~~~

I haven't quite figured out the time period during which Sean Sean acted as a PI... For one, cell phones exist, but he refuses to use one. Computers, including notebook style are available, but Sean doesn't have one. In fact, he eschews most anything technical, and, instead, depends upon experts with whom he builds relationships, to handle the parts of his job that are necessary, but not really, actually dealing with the actual investigation and pulling the pieces of information together to solve a case... 

And while he may not use technology, he has outfitted his car in various ways to ensure that he's able to both protect himself as well as work to investigate wherever he may need to go, all with the right tools... He is also quick to notice and remember his immediate surrounding area, no matter where he was, and, even though everybody was running around, Sean was, perhaps, the only one for this case who noticed a car parked not too far away that seemed to have two men in the front seat... And, a blue silver car, which he would later identified as an Audi...

Of course, he's also particular with what jobs he takes--and, under no circumstances, will he take on jobs related in any way to the mafia...

But, this one evolved out of an accident... Specifically, a wheelchair was found very near to the entrance of Sean's home and he had immediately ran to see if he could help... The individual in the chair lived in a retirement home. Sean learned from the officer in charge, Sgt. Lasker, that the chair and occupant was blown literally into pieces by a bomb! Fortunately, Ms. Laster was the type of officer who was willing to include Sean as somewhat of a partner as long as they were willing to share whatever information was found by either.

Almost immediately, it seemed that there was one individual who would be the main person of interest. He was a male attendant to the victim, Augustus Molinaro, a Mr. Levy, who was not an employee of the Home and about whom not even the director of the Home knew how to contact him. The only thing anybody now knew was that he had disappeared right after the bomb had exploded! 

This investigation was turning out to be extremely complex, so much so that Sean had to start making notes... He lamented the fact that, unlike Hammer or Philip Marlowe who must have a better memory since they didn't take notes... So Sean headed back to his office to start writing up what had happened. He may not have a client, but he knew that he personally was going to get involved with this one... Yeah, even after they found out that Augustus was, you guessed it, actually, Greasy Gus who had a long mob connection! So Sean figured he'd better check a few manuals--Lew Archer and a Ross MacDonald from his bottom desk drawer, but neither of these provided any new insight... Although... Archer did suggest that in his experience, at least, old crimes seemed to be at the root of much of his clients’ troubles. When the telephone rang, I picked up. That turned out to be one of my poorer decisions of the day... But Archer was right, because Greasy Gus' crimes were old...and still continuing! 'Til Somebody Blew Him Up!

Cause the Feds were not involved... And one of the things he brought to that meeting was this: What I mean is, who knows how many other nefarious characters like Greasy Gus are being quietly housed in our community? Isn’t this something that civic-minded citizens ought to take to City Hall? I mean, do I have to start worrying about property values?”

Well, Sean, somebody is out to keep you off this case... first, there's the two big guys... then somebody murders one of them thinking it was you...and then an anonymous caller asks you to meet him late that night at the Stone Arch Bridge... Personally, I'm pretty sure Spenser would have told him to take at least Hawk as backup...

It was a typical mid-summer night in Minnesota. Hot, moist, thick. It was nigh onto three in the morning and the pavers under my tires chuckled and popped. That’s what they’re called, pavers. Basically, they’re a kind of brick, and they replaced mud and gravel on a lot of Twin Cities streets in an earlier century. Some places they called ‘em cobble stones. Later they were dug up or just coved over with asphalt. In this historic district of the original village of Saint Anthony, hard by Saint Anthony Falls on the Mississippi River, in spite of their unevenness, the pavers had been exposed and many re-laid to add a bit of nostalgic ambience to the neighborhood. With the later bar closing installed by the legislature and various city councils, there were still a lot of people about here in the dead of night and numerous cars parked at the curbs. In an earlier time, three in the morning would have been pretty dead. Maybe my mysterious caller was hoping for the anonymity of a crowd. I was driving slowly south, more or less along the east bank. That put the river on my right. My caller had said to meet him at the south end of the famous Stone Arch Bridge. The bridge actually connects the east and west banks of the river, but because of the orientation of bridge and river at that particular place, the east end of the bridge was actually a little south of the west end. People sometimes get confused about that. Makes clandestine rendezvous problematic—or something. A patrol car went by in the other direction. I felt the cop’s eyes on me for a minute, registering, assessing my presence. Not for the first time I wondered why I was indulging my caller. I might learn something significant, but more than likely, I wouldn’t. I was a little more relaxed than I might have been because the site was open. It would have been difficult to sneak up on me, or even to get a shot off. The lighting and the closed up building on this side of the river all worked in my favor.

He was wearing a western-style straw hat and dark narrow-legged pants. But no high-heeled boots. His shoes appeared to be dark cross-trainers. The hat was pulled low on his forehead so his face was shadowed from the ugly orange overhead light that fell on us. He was white. His dark blue or black short-sleeved shirt revealed skinny arms and knobby elbows. I judged he was around forty, maybe a little older, and around 160 pounds. He appeared reasonably fit. He was leaning against the railing on the bridge looking sort of down toward the water and when I got close enough he said “Mr. Sean.” Quiet voice. Flat, no discernable inflection or accent. Not nervous. Like the voice on my machine. “That’s me,” I said. I didn’t ask his name. I figured it was a waste of breath. He didn’t ask me for ID, either. I was pretty sure anything that transpired here wasn’t going to end up in a courtroom under oath. A nocturnal bicyclist rode slowly by, tires faintly hissing on the pavers. I leaned on the same railing facing the man about four feet away. My instincts told me he wouldn’t take it kindly if I moved closer. He turned his head and seemed to look past me. I had the feeling he was checking for observers. I’d already done that. I was feeling just a mite exposed. After two murder attempts I was jumpier than usual. 

“You came alone.” “Yes. Your call indicated this was to be a private meeting.” “You wired?” “No. That stuff is expensive, not always reliable, and I can’t recall the last time I had a need for it.” “Who killed Dennis?” “Dennis?” For a moment I was taken aback, as it were. I recovered quickly. “Oh. Dennis, the man I called Buzz Cut. I don’t know.” “Wasn’t you.” “No. I was home watching TV. I think he was searching my office and somebody made a mistake. Whoever did it saw a shadow on the window blind, thought it was me, and pulled the trigger.” “You get shot at often?” “No, but it happened not too long ago. In my office that time as well. Missed me then, too.” I made an effort to keep my voice laconic. I didn’t want this guy to think I’d been freaked. Or that I was a little freaked at the murder of Buzz Cut in my office. “So you’re satisfied whoever shot Dennis thought he was aiming at you.” “That is correct.” “And it’s not related to the Molinaro thing.” “I don’t believe it is. I haven’t come across anything that would lead me to think there’s a connection. I could be wrong about that.” 

My inquisitor shifted away slightly to take more weight on his off leg. I can’t stand hip-shot like that for more than a few seconds. I guess the stance pinches a nerve in my back, or something. “You worried about being offed?” The tone of his voice changed. I’d had a feeling right from the beginning that the guy was graveling his voice and trying to use language in a different manner from his normal voice. All by way of concealing his identity. “Do you want to get to your point? It’s late, and I’ve got a full plate tomorrow.” I didn’t, but he didn’t have to know that. “Have you discovered anything about Gus Molinaro’s background?” “Some. He came from Mechanicsburg. That’s in Pennsylvania. Just a short ride south of Allenwood, the federal prison.” Straw Hat nodded once. “Do you know where Martin Levy is?” “No,” I said truthfully, “I don’t.” “We think he was planted on Gus.” I remained silent. None of my business what this guy and his companions, or family, thought. The less involved I could stay, the more likely I was to come out of this without any excess baggage. I rolled to my left and placed both elbows on the rail. Stared down at the water. It put me a little closer to my companion. I had my face turned toward him and could see a figure on a bicycle coming toward us along the bridge. Under the orange lights he was wearing a helmet, loose ankle-baring pants and a baggy tee shirt. He kept both hands on the handlebars and pedaled at a steady pace right on by us. Didn’t so much as glance our way. “I think you’ve got a tail,” I said. “Unless that cyclist is one of your minders.” Straw Hat tensed slightly. “All right,” he said. “Somebody will call you.”

~~~

With a surprising ending, I was hooked on this case from the very beginning... 

But next, we'll be hunting for a stolen piece of Art! I'm loving the Sean Sean Mystery Series! How About You?

GABixlerReviews

WE ARE HOLDING THE PRESIDENT HOSTAGE!!!

It is Always Time to Read Warren Adler...

But somehow this book caught my attention at this time...

“Win?”

 “Beat his ass.”

 She looked at him archly. He did not reflect the win. “So why so grim?” 

“Damn meeting with those relatives,” he muttered. The hostage problem was becoming a constant irritation, but he was managing it as he dealt with most problems. He had the ability to tuck things away in compartments, close their doors. Only this door refused to stay shut.

“Just be a good soldier,” she said.

“That’s the problem. A soldier fights.” He slipped into a T-shirt and pulled it over his chest with an angry gesture. Then he slid into his pants and pulled his belt tight around his waist. “They’re looking for it,” he said. 

“Maybe Harkins is right after all. Hell, he brags about his covert assets. Why not go in and secretly whack ’em. Nice clean surgery.” He stepped into his shoes. “All this crap about violence begetting violence. Morality bullshit.” “Hate to think of what you might dub immorality,” she said with a lilt, hoping to calm him.

 “Point is, we let them get away with it, no one’s safe. Especially us.” He turned to study her face.

“You think we’re really safe and snug in this place with all those Secret Service guys climbing in our soup?” He waved his arms. “And those cement barricades and walk-through detectors. A determined bastard would find a way.” 

Alluding to that possibility genuinely alarmed her. She turned from his gaze, deliberately hiding her fear from him. Under the circumstances, she had tried to follow a routine as normal as possible. But the idea of danger was never far from her thoughts. 

When Paul was a senator and they lived on Capitol Hill, he had bought her a little silver-plated .22-caliber pistol, which she had kept in a drawer next to her bed. She was alone a great deal and, although she detested the idea of it, she had not removed the gun from the house. Just in case, he had said. 

God forbid, she had thought. But she had kept it in its place. Worse, she had brought the pistol with her to the White House, where it had remained in the drawer next to her side of the bed, hardly a weapon to match the Secret Service battery of Uzi machine guns that surrounded them. 

“Times like this you almost wish you could be a dictator,” Paul said as he pulled up the knot of his tie. She knew he was trying to prepare himself mentally. 

“So what would you do differently?” she asked.

“I’d blast the hell out of everyone that aids and abets these bastards. Government, clans, financial supporters, families. Everyone.”

She remained silent, letting him vent himself. “Nixon wasn’t so dumb,” he mumbled. 

“Nixon?”

“Remember the Watergate tapes. He used to wish he were like the Mafia. They know how to get things done.” 

He kissed her perfunctorily on the forehead and stormed out of the room.

~~~

The President was frustrated--more hostages had been captured and held by this group or that. Always considered fanatic terrorists. Would it never stop? This time, however, by accident, a woman and child had been captured, when the intended target didn't show up and trouble began. The terrorists were pulling back but the woman and child, who had gone into the building's bathroom, was coming back out. They were grabbed and swiftly taken away. 

Thereafter, to protect their prize, they would drag the mother and child from place to place, sometimes even into vacant buildings, where they would be tied up and sat along the walls. The young boy was afraid, of course, but his mother knew something--she knew her family would not allow them to be hurt and would work immediately to free them. She spoke calmly to her son, ensuring him as best she could, though she, too, was afraid of what might happen in the meantime...

“I got good news and bad news,” he began. His eyes surveyed the faces around the table. He did not sit down, knowing that he was about to impart something momentous. He waited to create the perfect sense of drama.

 “Mafiosa,” he said, pausing for a long moment. “The man who has the President is Salvatore Padronelli, better known as the Padre, probably the most important don in this country. Second generation. A racket network of powerful proportions. The other three are his top capos, loyal to the death. One of them, the Canary, is a known murderer and hit man. The other, the Prune, has a rap sheet as long as your arm. The young one is Benjy Mustoni, known as the Kid, an ambitious enforcer. This caterer, poor bastard, was, as they say, given a deal he couldn’t refuse.”

“What the hell do they want?” “They want Maria and Joseph Michaels, the Padre’s only daughter and grandson.”

~~~

Maria and Joseph Michaels had been waiting for her husband when she was captured. But he had no power or ability to get her back--just as the familities of other hostages that were taken would be, without help from powerful people...

The President's staff had already been in negotiations, but nothing thus far had helped. Everybody knew the US policy: the government policy of never negotiating with terrorists, never giving in to their demands.  But that response was never satisfactory to relatives of the victims. The President had hated meeting with the families. They knew...and they knew he knew...that doing nothing was not an acceptable answer...

They found that out when that message was given to Maria and Joseph Michaels father. Padre Salvatore Patronelli, the most important don in America...

Because the leader of the Mafia was not willing to accept that America could do nothing. And he would ensure himself that he got his family back! By taking the President of America hostage and forcing action!

Sounds impossible, right? Well, not with Warren Adler's version of what the Mafia Don would do to save his family... It involved wearing explosives and walking right into a gala event sponsored by the President and his wife...

If you have read award-winning author Warren Adler before, you know already that what he writes is always unique, totally engrossing, and true-to-life. I enjoyed watching as the Mafia walks all over the Secret Service as they capture and then force the President and his wife into their living quarters, where they establish themselves for a visit, however long that would take! It was the President's wife that stole the show, in my opinion!

I highly recommend you take a break from the chaos happening in reality, and enjoy how things get done--Mafia style! Concerned about politics? Maybe even a must-read for you... it will lift you into an alternative fictional world that is a great place to be to watch the action! And good things do happen!

GABixlerReviews

Warren Adler is best known for The War of the Roses, his masterpiece fictionalization of a macabre divorce turned into the Golden Globe and BAFTA nominated dark comedy hit starring Michael Douglas, Kathleen Turner and Danny DeVito. In addition to the success of the stage adaptation of his iconic novel on the perils of divorce, Adler has optioned and sold film rights to more than a dozen of his novels and short stories to Hollywood and major television networks. Random Hearts (starring Harrison Ford and Kristen Scott Thomas), The Sunset Gang (starring Jerry Stiller, Uta Hagen, Harold Gould and Doris Roberts), Private Lies, Funny Boys, Madeline's Miracles, Trans-Siberian Express and his Fiona Fitzgerald mystery series are only a few titles that have forever left Adler's mark on contemporary American authorship from page to stage to screen. Learn more about Warren Adler at www.warrenadler.com.

Killer With Three Heads by J. L. Hill - Quite a Book!

He had started out in gangs and went on from there... when he defeated a gang, he would pull all that lived from that group, under his domain... His gangs were now here, there, and everywhere... By the same, I picked Eddie Murphy to play MOJO...he seem to fit for me...LOL

At the same time, he got friendly with a Mafia leader and they became close... MOJO had a special charisma with intelligence, drive, and a psychopathic personality, you might say... Although other Mafia leaders weren't necessarily pleased with a close tie to a gang leader...

His latest endeavors were with the blessings of the United State government--he had become a mercenary--hired to get rid of undesirables as defined by a special group who is responding to two corrupt congressmen...

Killer With Three Heads:
Killer Series Book 2

By J. L. Hill

This is one of the most frustratingly intriguing books I have ever read... First, it contains explicit violent and sex scenes that were well beyond what I would normally endure... I almost quit at a certain point, which happened to be a new part...and got more involved with the actual storyline... Finally, I came to think of it as a "man's book" a thriller that is almost a "James Bond" type, except... that MOJO is a criminal...

While MOJO is the central character throughout the novel, it is divided into chapters under a heading: Head of the Family, Head of the Business, and Head of the Government. 

And somebody under one of those heads has kidnapped MOJO's daughter!

"Bout time you got here. I was getting tired of sitting around this rat's nest waiting for you."
Sam is shocked back to sobriety by the voice in the dark. He thinks about going for the gun between the mattress and the headboard but waits to see if the voice belongs to who he thinks it does. "Morris Johnson?"
"Morris Johnson?" inquires the invisible voice. "That guy died years ago. You need to keep up with the times. I'm John Morrison. I am here because someone kidnapped a little girl and you are going to find them."
"First off, get that f...ing light out of my face." snarls Sam. He gives second thoughts to the gun. "And second, that is the worst alias I have ever heard."
I click off the flashlight and the room returns to the gloom of a broken life. In a moment, our eyes adjust to the streetlamp illumination. I'm leaning against the wall with the flashlight tucked in my belt. He has risen to his feet in a boxer stance. I laugh, he is well into his sixties and although he is tall and still muscular, a well-placed kick will break him in two. "I get that a lot these days. But you'd be surprised how many people don't question the obvious. Like those guys following you around all night."
"If you want me to help you find your daughter," Sam stammers, "You should have thought about that before you kidnapped my agents and got me kicked off the case."
"You're not listening. I said you are going to find the people who kidnapped my daughter. I'll find Maria, you can bet on that. And I didn't get you kicked off the case," I correct him. "They will never let you investigate the real crime. So I freed you, now you can go after them."
"I'm not doing anything until you release my agents."
"This... This is not a negotiation," I tell him with venom in my words. His eyes widen and he stiffens as I approach. "Your agent kidnapped my daughter. I kidnapped your agents. You get them back when you deliver him."
"Are you crazy?" Sam protests. "The FBI doesn't kidnap little girls."

~~~

Morris "MOJO" Johnson, AKA, John Morrison is a main character that gains sympathy by readers, as he discovers his daughter has been kidnapped... Only to murder people in every which way you can think of, including "skinning..." 

What he lacks in moral character is balanced out by the most exciting thriller scenes that I've seen for awhile. This includes all those gadgets and super-hero stunts that a James Bond will do...and then he takes it a step further and creates a new weapon that everybody wants, and especially the U.S. Government group with which he has acted as a mercenary...

The action makes you think that MOJO is actually the one with the three heads as he moves from place to place creating havoc...and sometimes personal relationships... One of those deals he worked out was for him to take the honeymoon with a former lover of his, just after she married another man...Wow! And then there are all of his other women who work along with him...as well as his wife... Does he love any of them? Can a serial killer love? Certainly he does his daughter! 

And, the whole story wraps up into a unique, quite extraordinary novel that caught my attention, despite the explicit violence and sex, and held me through to the end--not a surprising one, because by then you know what will be happening... But, dare I say, a very satisfying one, as he eliminated the bad guys, while holding on to his longer-term connections...still alive!

What's the best way for a psychopath to help society? Well, J. L. Hill's MOJO seems to be that vigilante that makes it happen in a thrilling, fast-paced story! It's a great book but only if you accept the explicit sex and violence... I keep my personal negative opinions out of my overall review... So... Check it out! You Decide!

GABixlerReviews

A native New Yorker, born and raised in the Bronx, I spent my adolescence years in Fort Apache, the South Bronx 41st precinct during the 60’s. Raised on blues, soul, and rock and roll gave me the heart of a flower child. Educated by the turmoil of Vietnam, Civil Rights, and the
Sexual Revolution turned me into a gladiator. Realizing the precariousness of life gave me an adventurous outlook to try anything once, and if it did not kill me, maybe twice.
12 years of Catholic education and a couple of years in college spread between wild drug induce euphoric years, which did not kill me, gave me an unique moral compass that swings in any direction it wants. A scientific mind and a spirit that nothing is impossible if you want it bad enough guides my writings. I enjoy traveling to new places and seeing what life has to offer.
I began writing short stories and poetry back in my early years. In my twenties I moved on to novels, but I fell out of love with the whole publishing industry. I worked in the financial industry as a processing clerk and later got a degree in computer programming, my other love. I have a successful career as a software engineer designing, developing and maintaining systems for the government and the private sector. I been programming for nearly forty years in various languages.
With the advantages provided by the expanding and growing self publishing business (print on demand over vanity publishing) and the explosion of social media/internet as a viable means of advertising I have returned to my first love, unleashing the characters in my head. Actually I never stopped writing, now that the kids are grown and my wife realizes that I have little other interest outside the bedroom, and I’m still a hopeless insomniac, I am free to pound out plots. Killer With A Heart is the first in a series for Bulletproof Morris ‘Mojo’ Johnson.
I enjoy writing crime stories and science fiction, with a slant on the dark side of life. Pegasus: A Journey To New Eden answers the question my wife asked me some years ago, “How do I feel about nuclear war?” I told her I was all for it as long as we find someplace else to live. My science fiction deals with the emotional effects of technology. Thirty years ago when a single computer filled an entire room and I was writing games on a monochrome screen I knew two things were certain. Computer games would be big and computers for all the good they can do would put a lot of people out of work.
Married with six kids, eleven grandchildren keeps me on the go.

The Runner and the Robber by Robert Sells Presents YA Murder Mystery Relates to Actual Brinks Heist

Stand-in Travor Foley

I loved to run. Last year I ran varsity for the track team at South Kissimmee High School in Florida. I was the only sophomore on the team. Back then I was just 5 feet, 8 inches tall. Now I was 5 feet, 11 inches. I might even get taller since my Dad was over six feet. My stride was longer than last year and I was faster. Coach was pretty sure I would have qualified for the State's this year. But, last year in Florida wasn't the same as this year in New York. I wouldn't be running for the much smaller rural school of Conatoga. I picked up my speed and tried to outrace my anger.
When you nearly spring up a hill, you fight both gravity and fatigue. My body became heavier with every step. As I thought about how unfair life was, I welcomed the fire burning in my leg muscles. I wanted pain now. Pain to match the simmering rage. Why did Dad die and my stupid grandfather have to be alive.
Finally up the hill, I easily maintained the same pace along the plateau that led to Granddad's driveway about a mile away. I could just make out the log cabin. Mom now called home.
It wasn't home to me, though. My home was in Florida where all my friends were. It was Monday and right now a bunch of them would be pouring into the cool of the Florida Mall...
Curls of black smoke rose from the cabin's stone chimneys. Gramps had built the house himself. His 'larning' had come from doing this or that, not books. He had been a cowboy, a real cowboy, when he was young...
A hundred yards more and I was about to finish with my print when I heard a car rumbling behind me. I looked over my shoulder just in time to veer off toward the ditch as the car passed closer, too close. The dark green Pontiac trimmed with brown ruse swerved in front of me and blocked my path. A tall, thin man, muscles like thick wires, jumped out. He had a salt-and pepper goatee and wore a wife-beater T-shirt. Up close his pupils were like pin points and angry. The guy grabbed me by my collar and threw me against the trunk of his car.
"Tell your grandfather he damn well better give up some of that money. I want my cut and I'm coming to get it... You understand?"
No, I didn't understand at all, but I figured this was not the best time to ask for an explanation. I vigorously shook my head up and down...

~~~

The RUNNER and the ROBBER

By Robert Sells

See Review for Reap for Whirlwind also!

This book is listed as young adult, but because of the topic of Alzheimer's, I want to highly recommend it for both teens as well as adults. The angst caused by those family members who are affected by this disease is heartbreaking to consider. You love the individuals with the disease, but there are still feelings of guilt that come when family members suddenly become caretakers well beyond taking care of somebody physically ill.

It wasn't surprising then, when, after just losing his father,  Bill Taylor was forced to relocate with his mother to take care of her husband's father, who had developed Alzheimer.  Because his mother was now the only breadwinner, she had to work, which left Bill having to care for his grandfather all of the time when his mother left. 

Now he was in school, but really couldn't get involved due to this personal responsibility at home. Later, he would admit to himself that he'd been so angry that he hadn't really tried to make any friends or try to enjoy his new school activities...

Sarah looked over at me, mud covering
half her face. "Almost there." she said,
then giggled when she saw my face
mottled with mud. I grimaced and
continued slogging through the mud.
Just like Dad said, "the price of love."
Finally, we stopped. Sarah and I peered
over the edge of the shallow gully. We
were at the side of the house where
the bedroom and bathroom her located.
"If they're in the bedroom," whispered
Sarah, "They won't be looking out the
windows." I didn't want to look in
those windows if they were there.
"Let's make a run for it. Toward the
bedroom window."
Those blue eyes were wide open,
alert, and eager. A smile filled her
face...
"Ready?"
~~~

But an eighth-grade student and neighbor had looked up to him, which was alright; but Bill knew hanging around with a young kid wouldn't help getting friends. It did help, though, when his Mom later called the police about the man who had accosted her son on the road, and the officer they sent happened to be his young friend's father...

Finally, Bill did notice a girl in his class--only problem is that she was dating one of the main football players. Still, they connected when she asked him to help her with one of their classes... Interestingly, when she came over to study at his home and met his grandfather, she shared that there was someone in her own family with the same disease. Her being quite comfortable around Bill's grandfather helped greatly in sharing and beginning a relationship.

Of course, not to the liking of her boyfriend...

Gramps had gotten worse when his son died. When Bill and his mother visited him at a local care residence, they were both upset with the conditions in which he was living. Immediately, she decided to relocate and move in and care for Gramps at home. Now she was working as much as she could because the pay scale for nurses in this country area was well below what she'd been making. Bill, of course, had been given no option. He would need to watch and care for Gramps, ensuring that he didn't wander away and get hurt...

Normally, Gramps was no problem. He had a habit of sitting at the table with coins which he counted and separated in stacks, over and over... it was this habit that Bill noticed the most when the investigation got going...when the man who had accosted Bill was murdered... and they learned that he had been a part of the men who had performed a 1992 Brink's Robbery heist!

Brooklyn Theft Brings Robbers $8 Million Cash

By JANE FRITSCH

Published: December 29, 1992

Robbers entered an armored car company's warehouse in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, late Sunday night and made off with more than $8 million in one of the largest cash thefts in the United States, the Federal Bureau of Investigation said yesterday.

The robbers left more than $30 million behind, probably because they could not carry any more, said Federal investigators, who spoke on condition of anonymity. The investigators said that the F.B.I. was trying to determine whether the robbery was an inside job and that agents planned in the next few days to conduct polygraph tests on several employees of the company, the Hudson Armored Car and Courier Service.--NY Times... read rest of news release...

Remember for a brief time Nancy Drew hooked up with The Hardy Boys? Well, I was reminded of those fun mysteries when Bill, who finally wins over to have Sarah as his girlfriend, start an investigation on their own...mostly led by Sarah! 

Sarah comes from a rich family with a lawyer for her father. But thankfully she has not become spoiled and enjoys the time with Bill and Gramps in their small log cabin. But when she gets interested in solving the case, she certainly takes the lead! And succeeds in getting them into some serious trouble! But with her by Bill's side, he becomes braver and starts using some of the fighting skills he'd been taught by his father...

Even when he's fairly certain that Gramps was involved with the heist in some way...

Even when he meets up with the Mafia...

In many ways, readers will recognize this book as the cozy murder mystery style. We get to know the characters, especially, the three main teen characters, and become invested in their lives. And yet, there is Bill's mother and grandfather who are facing totally changed adult lives that they would never have wanted or planned for. The family commitment and loyalty comes across strong, even while Billy stews about the changes to his life--at least until he meets Sarah!

Even the Mafia characters had recognized that Gramps would be no help to them in tracking the money...but Bill and Sarah succeeded where all others had failed in communicating with Gramps! A triumphant story showing some things are possible when you work harder to find the solutions! I loved it.


GABixlerReviews

Robert Sells has taught physics for over forty years. He has been a story teller for over fifty years, entertaining his children, grandchildren, and students. The Return of the White Deer is his first offering to the public. His second novel Reap The Whirlwind was released late summer 2013. He lives with his wife, Dale, in the idyllic village of Geneseo, New York with two attentive dogs who are uncritical sounding boards for his new stories. He is intrigued by poker and history, in love with Disney and writing, and amused by religion and politics.

Trinity Game Thriller by Sean Chercover Has It All!

He read the username in the chat window.
PapaLegba. He didn't know anyone 
who went by that handle, but he 
knew what it meant.
Papa Legba was a prominent loa in voodoo
mythology. Guardian of the Crossroads,
facilitator of communication between the
material and spirit worlds, between the living
and the dead. A storyteller--and sometimes a
trickster.
Daniel types: This is Daniel Byrne.
Who am I speaking with?
After a few seconds, the person on the other
end wrote: And you will know the truth, and
the truth will make you free.
John 8:32. Who are you?
You seek the truth. Trinity is the Path. We
can help..."
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Papa_Legba

The Trinity Game


By Sean Chercover




There are a number of angles from which you could approach talking about this book. There are so many parts that could be explored--so many characters that play a significant role in this complex, unique, comprehensive novel...by that I mean that if you were thinking about a religious thriller, you might select a particular denomination or sect--not so...

So I'm choosing to hone in on Trinity himself...If some of you have my background, with a mother that followed Jimmy and Tammy, Jimmy Swaggart, etc., you will recognize other televangelists who've had a similar platform as Tim Trinity - the prosperity platform. One minister built a huge organization, including the establishment of a university named after him. You know, the interesting thing is that I don't think I've ever heard any major criticisms about that minister... Although others have fallen from grace for one reason or another, many times because of how they spent donated money.

Tim Trinity had a strong following at the beginning... But he was, indeed, all about the money...

He had always been a con man...

After his parents had died, Daniel Byrne had come to live with his uncle and, at first, had faithfully followed the teaching of his Uncle Tim... Until he was old enough to start questioning what he was seeing in reality...

Actually, I believe Daniel is really the main character, but, no matter, his uncle brought about the Trinity Game...even if he didn't plan to... Does that sound confusing? It should, because I'm trying not to give too much away...

Daniel had walked out of his uncle's life while he was still a teenager...and guess what, he walked right into a catholic church environment. He admitted he was looking for a "real" miracle...

And that church knew exactly how to use Daniel's quest...he was placed in a somewhat hidden job within the church. It was his job to be sent out across the world to "debunk" anybody who claimed that a miracle had occurred. And, before you think it, let me express my opinion that miracles do occur--but many are cons, scams...whatever you want to call it... In fact, Daniel, during his investigation of 721 cases, had never found a miracle.

Until the word spread that Tim Trinity was speaking in tongues...

There was concern about sending Daniel to investigate, but his "boss" knew that he was the best--and he was also one of the few within the Church that knew of Daniel's reasons for leaving his former home. So, he vouched for him and Daniel flew out to "debunk" his uncle--officially!

Instead, what he did, first, was, since he still loved the woman with whom he had been involved before he went to become a priest...And, with her present job as a journalist, he thought he could use it as an excuse to contact her...I'll let you find out about that relationship; however, she and her photographer did come to play a big part in Daniel's investigative efforts...only to conclude that Tim was not faking!

And worse, that he was making predictions, while speaking in tongues, that were all coming true...

All of which brought out the "witch-hunters" who were not happy with this development that could change--their worlds! Whew! What a story! The ending had both sad and happy results and, dare I say, just as God had planned??? It really doesn't matter whether you believe that's possible--this thriller has something for everybody, including   those who follow voodoo, Catholicism, protestants, heroes, gambling, miracles, love, or...the truth...I loved this one! For many reasons!


GABixlerReviews

SEAN’S BIO

Sean Chercover is a dual citizen, born to a Canadian father and an American mother. He grew up in Toronto and spent childhood summers in Georgia. After earning a Liberal Arts degree from Columbia College Chicago, he worked as a private investigator in Chicago and New Orleans. His other professions have included television writer, video editor, support diver, waiter, encyclopedia salesman, and some best forgotten. After a series of corporate PR writing gigs drove Sean insane, he settled down to write fiction in earnest.

He is the author of the crime novels BIG CITY BAD BLOOD,TRIGGER CITY, and THE TRINITY GAME, as well as short stories that have appeared in a number of anthologies. His work has received the Anthony, Shamus, CWA Dagger, Dilys, Crimespree, Gumshoe and Lovey awards, and has been shortlisted for the Edgar, MacAvity, Barry, ITW Thriller and Arthur Ellis.

He lives with his wife and son in Toronto, where you can find him running in the ravines with his bionic dog.

Review: Texas Rangers in Terrific Techno-Thriller!

Strong Enough To Die
By Jon Land
Forge Books
ISBN: 9780765312587
351 Pages


A “western” flavor with great historical information and action from the Texas Rangers is merged within an exciting techno thriller, in Jon Land’s Strong Enough To Die. In my opinion, it’s a must-read out this month!

Caitlin Strong, a fifth-generation Ranger, has had one too many close calls--the last one resulting in the death of a dear friend and partner. Leaving the Rangers, she goes back to school to get her degree for counseling and gets a job at the Survivor Center for Victims of Torture. Although the director is unsure about her working with victims, when Caitlin is brought in to see one of her potential patients, and recognizes him, she is pulled into an experience to be faced like no other she has ever known and assures the director that she will work hard to handle the job in order to be able to care for the man.

As she begins her new job, she learns that Cort Wesley Masters, the man who had been the leader at the ambush where her partner was killed, has been released due to a new test for the DNA that had proved him not guilty, and he was coming after her for revenge. They meet when he finds out where she is working and goes to the Survivor Center, only to find that the facility is under attack and Caitlin is the only staff member left alive and she is fighting to save her patient. In a split-second decision, Cort forgets his original plan and works along with Caitlin to eliminate the attackers!

Reclaiming her Ranger’s badge is one part of Caitlin’s first acts after this massacre. As Caitlin discovers that Cort was set up and wants to find out who falsely accused him, she also learns that, by protecting her patient, who others are trying to kidnap, she, Cort, and his two children, are now all under attack. Cort and Caitlin are forced into an uneasy alliance as they discover more and more about everything happening.

Caitlin and Cort are terrific characters and I hope they will be in future books; however, one minor character, Guillermo Paz, stole a lead role for me—a mercenary/hit man, Paz visits various churches and confesses his actions to the dismay of local priests. His latest job has brought him from South America by the “head man” and is told to get rid of all witnesses. However, when he finds Caitlin, protecting the sons of Cort Wesley, he leaves without killing them—and later revisits a local church. Paz has found his role in life!

Strong Enough To Die by Jon Land is refreshingly different as the role of Texas Rangers is blended with hi-tech murder. One of the best I’ve read!

G. A. Bixler