Free to Die By Bob McElwain His First Book Published Now Free... In Memory...

“I grew up and trotted off to war with the idea our government was the finest possible. It’s different now. I know it’s the best on this planet, but it’s a crock. We’re being used and abused by a bunch of powerful greedy bastards.” His gray eyes were flat with disgust. “
And our highly touted legal system? It flat-ass terrifies me. Walden had to wake that judge up twice in twenty minutes. Hell. I don’t mean any more to him than dust on a window sill.” Abruptly he resumed pacing.

“Even one night in a cell.” He shuddered.
 “Ever been in jail?” She shook her head. He looked away, out the dirty window. He was gone to a place far away, to an ever-present past. 


“They dropped me into a hole, then covered it over. There was no light, no sound, except from an occasional drop of water seeping through the ground above me.
 “I counted five hundred and twenty-three drops before I lost count the first time.” 
When he turned toward her, his face was pale. “I’ve never believed it was only a month. 
I just don’t know if I can do it. The night I spent when they arrested me seemed like years.” 
“You’re stronger now.” 
“Maybe.”

~~~

Free to Die

By Bob McElwain

I had picked up this book free back in 2011, but because of my need to get a better handle on requests, and putting first priority to printed books, I didn't get back to this until recently. When I began to read, and realized I had a bad copy, I went back to Amazon, knowing I was already hooked and that I would pay for it to make sure I could finish it! It was still listed for free... which confused me because I don't think authors should give their books away on a long-term basis...

So I started looking for more about the author... and was so sad to see on the publisher page...

In Memoriam
1933-2007

Bob founded Foremost Press in 2002. What a gifted writer he was. Even though we never met face-to-face, I felt I had known him my whole life. He was my mentor and such a true friend. I miss him. I will never forget him. He was truly one of a kind.           - - - Mary Holzrichter

Having just lost my good friend and author, Robert Noonan, I realize how much we have gained from the writers in this world, who have used their creativity to share with all of us, even in their later years... So, this is probably the one and only book I will read from Bob McElwain, even though there are others he has written. I noted that he had tried to get this book published, but when rejected over and over, he self-published. To me, it's a perfect example of how self-publishing will allow more gems like this one to be created for our enjoyment. I loved this book and wish he could have still been around so that all of his books would have caught on, with his knowledge... I don't know how long his books will continue to be sold, so I highly recommend you go out an get a copy of this one at least... You won't regret it, in my opinion...

The tall woman was leaning against the trunk
 of the nearly dead elm, holding her purse
 in both hands. Dangling rhinestone earrings
 accented her long neck. He decided the odd bulge
 in her purse was a pistol. “Amanda sent me,”
 she said evenly in a low-pitched contralto.
 “I’m Josie Botsworth.” “Why would Tom Fairchild
 interest either of you?” So far as he could tell,
 none of his tension showed in his easy,
soft bass. She shook her head.
 “You’re Brad Ashton and
you’re wanted for murder.”
~~~

We meet Brad as he's coming to a friend's service station. Jake is being held up and tortured for even more money. All Brad could find was a wrench. It was enough...

He made sure help was on the way, that Jake would make it, and then left, heading for a shower to get the grease and blood from his body before he left town...

He slipped into clean clothes, his best shirt and

 slacks and laid his sport coat on the bed. 

He dusted off his black dress loafers with a towel,

 then tightly rolled what little remained and packed

 it into the carry-all bag. He wrapped the boots in

 a towel and slipped them inside. The Colt .45 auto-load

 was the last item tucked inside. His plan was simple. 

He was known in Vegas as a poker player

 who won more often than not. He’d play long enough

 to hitch a ride out of town with someone leaving. 

The police would not be looking for him in the casinos.

 He stepped once again into the bathroom, 

reached under the toilet tank, and stripped the

 heavy tape loose, freeing the money belt. Tightened

 around his waist,

 the belt was hidden by the drape of his shirt.
 As he slipped into his coat and reached for his bag,
 he saw the first hint of dawn through the dirty,
 dusty window.

~~~

.

No matter whether you saved a life and stopped a robbery, the police are still going to want you, especially when there are bodies lying around at the scene... Except that wasn't what he was "already" wanted for... He had previously skipped bail for the murder of his ex-wife's brother! And Amanda, a woman he cared about, had lost bail money because of his leaving...

The issue for Brad is that he has never recovered from PTSD of being in a covered prison hole during his time in Vietnam, as well as, of course, just the trauma experienced by soldiers of that war. He still experienced tremors, nightmares, and knew that he could just not deal with being in prison!

But Josie Botsworth reported that his case was being reviewed and that there were people now who were supporting his innocence. While he appreciated that, he still could not consider that they would not win--and feared the resulting imprisonment... Finally Brad agreed to turn himself in to Sgt. Hank Walters. But even with having a friend work with him, still each time he'd awoken, he'd have to take a firm hold, breathe deeply and work to calm himself...

They went into court and it was looking good, with seemingly the Judge in agreement, but then the two lawyers seem to have made some other agreement and the prosecutor announced they weren't ready to release him! The Judge was the first to explode since he had been told an agreement was made! Brad caught a glimpse of Lt. Stratford, who had originally arrested him...Why was he in court? Something was very wrong...

Then two CIA agents, Cogswell and Feldersen, came to visit, asking about his time in Mexico, what he was doing and his relationship to a local man Tuckman. Brad had never met Tuckman before but he had introduced himself and said he was an uncle by marriage...of his ex-wife... Of course, soon after that his ex was murdered...

As Brad found out more and more, and things were growing more complex than he could have ever imagined, it was even suggested that he break bail again and get out of town! But by that time, Brad was sure he'd never be free if these murders were not all solved... 

“Coincidence bothers me.”
“I’m not following.”
“You’ve been away about three years?” Brad nodded.
“When you return, Lydia Allison dies suddenly. Is it coincidence? Or did you kill her?”
“I had no reason.” He could feel the dryness in his throat.
 “Some men don’t need one, Mr. Ashton. It’s in their blood. You’ve killed before. In Vietnam at least. Did you get a kick out of it? A special kind of high?”
 “No.” Despite himself, he said it harshly, demanding rebuttal or retraction. He leaned forward in the chair.

Rinolli watched with alert eyes, but gave no sign of response. “If you didn’t kill her, we have a coincidence, do we not? You return; she dies. It worries me.”
“Why? What’s your interest in my ex-wife?”
“Then,” Rinolli continued, as if he hadn’t heard, “you went to work at Overnite Air on Tuesday using the name Tom Fairchild. And suddenly others begin dying. A coincidence certainly, but a bothersome one.” He paused, stroking his mustache. “Did you know Gates, Talbert or Sanchez?”
“I met Talbert and Sanchez; I never saw Gates.”
“You only met them?” Brad nodded. “Can you see my problem, Mr. Ashton? These people can easily be replaced, but it wouldn’t do to let others believe there is no concern over their untimely departure. I must be absolutely certain you’re not involved. Can you help me out?"
~~~

So he went undercover, using the name Tom Fairchild, which he'd used before to work jobs and started working for Overnite Air loading freight... and...seeing some things he shouldn't have seen...

Things seemed to be coming together but then three different employees of the freight company
were killed one after the other... Somebody was cleaning up... And Brad was right in the middle to be charged with murder...again!

A Whodunit that leaves readers guessing... Is it about drugs? Who was involved? Did Brad get set up or was he just the best "person of interest" to blame? Readers see the villain moving from one individual to another, cleaning up by merely eliminating his associates...Cold-hearted, to say the least! But there are some twists that may mislead you, or confuse you and I really didn't know what was what until the end... I enjoyed Free to Die and think you will too! Check this one out quickly!


GABixlerReviews

Related articles

• FREE TO DIE by Bob McElwain

Treating Murder by Gabrielle Black Looks Promising As First in Great Medical Thriller Series!

http://www.webmd.com/multiple-sclerosis

Major advance in understanding risky but effective multiple sclerosis treatment
Published: Wednesday, March 27, 2013 - 17:22 in Health, Medicine A new study by multiple sclerosis researchers at three  Canadian centres addresses why bone marrow transplantation (BMT) has positive results in patients with particularly aggressive forms of MS...

"I took another drink of my Coke. Sometime back, I saw a Newsweek article that mentioned someone doing bone marrow transplants with some success, but I can’t find anything on it in my journals. I don’t know who did the research, but I’ve got to find it, to see what they did, and if it really worked. I feel like it could be her last chance.
" Krauss wrinkled her nose and nodded slowly. Aye. I’ve seen something about that. Wait a minute, let me think. She got up and turned slowly around the room, not really focused on anything, looking for all the world as if she was listening to someone I could not see. “Let’s see,” she muttered, continuing the slow spin. “Here.” She stabbed a pile of journals with a finger like a divining rod.
" I shook my head although I had seen the strange ritual before. Housekeeping was absolutely banned from the office. Years ago, she’d nearly gotten one poor girl fired for coming in and cleaning off her desk. “Here it is.” She pulled a journal from somewhere near the bottom of a stack and handed it to me. “They didn’t do it here at Emory, but it looked like a good study. I think the general conclusion was that it was effective in survivors, but too risky for the average MS patient because the mortality was rather high.” 
"I slouched in my chair and flipped through the journal. “I guessed as much, but she is dying. It’s hardly increasing her

risk.” Suddenly, all I could see was Sarah Summer’s wasted body at her last visit. She had vision in only one eye; a plaque on the optic nerve blinded the other. Her crumpled posture in the wheelchair spoke volumes, accusing me of failure. Even her graying skin haunted me. Sarah had been my patient for years, beginning when I was still a resident. Then she followed me to my new practice, after she wound up in Rome herself. Her loyalty gave my professional pride a boost in my first year of practice, but the price of that boost was the crushing sense of responsibility I felt now. Her life and mine were linked; her decline felt like mine as well.

~~~

Treating Murder:

Book 1 of the Veronica Lane M.D. Series

By Gabrielle Black

Things would have been so much easier if I had known that the condition I was treating was in fact, murder. The outcome for the patient, well— all involved, but especially the patient— could have been so much better. I don’t blame myself for this… anymore.

Right up front, Gabrielle Black tells readers that this is a murder mystery--no real suspense but, hey, a great murder mystery for us to solve, if we can! The other important thing that Dr. Lane shares is that this patient is special to her personally. I gather that is somewhat of a no-no, but the relationship had evolved since Sarah Summers had been one of her first patients during her residency. Sarah had even followed her as she first went into practice. I don't know about you, but I followed my doctor when he relocated--anybody who is lucky to find a compatible as well as competent doctor soon realizes those advantages. But now, after having responded to treatment so well, Sarah had relapsed and was getting worse at a rapid pace...

Veronica and Sarah discussed the potential of a bone marrow transplant and mutually agreed it was best that they proceed to plan for it. Easy decision for them, but not for the insurance company!

Dr. Lane immediately began to have problems in getting coverage because of how new the procedure was and the coverage of Sarah's policy. And they also had to worry about obtaining a donor... In other words, Dr. Lane was proceeding to do all that was necessary to treat her MS patient...

But while the arguments with the insurance company continued, Sarah had been hospitalized...but died...

Dr. Lane was looked at regarding her activities! A normal procedure, but in this case, there were questions that immediately arose...


"Dr. Peter Zacker appeared around a corner, still too far away to see my distress. I gave him a grave nod and looked back at my chart, hoping he would see that I was busy, and not stop to chat. He was a member of my call rotation and we spoke frequently, but we were not close, and I was not feeling sociable, to say the least. 
“Hi, Veronica. How’s it going?” 
"I looked up with another stiff smile, pretending as always that his high-pitched voice didn’t grate on my nerves. “Hi, Peter. I’m just reviewing the chart on my patient.” 
“Was that the code I just heard up here?”
 “Yeah, it was.” I flipped a page and tried to look occupied. 
"Sally, the nurse who had been in charge of Sarah Summers, chose that moment to appear. She cleared her throat to get my attention. “Dr. Lane, I can’t believe how she died. I’ve worked the cancer ward for eleven years, and I’ve never seen a patient go like that. One minute she was cheerful and talking, the next she was dead.” Sally stopped and looked at me clearly expecting an explanation. 
“What time did she get her chemotherapy?” I frowned in thought. 
“Two o’clock. The meds were delayed getting to the floor.” I scratched my head. “That’s about enough time for an allergic reaction, not much else, but I didn’t notice any edema or urticaria. Did she have any other symptoms?” 
"Sally shook her head. “No. Nothing. She was smiling and talking at four-fifteen when I checked the room. I came back right after five and she was gone.” Before I could respond, a call bell rang and pulled Sally away to other duties. 
"Zacker remained, hovering by my elbow during the exchange. He raised an eyebrow. “What was her story?” 
“We were going to do a bone marrow transplant for multiple sclerosis.” I answered. 
“You’re kidding?” Zacker’s voice screeched in disbelief. “What in hell were you thinking? Bone marrow transplant? Why weren’t you using Rebif?” 
"I eyed him narrowly. Peter Zacker was a cookbook man. He carefully followed the path and pattern of those who had gone before. To him, practicing medicine was like following a recipe. It was satisfactory medicine, and I could trust my patients to his care when he was on call, but it lacked heart. Modern medicine was built on the backs of great innovators. Zacker’s kind would still be bleeding the evil humors out of people if they were the only practitioners. I blew my bangs off my forehead in consternation, one of my nervous habits. “I tried it. She failed everything, and this was her last shot. She knew the risks.” I closed the chart with a snap and stood in preparation to leave. I really didn't feel up to a debate of philosophy. 
"Zacker obligingly stepped back, but I noticed that he tipped up the chart and read the nameplate as I started down the hallway to finish my rounds.

~~~

With all of the pressure that Dr. Lane was placing on the insurance company, there were a couple of calls that were made that normally would never have been done. What it resulted in was a request from the family to have an autopsy...

Otherwise, the murder would never have been discovered...

Once Dr. Lane learned that Sarah had been poisoned, she moved into the role of investigator, of course, and finding out what happened was her goal whether she was going to help or hurt her own practice. She had already lost her hospital privileges and knew she had to act on her own behalf!

Solving a whodunit is harder in a medical thriller since most of us don't know how to place ourselves into the mystery...so I especially enjoyed failing to even come close. Although I had already made an assumption that Dr. Lane was a great doctor, I was pleasantly surprised to have her personally become involved in the life of a street prostitute. Ironically others saw no need for this character, yet for me, it was this humane "caring" that assured me that she was not only a brilliant but a compassionate, caring physician... 

I believe Black has provided us with a great beginning. Her site shows that two more in the series are already in the works, which will allow readers to learn more about Dr. Lane... 

I thought it was interesting that she got a degree in English Literature before becoming a family doctor... I wonder whether she planned a future writing career right from heading to medical school... LOL!

There was only one thing I would have changed--not to early announce that this was a whodunit. It did take away from any suspense buildup. On the other hand, it allowed readers to immediately know that something had been done to the patient, that was outside the medical issues about which she was being treated. When balancing the suspense versus the upfront murder angle, I found that this allowed me to pay more attention to the medical personnel and what was happening at the insurance company--of course I didn't trust them right off...LOL... So, in the end, I was quite satisfied with this debut and the character Veronica Lane... Highly recommended for medical mystery/thriller buffs!

GABixlerReviews

Gabrielle Black is a Georgia native working as a family doctor north of Atlanta. She holds a degree in English Literature, which naturally led to an exciting career in medicine. This is her first work of fiction.
She lives with her family and a menagerie of crazy farm animals. Visit her website at www.veronicalanemd.com to learn more about the world of Dr. Veronica Lane.
Or see her Facebook fanpage: www.facebook.com/authorgabrielleback.

You've Got To Read Poison Makers by Jimmy Olsen when he takes us to The Dominican Republic and Haiti in the 70s!

"Your parents Mr. Espinosa-Jones," Mr. Yancy wheezed. "I'm about to send their only son in harm's way. This matter must be handled discreetly. I remind you again that Caamano is in the hills, our Presidente surrounded by political enemies, the nation remains suspicious of the U.S., and the energy crisis  threatens our new economy." He caught his breath. "These are more than headlines. If it's even whispered that the United States Ambassador was murdered here in his own residence, we may endure 1965 all over again. You see why I'm concerned?"
~
..."Tell me about Haiti... 
"Oh yes, Three reasons you must go to Haiti Mr. Espinosa- Jones," he told me. The first two are explained in this letter." He handed me a thick packet bound with clear packaging tape. "Explanations - one about voodoo
generally, another about zombies. 
Voodoo is always with us, but zombies? "And the third reason is the girl?" 
"Yes, You must meet her secretly. Too many eyes in this country. After you arrive, she'll make contact..."
~~~

Poison Makers

By Jimmy Olsen

I was going to stage a marathon of Olsen's books, but the first one I read this weekend, Poison Makers, I fell asleep reading last night and finished it first thing this morning! Couldn't wait to have you meet E.J. That's Sr. Espinoza-Jones that is, but by the time you've lived with him through the numerous near-death experiences, you'll think of him as a personal friend and easily call him E.J. In fact you might even call him an extraordinary hero... Wellll, part of the reason why I'm using those two words is because I can't tell you about all the things that got me so excited, else I'll be giving away too much...so maybe I'll throw in a few pics as hints! LOL

E.J, a mulatto whose mother came from Minnesota, is a scuba diving expert, but he also gets pulled into some investigations, although he's not a P.I., nor does he normally carry a gun. In fact, as I think about it, he must be a little bit crazy for doing some of the things he does! LOL... One minute I would be laughing and soon I'd be so scared for him that I literally had trouble breathing--especially when he was having the same trouble...

http://crabbymamma.blogspot.com
"There are stories about crabs, how
they've eaten the eyes from the
corpses of sailors. This crab seemed
large and curious, nibbling gently
at the wrinkled skin across my
stomach, preparing, I thought, to take
a serious bite. It didn't know how angry
I was, how cold and hungry after two
days in a hole. Or how patient I'd
become as it moved sideways along my
belly, keeping its claws pointed up
in defiance..."
~~~

That happens when you are under water, hopefully swimming to save your life, being attacked by crabs, who, upon being knocked out, quickly became dinner, and breakfast, and lunch, and... That wasn't so bad to imagine eating raw crab but when he worried about getting dehydrated and decided to...

Ok, let's go back to the beginning...E. J. was hired by an individual who becomes an intermediary for others, Mr. Yancy, to find out what happened to the Ambassador of the U.S. to  the Dominican Republic. When he's got up that morning, he had watched as the Marines were placing him on the plane to be flown back home.

Mr. Yancy was quick to point out the many political issues that required much discretion, then gave him a packet of materials about voodoo and zombies and told him about travel arrangements for him to travel to Haiti and meet with the Ambassador's daughter.

"He stopped cutting then and came around to face me. The
childlike chubbiness of his face lent his words all the more
gravity. "When I was in Nueva York to visit my brother we
went to a famous church, I forget the name, at the front was
a cross suspended by large chains. The cross was polished
wood. The Savior was not on it." he said. "Jesu-cristo is on
the cross here in Santo Domingo in my church, the church of
my father. Here we have also the blood. We paint it red.  This
is because we have seen the blood and know it is on our hands.
Do not go to Haiti, mi amigo. As the blood of Cristo is real,
evil is real. Lo autentico."
..."Cosme's fear of evil had made me nervous..."
~~~

Finding out who killed the Ambassador, if he indeed was murdered, made sense to E.J., but what was all this about voodoo and zombies? And why should he have to meet his daughter.So, of course, he went to his barber, to ask him what he knew about voodoo! Actually, the barber is an important character, so we do need to know what he said...
"Evil. Perverso."

Olivia Quist was not what E. J. had been expecting. She looked sophisticated, older, but verified that she was just 19. Even then, he couldn't help but feel the mutual attraction that seemed to be happening. But they had a job to do. Even though when they walked through the crowds and held hands, and there was a communion of sorts, E.J. knew he was playing with fire, especially since he was already involved and with a woman who was not to be forgotten so easily...

But Haiti gave him the creeps, especially after
they'd attended their first voodoo ceremony. But
that was just the beginning... Fortunately, E.J.
was a good friend of a local police officer and
they worked together on much of what was to be
done, so that the first death attempt by poison
had both of them taken to the hospital! That was calmly done by a couple who had worked in the Quist home--Dulce and Alejandro! A couple who clearly were out to kill E.J., and were nearly successful! The fascinating thing was that the entire island had been placed on alert, but this couple successfully followed them back to the States and then were back and still following. He later found out that they obviously had been given diplomatic passes, but that didn't explain why the police had not identified them as being wanted for attempted murder!

I wish I could tell you about the scene when E.J. walks into a restaurant nude and has lunch...

Or his maid having "curlers" in her hair during a party that were actually...

But, really, there is so much I want to tell you about this book that there is only one thing I can say--You've got to read it!

This author has a wonderful sense of humor tand slips these little scenes in between thrilling, breath-taking action scenes and what it does for readers is break the tension so much that you've just got to laugh out loud! LOL! Go ahead, I did often in this book, except when...the zombies were around...

And when they pounded the nails in E.J.'s coffin and I read what he was thinking, hearing the sounds and seeing the voodoo crowd standing above him through the cracks between boards...Well, that sure isn't a time to do anything but...

wait for the calvary!

Of course the Calvary was just two...and I so wish I could tell you about that delightful U.S. officer who was planning the next attack on Castro, while his horny wife from Borneo was planning for E.J. and her...

Bottom line, aside from the humorous interludes, this is a fascinating novel that has so many colorfully drawn characters who will grab readers and keep their attention riveted...I'm looking forward to the next in this series! Hear that, Jimmy Olsen! Get writing! And I'm hoping that E.J. and his unforgettable lover become closer next time! Plan for a delightfully entertaining read with Poison Makers!

Do you know how Zombies are made? I do?  NOW!

GABixlerReviews

Jimmy Olsen didn't start writing fiction until he was well past 40. In the tradition of American writers like Jack London and Louis L'Amour, Olsen spent much of his life seeking adventure. He began scuba diving in 1961 at age 13 and continues today. 

A machine-gunner in Vietnam, after two tours he settled down awhile, married, started a family and graduated college with a BS in English. Still at college, he published his first national story in a diving magazine. A year later he moved his family to Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic where he taught at a private American school and started the Republic's first professional diving school, Scuba Dominican, C por A. Hearing rumors of shipwrecks and gold, Olsen and a small group of adventurers discovered the site of the French Man-O-War Imperial and several other vessels. 

After five years in the Caribbean, Olsen completed his MA at the University of Alabama and returned to writing, taking a job with a daily newspaper in Athens, Alabama for a year before becoming an editor back home in Minnesota. This lasted four years before the thirst for adventure overtook him again and he was back in the diving business, traveling to dive destinations from the Caribbean to the South Pacific. The snorkeling scene in Thing In Ditches comes directly from the author's own rich experiences. 

Jimmy Olsen has written two additional novels, Scuba, due to be released next year and YR-71, a Vietnam seafaring adventure set near Da Nang. In addition, he's completed 20 short stories, some set in his native Minnesota and others from around the globe. Several of these have recently been sold and will soon be in print. Olsen continues to travel extensively, returning to the Dominican Republic to dive his old haunts only hours before Hurricane Georges. Equally at home at the keyboard of a computer or his ancient Royal, Olsen spends his writing days in a north woods setting without even the basic comforts such as running water or electricity and at his modern office in the city. He has three children, now grown, and lives with his wife in Minnesota.

They killed for Che Guevara; Now Somebody Was Killing Them! What a Lallapaloosa By Rags Daniels!

Ernesto Guevara en Santa Clara. Diciembre 1958 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Lallapaloosa

By Rags Daniels



True, all men have tendencies, inclinations, talents, penchants. Parcelled up, they are proclivities. Proclivities— that’s a nice word, got twelve letters too. Place a parcel of proclivity in shadow; drain it of contrition, of compassion and remorse. Direct the remains at your enemy. Then, when no more than a bead of perspiration away, stop. Your eyes turn in on your brain. Your brain fails to register the conquest. Sanity abounds, remains intact. You have accomplished what you set out to do. You have become accomplished. You are the accomplished. Skillful, talented, masterly, an expert. In truth a Lallapaloosa; the best. Twelve letters, eleven spaces, one word, Lallapaloosa. Spoken, it melts into nothingness like spun sugar. Whispered, it melts nothingness. And thirty years ago there was plenty of that.


Early 60s I was finishing high school and starting to work immediately after, so I didn't pay too much attention to what was going on in the world--I'm a self-learner, so I've always both studied and worked at the same time in order to do the job...Did I ever become a Lallapaloosa, yeah, I like to think so, but after meeting Richard Strang, I'm not so sure.

Especially on the day he accepted and called himself a Lallapaloosa!

Richard Strang was a mercenary.. This is the story of his march toward becoming that lallapaloosa...and what that really meant...

Why was I thinking about dying? I was alive

that’s why ... though thirty years ago I wasn’t.

 I rekindled the stub end of my rainy-day

 Cuban and strangled a cough. Idiot: the Cuban

 was death. Death warmed up, but it was death

 all the same. Another cane approached, one

 with rhythm. Tap-tap. Tappity-tap. With

 metronome exactitude, it tapped in time to Louis

 Prima, who was now in the company of 

‘Angelina’, stuffing himself full of antipasto, 

pizza and pastrami. Tap-tap. Tappity-tap. 

The blind man ignored the whiff of decaying 

cockles and whelks; it was the oldest joke in

 the world anyway. He went two taps past me,

 stopped, turned and addressed the wall

 beyond my left shoulder. “Cuban leaf, 

second burning.” I ignored him. I wasn’t in

 the mood for chat. “Last time I nosed that

 particular leaf,” he went on, “was in

 Cuba, ‘62. Havana actually, purely in an

 advisory capacity, you understand.” 

Interesting— I too had had meetings in

 Castro’s Cuba, though none of them coffee

 morning category. My mind was split on

 whether to take a couple of crab shuffles

 and let him continue chatting brick, or to

 politely tell him to tap off. Then he said

 something that rain-checked both. “Tell me,

 Mister Strang, how did Ernesto die?” He 

knew my name! I stepped back to avoid an

 oncoming twin buggy filled with screaming

 tartan-clad kids squabbling over the

 emaciated remnants of a candy floss. How

 did the bastard know my name?

~~~

They had fought with  'Che' Ernesto Guevara in both the Congo and in Bolivia. Based upon historical fact, Rags Daniels gives readers an exciting action adventure of alternative history. Did Guevara really die in 1967 as announced to the world? 

Does it really matter? Yes to some, but for those who are reading this novel, feel free to compare it to historical fact as you can verify... Me, I enjoyed it as an engaging "what if" that took me deep into the lives of a group of mercenaries who were led by Richard Strang. 

It's 30 years later when we meet Strang...some of his men are already dead--murdered.

Somebody wants all of them dead... Or, they want something that they think one of them has... Either way, dead is going to be dead whether the reason why is discovered, right?

In order to stay alive, they've got to review what was happening in Bolivia and what could still be important 30 years later!

The novel opens in a London Inn with Strange musing about life--just the fact that he was alive rather than dead as he was
30 years ago...

Neither of us, at that time, knew who the blind man was who came asking about Che in Bolivia...Of course, I do now, but it's important that Strang didn't know...

Strang's next visitor said he was from Sam Garrow, who had been part of his group in Bolivia... Of course Sam was dead, so Strang blasted the stranger's eye with the cuban cigar he was usually smoking...asking again who had sent him...

When he learned that the man he had just been talking to was Sam Garrow (using the name Sam Kyle), Strang immediately went after him, only to find that the woman with whom he'd left the Inn was now dead...

Strang went looking for Leo Delaney, a Liverpool-Irish who had been and always would be a con man...but he'd been with Strang's group...and Strang needed information! He learned that Delaney had been almost sure that Garrow was alive, telling about the occasions when he'd thought he'd seen him...

Putting together what they knew brought them to the reality that Garrow, or somebody, was moving through the group...several were already gone and then Kinsella was killed! 

“The very same. Kinsella sends his love by the way, and Laban. The rest of them were too busy munching pussy to talk.” “Robillard?” 

“Dead. Car bomb. Marseilles.”

 “Pezzani?” “Same. Amalfi coast road. Out of the twelve, there are only seven of us left. Kinsella, Laban, Philbin, Nash, the old Greek Tsigaredes and us two.”

 “And Garrow.”

 “I’m talking ’65. He wasn’t part of the Congo group.”

 “You still got the notebook Ché gave you?”

“Lost it years ago, along with the Croix-de-Guerre Dupoix asked me to look after before he led that raid in Katanga province ...” Leo stumbled into silence. His jaw muscles bunched as he gazed out beyond the windscreen. It was a gaze focused on nothing in particular. “Shit fight. Shit country. Shit army.” His voice was low. Anger strained beneath his words. “Ché knew Tshombe’s men were unsophisticated tacticians, barefoot serial killers, fucking Neanderthals. That’s why he employed us. Funny when you think about it. Ché went to the Congo to fight us white mercenaries, and ended up giving us a job.”

~

“Now, Les’ (that’s the feller who owns the villa next door) is away. He’s away for another three weeks on business and the place is all locked up. I put the glasses on and take a gander. ‘If this was Cochabamba, that could be you up there, Kinsella’, I said. 

All of a sudden, up went the friggin’ table and the lads dived for cover behind the patio wall. The table, one of them plastic ones, ends up like the top of a pepper pot, a grand’s worth of sliding patio doors turn into a glass jigsaw, and I end up copping one in the leg.”

 I smiled. I couldn’t help it. “You always were unlucky, Leo.” 

“Kinsella went ape-shit. For a sixty two year old, he can’t half move. He ran inside, grabbed my old hunting rifle, went upstairs, and let fly at the shutters below the decoy. Half a minute later a car comes tearing down the road, past the end of my drive, and disappears down the hill.” 

I glanced at my watch. “I could sit and listen to you reminisce all day Leo, but I’ve things to do.”

 “You going after this wacko Garrow, then?”

 “Nights of sleeping with one eye open and the other half closed are long gone. Sure I’m going after him. If I don’t, he’ll only keep coming after us.” 

“Why? What do you reckon his game is?”

 “Just that, a game,” I lied. He wants to end up the only dead man living.”

~~~

I enjoyed moving back and forth from the present to the past, especially learning about when they had died... Believe me, they had been sent to blow up a munitions dump...and they didn't make it...

 http://tunari.tripod.com/sitebuildercontent/sitebuilderpictures/collage2.jpg

There was a pause while we looked at each other, then Jake eased himself back into his seat. “You know what I’m talking about then,” he said, speaking quietly. “Only don’t try telling me thirty years of insanity stems from blowing up an old sugar mill full of ammo.”

“I can still hear the explosion,” Tsigi butted in. “And the blast! Pezzani and Robillard must’ve cocked the timers up, because the whole dump went up before any of us reached cover. Jesus, it was some blast. You couldn’t see further than your nose for clouds of thick white dust and rocks raining down from a quarter of a mile up. I’m telling you, we all died out there, Richie.” “Blasted to kingdom-come,” Jake interrupted. “Somehow survived it, and came out the other side licking the taste of hell from our lips.”. 

“He’s right, Richie,” Tsigi added. “I saw it too, we all did, and you were with us. You and that Indian.” Jake smiled sarcastically, poured himself another Scotch, and leaned back in his chair. “Okay. You say it never happened ...

~

“I never said that.” 

“Then explain why we were never caught. Because within one hour of the blast half the garrison based at Santa Cruz, along with a handful of American advisors, scoured the whole area and found nothing. Even Garrow hung on for two days, just in case we turned up.” 

“Believe that and you’ll believe anything,” I said. “Forget Garrow then,” Jake said testily. “Nine of us spent two days of our lives on a magical mystery tour of God knows where, led by that Indian mate of yours, before ending up near that rail head south of Cochabamba.”

 “Tarata,” Tsigi recollected. 

Jake’s eyes were still on me. “Look it up in an atlas, Richie. Tarata is a hundred and fifty mile crow flight from La Esperanza, then explain how nine of us, not counting the Indian, covered the distance in two days without food or water and surfaced daisy friggin’ fresh, slap bang in the middle of a coffee plantation.”

 “I can’t. I can’t explain it. It just happened.” Jake scratched the side of his neck with a carefully manicured fingernail. “But you admit you saw the things I mentioned earlier? The burning ice, the mountains of bones, heard the piercing screams, felt the blood pouring from your ears?”

~~~

A little bit of mysticism added to this action adventure was just what threw Daniel's novel into a great book that I highly recommend! In fact, I'd like to have had a little more narrative during that period...but once we got back into what's happening in the present, and finish the book, you realize--Whew! what did indeed happen there?! There is a little more explanation of who was involved, but I'm leaving that for you readers to discover on your own...Great history review, fun alternative history viewpoint and lots of actions and adventure with a touch of paranormal...Cool Story!

GABixlerReviews

Learn more about Rags via interview by Diane Major!

Carolyn Arnold's Debut of Brandon Fisher Series Outstanding Novel!

"We were in a bunker illuminated by portable lights brought in by the local investigative team. A series of four tunnels spread out as a root system beneath a house the size of a mobile trailer and extended under an abandoned cornfield.
"A doorway in the cellar of the house led down eleven feet to a main hub from which the tunnels fed off. The walls were packed dirt and an electrical cord ran along the ceiling with pigtail fixtures attached every few feet.
"We were standing in the hub which was fifteen and a quarter feet wide and arched out to a depth of seven and half feet. The tunnels were only about three feet wide, and the height clearance was about the same as here, six and a half feet. The bulbs dangled down from the fixtures another eight inches...“It’s believed each victim had the same cuts inflicted,” Royster said. “Although most of the remains are skeletal so it’s not as easy to know for sure, but based on burial method this guy obviously had a ritual. The most recent victim is only a few years old and was preserved by the soil. The oldest remains are estimated to date back twenty-five to thirty years. Bingham moved in twenty-six years ago...”

~~~

Eleven

By Carolyn Arnold

This novel is the type that makes me choose to make a writer a favorite author... It's got suspense, a great mystery, something new to learn about...and makes me totally involved until the last page! Check it out soon if you haven't already read it. Check out my review of my first book for her, Ties That Bind as well!

He held out his hands as if to say he wouldn’t
 light up inside the burial chamber.
His craving was getting desperate,
though, which meant he’d be getting cranky.
  He said, “Continue, Zachery, by all means.
  The kid wants to hear.”
 “By combining both the number eleven
 and the circle, it makes me think of the
coinherence symbol.
Even the way the victims are laid out.”
 “Elaborate,” Jack directed.
“It’s a circle which combines a total
 of eleven inner points to complete it.
 As eleven means purity so the coinherence
 symbol is related to religious traditions—
at minimum thirteen.  But some people can
 discern more, and each symbol is understood
 in different ways.  The circle itself stands
 for completion and can symbolize eternity.”
 I cocked my head to the side.  Zachery noticed.
 “We have a skeptic here, Jack.”
Jack faced me and spoke with the unlit cigarette
 perched back in his lips.  “What do you
 make of it?”  Was this a trap?
  “You want to know what I think?”
 “By all means, Slingshot.” And there it was,
 the other dreaded nickname, no doubt his
way of reminding me that I didn’t score
 perfectly on handguns at the academy.
  “Makes me think of the medical symbol.
  Maybe our guy has a background in medicine.
  It could explain the incisions being deep
 enough to inflict pain but not deep enough to
cause them to bleed out.  It would
 explain how he managed to take out
 their intestines.”  Was this what I signed up for?
  “Hmm.”  Jack mumbled.  Zachery remained silent.
~~~

This is the Debut novel for the Brandon Fisher FBI series. The author interestingly chose the newest member of an FBI team to be the main character--I was reminded of the NCIS junior character, who I have enjoyed watching grow from the newbie to a main force within that government team...

Brandon Fisher, I think, is much more self-confident. He doesn't hold back from communicating--asking questions, stating his opinion and, in general, avidly participating. Still, from team members, he gets called Pending, Kid and Slingshot, none of which he appreciated!

From the other team member, he once got much more...

And that's what got him selected...as the Eleven...

But how, I still wonder, did they know!?

Bodies had been found...but the man who owned the property under which they had been buried, was already in jail...for assault and killing cows...he was not even in maximum security for those offenses...

But it didn't take long for Jack Harper, team leader of the Behavioral Analysis unit, to know they had their man. Only problem was that some timing issues showed that he had already been jailed when some of the events happened. Soon they knew somebody else, and even maybe more than one, had to be followers of the man who called himself, "The Redeemer"...

I enjoy learning more about behavioral analysis theory through novels. One of the team, Zachery, I think, will also remind you a little of a TV program agent, but Zachery seems much more arrogant in manner...LOL...just my opinion, of course... In any event, he is the speed-reader, intelligent agent who shares a lot about the coinherence symbol which the author has beautifully used in the cover and inside graphics (I love little touches that show a lot of care in the creation of books!)

Obviously there is much routine investigation, but soon that investigation leads to the discovery that another set of eleven graves had been found in Florida! They had to ensure anybody involved in these serial killings was stopped!

And when they find that some are within law enforcement, it gets even more complicated and twisted...

While this is all going on, Brandon has begun to have problems between he and his wife, especially because Jack does not allow personal calls on the job...and this case has become a 24-7 demand that his wife sees as her last straw...

I love all the main characters on this team, although in this first book there are questions about their pasts that stick in your mind to make you wonder, especially for Jack, who I think is my favorite as of now...

Arnold has excellent skills in keeping the narrative taut, tense and edgy! I loved this one and if it sounds like your kind of book...then I think you'll be thoroughly impressed as well...

GABixlerReviews
Received as Review Request

http://unurthed.com/2007/07/22/corlesss-coinherence-symbol/

"Five more paces, and we entered an offshoot from the main tunnel.  According to Royster, three burial chambers came off this tunnel.  He described these as branches on a tree.  Each branch came off the main trunk for the length of about ten feet and ended in a circular space of about eleven feet in diameter.  The idea of more space seemed welcoming until we reached it. 

"A circular grave took up most of the space and was a couple of feet deep.  Chicken wire rimmed the grave to help retain its shape.  With her wrists and feet tied to metal stakes, her arms and legs formed the human equivalence of a star.  As her body had dried from decomposition, the constraints had kept her positioned in the manner the killer had intended. 

“And what made them dig?”  Jack asked the CSI. Jack was searching for specifics.  We knew Bingham had entrusted his financials to his sister, but when she passed away a year ago, the back taxes built up to the point the county had come to reclaim the property.  

"Royster answered, “X marked the spot.”  Neither Jack nor I displayed any amusement..." 

~~~

Carolyn Arnold was born in 1976 in the rural town of Picton, Ontario. Currently she lives with her husband of fifteen years and her two beagles in a city in Southwestern Ontario.

She has been an aspiring writer since her teen years when she began writing short romance novels. But as life has a way of doing, it can mute your dreams into the background and it wasn’t until 2007 when she was reunited with her love of the written word. Her drive to complete one novel, turned into several.

Murder On Everest: An Introduction...

Murder on Everest

By Charles G. Irion
 and
      Ronald J. Watkins

Description:


When Derek Sodoc, only son of the world’s richest and most powerful man, dies attempting to climb Everest, questions are raised. Why did he fail? Was he left to die? He had the finest equipment, state-of-the-art communications, the very best guides. His death took place amid the glare of the world’s media and now, one year later, surviving members from that expedition are sent to recover his body the following year. What really happened when Derek died? Did Scott Devlon, Derek’s trusted friend abandon him to die? What about his guides? And the other climbers? Join us on this extraordinary journey as we explore high adventure atop the seven major continental summits beginning with Murder on Everest. Was Derek murdered? Will the mountain extract its own deadly justice? Was it the mountain? Or perhaps something far worse ...

Excerpt:

“What’s going on?” I asked Tom.
“That Sherpa woman is in trouble.”
“Laki?”
“That’s the one. I saw her for a moment. Horrible. Her eyes were all bugged out. Cal tried a shot of dexamethazone, but it doesn’t seem to be working.”
Dexamethazone was the drug of last resort in such a situation. It was an anti-inflammatory steroid that in certain situations was a lifesaver. That it wasn’t working was very bad news.
I went into the clinic. Calvin was still arguing with Harlan, who was making no attempt to explain himself. Laki lay nearby and looked dreadful. To see a snapshot of someone suffering from HACE with edema, you cannot imagine what you are actually looking at. Such a photo might even look funny, with the eyes bugging out in an unnatural way. What was taking place was that her brain was swelling, and there was nowhere for it to go except through the openings that held her eyes.
Laki was panting like a dog in summer. Her face was gaunt. She looked at me for help and I had none to give. She knew she was in trouble and was very, very frightened. You didn’t have to be a doctor to know that she was at the end of her rope.
Tom joined me. He glanced at her, grimaced, then turned to me. “Calvin said she’s got to be carried down now. The shot doesn’t seem to be helping. Harlan told him that the woman is already dead and he won’t risk the Sherpa in the dark.”
Harlan was right. A few minutes later, Laki stopped breathing. Calvin worked to revive her, but it was hopeless. He finally gave up and stalked off as angry as I’ve ever seen him. The Sherpa who had been nearby, moved away, not wishing to come in contact with her ghost. Someone pulled a blanket over the woman’s face, frozen in horror.

Hear the Wind!

Review Coming Tomorrow

In the meantime, Play the Game!