“Somewhere in the two seconds of silence between “When a man loves a woman” and “Dancing in the Street, I could hear or feel on the creaky old floorboards that someone was walking around the porch. Since I live alone and was expecting no one, I took the .38 in my right hand and rested it on my lap. So you don’t think I’m a paranoid citizen, I should mention that I was convalescing, not from the mumps, but from three bullet wounds, two 9mm and one .44 caliber Magnum, not that the size of the holes matters. As with real estate, what matters with bullet holes is location, locations, location. Obviously these holes were in the right locations because I was convalescing, not decomposing……… I should say at this point that I’m a New York City homicide detective, formerly working out of Manhattan North until I went down……… Meanwhile, the two perps who plugged me are still out there.”
"Sometime late in 1664, the musketeer D'Artagnan rode
beside a heavily armoured carriage as it rumbled slowly southwards
from Paris, carrying his friend Nicolas Foucquet to internal exile and
life imprisonment in the Alpine fortress of Pignerol. There he would
be incarcerated in a cell next door to the Man in the Iron Mask.....
"His wife and business partner and some other unfortunate human
being were dead; they had been killed in his house, with his shotgun,
one of a matched pair; they had been killed at a time when he was
obviously present in the house. And he could remember nothing of
that day or night."
“The moment he turned the corner onto Rampart Street,
he knew he was a dead man.
A shadow was moving directly in his path, a phantom
in a dark duster, one arm outstretched and pointing a
He started to say, “not me!, but he only got as far as
the first word…….”
Just the thought of her family's Mississippi plantation is enough to set china Bayles drift on a sea of memories.
The sweet perfume of magnolia blossoms mixed with the hot, heady smells of the swamp.
The house, perched on the banks of the Bloodroot River......And the secrets.
The shameful, stifling secrets that have kept her away for so long........
Love a good Mafia/Gangster/Bad Guys story? How about a TRUE ONE? Well, then this is for you! "I HEARD YOU PAINT HOUSES," is the Inside Story of the Mafia, the Teamsters, and the Last Ride of union leader Jimmy Hoffa.
"I heard you paint houses," are the first words Jimmy Hoffa ever spoke to Frank "The Irishman" Sheeran.
To paint a house is to kill a man. The paint is the blood that splatters on the walls and floors. In the course of nearly five years of recorded interviews Frank Sheeran confessed to Charles Brandt that he handled more than twenty five hits for the mob, and for his friend Hoffa.
"The Wide front door hung open,
a seductive invitation to a dark interior
veiled by dust motes that glittered in
the spectral greenish glow....."
This is one fantastic read. Suspenseful, thrilling, gripping. Not just for awhile, but throughout every page. This book is an absolute “can’t put it down!” book. Full of history, mystery, sadness, puzzles, wonders, events that will make you cry, laugh, and wonder. And our hero, Cotton Malone, one time U.S. operative, takes it all in stride, guiding us through the realm of mystery.
This is the first book of a great series. Murder, humor, tears and lots of edge of your seat twists and turns. If you love James Bond and Dirty Harry, with maybe just a tad of Colombo and James Rockford thrown in for good measure, you will absolutely adore “Beau”.