Our police detective stories evolved. Here’s an update on the soon-to-be-completed Tom Stone Day of the Dead. We began writing our Tom Stone novels January 2015, scrapped the very first one about 13 chapters in and started fresh with Tom Stone: Nitty Gritty Christmas.
Currently, we’re in the home stretch of finishing our full draft–we’re currently in Chapter 32 with Stone in a pivotal discussion. What will come of it?
Stay tuned for Special Offers as we prepare to publish this trilogy.
And stay tuned to this blog as we invite other authors to drop in and develop some cool features — or, as we like to say Kewl Features.
Come connect with Tom Stone, his family, friends and — alas, enemies. Enjoy this taste of Book 3 Tom Stone Day of the Dead with an excerpt from Chapter 18:
The pilot’s sunglasses gave him a hard look, but his lips were trembling. Angel kept the gun aimed with his finger tight on the trigger. The chopper slowed and the runners touched dirt.
“Shut it down,” said Angel.
“Okay, you got it.” The pilot turned off the power. “So, okay, man, I walk away? That’s cool with me. I won’t say nothing. Agreed? I’ll keep my mouth—”
Angel fired and the man fell forward, his sunglasses dropping from his face.
“Power lines, my ass.”
The whirring blades grew quieter and fell silent. He looked at his fingers and breathed a sigh of relief.
A quick look around the craft revealed a semi-automatic rifle stashed away and emergency flares. He found a first aid kit, bottles of water, and snacks. A daypack sat inside a cabinet along with bottles of wine and whiskey. Someone was prepared. That was the thing about DeVito. He was a first class guy and made sure all his vehicles were fully stocked and up to code. Angel packed the pistol and the other items, hopped out, and decided to take more revenge at DeVito’s expense.
He located the fuel tank and then made his way across rocks, pear-shaped cactus and grass that grew scraggly and wild like it was desperate for a sip of water. The sun was dipping lower. Angel knew he had to work fast to get out of the desert before nighttime hit and temperatures plummeted.
The chopper had landed in a depression with hills shielding the location from back roads, off-road adventurers, and hikers. That was to have been his graveyard while DeVito would sit in his estate, chomping on cigars and fondling women too stupid to know any better. Idiots.
Angel set down the supplies and cradled the rifle. No one was going to get in his way now.
He opened fire and the bullets flew wildly into the craft. Click. Click. Empty. He tossed the weapon to the ground. Nothing seemed to happen. Angel walked close to inspect his work. Gas leaked from the tank, but he was disappointed that it didn’t blow up like in the movies. He stepped back, lit a flare, and tossed it to the fuel leak. Fire caught and began to burn. He turned around, walked away, and a sudden explosion knocked him to the ground. He looked and shielded his eyes to see the copter engulfed in flames.
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