Amazon
* Bookbub
* Goodreads
TGITE
Chapter 2
After riding the elevator up to my floor, I walked past the closed offices while the hint of air freshener and bad sushi filled the air. When I reached my door, an awful odor hit me with a left jab to the olfactory senses. I first thought of spoiled food, but this scent made three-day-old tuna comparable to a field of wildflowers and questioned myself on what I left in the office during my last visit a few weeks prior. The unlocked door waved another red flag when I grabbed the knob. All the warning signs screamed danger, and I was a sitting duck without my handgun.
“I’m coming in! Don’t shoot!” Like an idiot, I rushed in without calling security. I played the odds, assuming they would have shot me when I walked up to the door if they were going to kill me.
I barged through and found a naked body on the floor. No one else greeted me and I called 9-1-1 to request IMPD before checking out the body. From this distance, the rigid and unclean corpse showed no blood stains or wounds. Unsure if the decay or defecation smelled worse, I opened a window and wondered how a body ended up in my old office.
No scuff marks from the body being dragged appeared when I examined the hallway. Unless a weightlifter delivered the body, one person did not carry this horse of a man. The guy on my office floor weighed roughly 350 pounds with just socks and a trench coat resembling torn cellophane around a twinkie. Logically, the body arrived after 5 pm, or the culprit risked being seen by some of the other office building tenants. I just missed them.
My brain formed a theory of how the body got into my office; prompting me to visit the freight elevator and hit the call button. The elevator car arrived and opened to reveal several marks and smears on the floor. The material left behind was for the crime lab to determine, but my brain speculated on its disgusting origin. The faint sound of my office phone ringing from this distance pierced the silence, and I ran back to catch it on the fifth ring.
“Hello.”
A pause rose from the other end. Then my mystery caller opened his yap. “I assume you got my congratulatory gift for the new opportunity.” The disguised voice hinted at a Latino accent behind an audible technical deception.
I put the call on speaker and hit the record feature on my cell. “And who are you? I should thank you for the bag of shit you left on my doorstep.”
The person laughed with a snort at the end. “You don’t mince words. I’ll make this quick to prevent tracking this call. This city offers much fuel for my fire, and that gentleman is a sample of the coming flame, Mr. Flynn. Get ready.”
The line went dead. I dialed *69, and it gave me nothing. After I hung up, I returned to examine the body. As I leaned over the corpse, a familiar voice called from the hallway: IMPD’s Lieutenant Gus Stein, my best friend and future best man at my wedding.
“Jesus, Marco. You haven’t even got your first paycheck and you’re already turnin’ over dead bodies.”
Considering we had been friends since our college baseball days, he received some leeway. I replied, “Did the security guy check you in?”
“Of course.”
“Get a copy of his log before you leave. The register might have the fake name of whoever brought this dead fish up here.”
Gus leaned over the man. “Ripe. I’ll give him that.”
“Why are you here?”
“Just heard the report and recognized the address as your office. The crime lab will be here momentarily.”
On cue, the crime lab folks left the elevator and walked down the hall. The lead tech yelled, “Touch nothing!”
Chapter 6
I peeked around the corner and spied the man sitting cross legged on the mezzanine; oblivious to the world around him as he sang a song, a hymn. Then I turned and waved at the officers, hoping they understood to block the opposite side and prevent any escape.
Then I heard the trigger click. The shot echoed around the Circle and reverberated off the glass walled buildings. Before I turned the corner, the reflection in the mirrored tower revealed the results.
The shooter dropped his weapon, and I charged. I kicked the weapon away to prevent him from grabbing it again.
The wound in his neck pulsed blood onto the limestone surface.
The guy convulsed and went into shock as a scream escaped his mouth. “They promised it wouldn’t hurt anymore.”
I closed the gap between us and grabbed his hand. “Hold on. The ambulance will be here any minute.” My reply was a lie. Death was under thirty seconds away.
My mind flashed images in front of me. I saw Brian, my brother, lying there. Then I blinked, and the body turned into Cassie. I closed my eyes to keep from passing out. When I opened them, the gunman returned. The horror left my body, but the specter hovered above me and waited to incapacitate me once again.
Sirens blared, but they were the wrong kind. Another police cruiser arrived and any hope of saving this man’s life flittered away on the cold winter breeze.
The cops swarmed me and the gunman. Three of them pointed guns at us. One fell to his knees next to the shooter. One officer pulled me back and asked me questions.
“Sir, make it quick. What’s the story?”
“He shot someone, and then he shot himself.”
“Who are you, sir?”
The shooter seized from the shock, his last physical act. A rapid breath escaped his mouth and the rattle of a last gasp departed his lungs.
“He’s dying. Do something! Help him.”
The police officer on the ground began CPR.
My mind broke and images of Brian and Cassie flooded my brain. The specter returned and laughed as I fought to stay in the moment.
The nearest officer asked me again. “Sir, who are you? What can you tell me?”
I finally realized he directed the question at me. “Uhm. I’m Marco Flynn. The Director of Public Safety.”
The officer didn’t expect that response. “Shit! Fine, we will ask you questions in a moment.”
The man on the ground stirred; still alive. The CPR worked, but it was only a brief reprieve.
This man couldn’t die thinking he was alone. I dropped, and one of my knees landed in the puddle of blood. The dying man reached out to me.
I grabbed his hand. “Hold on. They will be here soon.” The ambulance sirens filled the center of the city, which had grown quiet. The ambulance would never arrive in time.
“They said it wouldn’t hurt anymore.”
“I know they did.” I wonder who “they” were.
“They lied. You all lie.”
His body stopped shaking and his glossy eyes rolled back into his head.
We lost him.
Chapter 10
Plane leaned against the car and took another drag of the lung dart. He pointed with the cigarette nestled between two fingers like a seasoned smoker. My eyes followed his arm down the street toward the three cruisers blocking any movement on Rural.
“Well, we had a brawl breakout. Reports indicate these two gangs have been pushing each other’s buttons for a few weeks and resolved it with an old-fashioned rumble, I guess. A couple of cars blocked off the street to avoid interruption of their aggressive little tête-à-tête.
“Five dead and another three injured. I sent the ones still breathing to Eskenazi. We arrested a few others, but we are gathering witness reports now and piecing together whether anyone is missing. I guarantee we don’t have all of them.”
“Any details on body count or the people going to the hospital?”
“Yeah, of the dead, four were black in their early twenties or late teens. One was Hispanic, same age range. The injured were all Hispanic. The ones already bound for detention were black. You’d think the fools didn’t want to live.”
I asked, “What do they have to live for, Chief?”
“Is there a job? Family? Something?” Plane came from another time and the modern world puzzled him.
“Was this scuffle a race thing?”
Lane answered, “No, a turf war from what we gathered. Probably something to do with drugs, or perhaps someone got slighted at the Dairy Queen.”
I noticed an odd movement from one person standing at the nearest corner. They peculiarly backed away and went inside a house.
“Plane, I’m confused. Is this everything that happened tonight? Why is the mayor having a meeting downtown?”
Plane smiled. “You haven’t heard the best part. We have released nothing to the press, so you couldn’t know. We had a dozen separate shootings around town over the last hour. With our attention here, somebody shot a bunch of people, execution style. We received reports from across Center Township. If I were to guess, they intended the rumble to distract us from the main event for tonight. This might be the bloodiest night of violence in the city’s history. At least seventeen dead, and perhaps more. Someone is telling us we can’t handle our business and just rubbed our noses in it.”
My phone buzzed from a text.
“This is your warning, Director. Wave the white flag before we destroy the city.”
Gunfire rang out. Plane and I ducked behind his cruiser. My eyes shifted to the house where the bystander snuck inside. The lights in the house went dark.
I pointed, getting the Chief’s attention. “Plane, someone in that house knew this was coming. You need to find them.”
“After we get this under control, Flynn. You got your piece on you?”
I opened my jacket and pulled my revolver from its holster.
“At least you can defend yourself.”
Another shot took out the lights above Plane’s cruiser. We stood to return fire.
A slow rumble shook the ground and an abandoned house across the street lit up the city block like a firework display. The explosion blew the plywood off the doors and windows and into the street. Debris flew for a couple hundred feet in every direction.
That was a bomb. If it was a gas explosion, we’d be dead. This was. Whoever pulled these strings wanted to send a powerful message, not necessarily kill anyone.
Plane got on the radio. “We need fire support out here now. We have an explosion. Casualties are unknown at this point.”
Plane grabbed my arm. “Flynn, get out of here. We need a strategy to deal with these scum. I’m pulling my team out of here before we lose anyone else.”
“Don’t forget that house.”
“I’ll get to it. Leave.”
I dashed to my car while staying low and keeping parked vehicles on one side the entire trip to the Challenger. When I arrived, a piece of a shutter laid across the hood. It left a scratch, but dwelling on it now solved nothing. I shifted into reverse until I reached a street to turn around and headed downtown to meet the mayor. For all the good it would do tonight.
The Young & the Wicked
Chapter 1
The short and curvy brunette wore a stiff-looking uniform, a dark blue pencil skirt, with a light blue blouse. Though appealing, the uniform was obviously a size too small. Probably an agenda on the airline’s part, or the only issued uniform they sold her ten years and two kids ago. The woman spoke with a soft southern accent that comforted children. My guess, she hailed from somewhere between Bloomington and Louisville.
I wagged my finger to draw her close and to tell her softly. No one else needed to overhear my suspicion. A plane full of panicking people was a bad idea.
She bent over a little. Catching a whiff of her perfume, something with cinnamon, I imagined the scent of homemade snickerdoodles.
“I don’t want to alarm anyone, so I wrote this note. Read it and if I’m out of line I’ll shut up the rest of the flight.”
She took the paper and nodded. “I’m glad to help, sir.”
The attendant walked to the front of the plane. I watched as she read the note. She slowly turned her head back to me and gave a subtle nod.
At least I didn’t get kicked off the plane… yet.
The other attendant finished her rounds and wheeled the drink cart to the back of the plane. Within seconds, that same attendant pushed the snack cart to the front of the coach section. Another small package occupied the same position as the prior package. A repeat incident was not a coincidence. Something was amiss.
I watched the cart like a hawk until noticing the attendant at the front. She played with something that looked like a flip-phone my parents owned at one point. She probably sent a message to the captain and convinced me the right thing had been done.
My attention shifted back to the cart, and the package disappeared. Damn. I had no idea what the package contained or who took it. My ego distracted my brain and forgot to pay attention to the most important thing on the plane, never learning my lesson.
Someone snagged the package and probably for nefarious means. My left hand shook a little until I got my nerve back.
I threw concern over my mysterious behavior out the port window and wiggled around in my seat to get glimpses of the people between me and the snack cart. After estimating where the person sat based on when the respective package disappeared, I narrowed the suspects to four people, now labeled as one through four in my head. They all sat on the aisle with easy access to the cart and the attendant.
Tara noticed my weird actions. She leaned over and whispered, “What’s wrong?”
Tara almost literally scared the crap out of me. I didn’t notice her movement as she broke my concentration on the problem in front of me.
Calm was required in my response to her, especially in her current state.
“Probably nothing, but something weird is going on. I’ve seen two items taken out of the carts after they passed by people. The attendant didn’t hand them to anyone. Someone reached in and took them.”
I attempted to console Tara while keeping my voice in a hushed tone. Her gorgeous eyes and pretty face made focusing on the task difficult.
“Stay alert and stay behind the seat in front of you. But don’t act too weird.”
“Oh, like you?” She fired a well-deserved barb of sarcasm.
Tara leaned closer to the window, shrinking her physical profile to be as small as possible. This did little to calm her nerves, but the distraction drew her attention away from the plane, her fear of flying, and the bouncing wing.
As the snack cart passed, I hit the call button a second time to signal the same attendant.
The attendant looked at me with contempt this time. She glanced at someone back and to the left of me. She did not want me to notice the guy a row back and on the other side of the aisle shift in his seat.
I assumed it was the U. S. air marshal assigned to this flight. There was less than a one percent chance an air marshal boarded this flight. With those odds we should be playing the lottery. Then the realization that getting kicked off this plane was a possible reality occurred.
Chapter 3
I watched the truck bang into the charging station and listened to the driver curse loudly before he took a swig from a bottle. He yelled at no one in particular.
“I don’t think we play again for a few weeks. The Christmas holiday is quiet. We have practice tomorrow and then we’re off until after Christmas. Most of the team travels over the holidays. Otherwise, I’d introduce you to the coaches. They would love to meet you.”
He was just being nice with that comment. It was probably time to switch gears.
Our gaze shifted to the east and toward Mount Rainier.
“Have you ever been up to the mountain?” asked Tara.
“Yeah, Gareth and I went up there once this fall. I’ve done a few field trips into the national park. Crystal Mountain is nice, tourists don’t know as much about it. Both have cool views.”
“Did your Mom go with you?”
“Nope, she let Gareth take me. She likes him. He’s cool. I should show you the batting gloves he bought me when we got back from our last trip to Indy.”
That surprised me. Cassie was always so protective of Jacob. Letting him go with another person unattended was a big step for her.
The monster truck found its spot and pushed the charging station out of place. When the entertainment concluded, we walked by a trash bin and threw our pretzel wrappings away. The fresh breeze almost picked them up before we closed the lid.
Tara asked, “Do you see Gareth a lot? Sounds like he and your mom are close.”
“Yeah, he’s here. So that helps. Plus, Mom works a lot. She’s trying to start her business back up.”
That comment caught me off guard. I wasn’t aware Cassie wanted to get the tech business going again. Considering we shared the business when we closed it down, her telling me would be courteous. Evidently, the first tense discussion of the trip was going to happen soon. Being self-absorbed allowed me to completely blow off the Gareth comment.
Tara looked at me and patted my shoulder as if she could sense my frustration. She probably assumed the Gareth comment hurt me.
I quickly shook off the narcissistic obsession. “Jacob, where do you want to go next? We have a couple hours until we meet your mom and Gareth for dinner.”
“I don’t really want to go anywhere. I’m bored. Can we go back to the house? I promised some guys I would play some PS5 with them. We want to break in a new game.”
I think that hurt more than anything else and lost out to a video game. “Sure Jacob. We’ll be here for over a week. We have plenty of time to do fun stuff. What about the Space Needle at some point?”
He rolled his eyes. “Dad. The Needle is so lame.”
I researched it before coming out. Restaurants, a playground with a climbing area, and concerts. What wouldn’t he like? Was he just being a pre-teen and trying to act like he was too cool to spend time with me, or go to the Space Needle?
“Oh, I didn’t know.” Consider me officially deflated.
Chapter 5
When we reached the bottom, Jacob lit up. Our next stop was the Pacific Science Center, his favorite place per his conversation with Tara. I checked my attitude and let him go his own way. Before leaving Seattle, we would talk about baseball and him blazing his own trail. The talk would be one of those difficult father-son moments. Well, difficult for me.
Cassie led the way along the path that connected the various attractions in this part of town. To the right was the Chihuly Garden and Glass, a garden of stained-glass foliage with red, yellow, and orange silicon everywhere.
“Hey, Jacob. Check this out. They have some of this guy’s work at the Children’s Museum in Indy. But this is way more impressive.”
“Yeah, the process they use is pretty exceptional. They have some serious skill. All I think about is the mess in my wake after walking through that. Talk about your bull in a china shop.”
Tara asked, “You actually know that saying?”
“Yeah, Gareth uses it all the time.”
Tara paused for a second and fell back in line right beside me. I looked over my shoulder. She waved to suggest the gesture was nothing. It was anything but.
Jacob fell back with us and grabbed Tara’s hand. He enjoyed being around her. Evidently, they had bonded from their prior conversation.
Next was an exhibit called Sonic Bloom, an artistic display of five 40-foot-tall flowers made from steel and fiberglass. Each flower incorporated solar cells to capture sunlight and generate electricity that fed back into the grid. From outside the display, the sight was more than interesting.
“Dad, at night the LEDs light up. The display represents a synergetic marriage between nature and technology to generate something more than either can be by itself. Pretty cool, right?”
“Very cool.”
“Watch this.” He walked through the artistic sculpture in a pattern, generating sound from his motion.
The attraction appealed to many of the senses at one time. Such a clever idea.
Jacob ran back. “Tara, you want to make some music?”
She took his hand, and he placed her in front of one metal flower. He gave her a couple of instructions we couldn’t hear. They moved back and forth between the five flowers to create a little harmony.
I laughed at the innocence of the moment, creating that much enthusiasm and joy for my son, and wondered how to recreate that.
Tara and Jacob came back to the path toward the museum.
Jacob had one more trick. “Watch this, Dad.” He went to the far end of the display. Jacob’s body hung along the edge of the building. He wound his way through the foliage and flowers without setting off a single light or prompting the music.
Once completed, his face beamed, and he ran back to our group.
“How long did it take you to figure that out?”
“Only about sixty tries. I found the gap in the sensors by accident. Mom still can’t figure it out. It’s like my special power.”
“Pretty clever, son. Oh, looks like your mom wants your attention.”
As the City Burns Excerpts
Chapter 1
I expected this day to begin much different. The frigid canal water, cold from the prior night’s unseasonably low temperatures, blurred my vision, filled my ears, and froze my arms. The first day of autumn should not be this cold. The chill and remaining darkness were the least of my dilemmas.
A mural of a girl blowing bubbles was my compass in the early morning dawn. The image my lighthouse, a beacon, as I pulled a limp body to the side of the man-made waterway. The slight undercurrent and the inability of my cargo to help made it doubly difficult to get back to the cement border. My mouth kept going under as I paddled to the side and my torso slowly succumbed to the icy temperature. My sock-covered feet slipped on the algae coated slope and I wondered if success was possible. Then I felt the edge and knew safety was within reach.
“Hold on! Don’t die!” I yelled over my aching shoulder through the crisp, frosted air as I stretched my arm for the solid masonry, a stark contrast to the liquid muck with which I grappled.
My mind drifted for a second knowing I was safe. Then water splashed my face and provided a shock to bring me back to reality. Adrenaline granted me a boost of energy. My left hand grabbed the concrete block that mocked me with the words “NO SWIMMING” as I pulled with my right arm to drag the body closer to the edge; my muscles burned from the strain. I climbed out and got on my knees, scraping them on the concrete as a dribble of blood mixed with the water. After the taxing exertion, the real challenge of extracting the body from the water remained. My eyes opened to see the blurred image of the underside of a bridge.
My hearing returned as cool fluid drained from my ears. Police sirens blared, reminding me that I called 9-1-1 before jumping into the green water.
My mind returned to the nonresponsive body. I grabbed the nearest arm and leg and utilized all my strength to lift the person, complete with waterlogged clothing, over the cement curb. I leaned back and pulled a second time to complete the job. The cement grabbed the skin beneath my shirt and peeled it from my torso as I slid across the rough surface. After removal from the water, the drenched body covered half of me.
I scrambled from underneath and prepared to start CPR. The shadow of the bridge overhead kept daylight from corrupting the scene. Death did not want the promising daylight stepping on her turf.
I cataloged the steps in my mind from training several years before: check for a breath, clear the airway, pump the chest thirty times, and finish with two breaths. One look at the face told me it did not matter. This person died long ago and was beyond hope. I checked for a pulse anyway and confirmed my suspicion.
The sirens closed in on my location. I heard one car skid to a stop on the bridge overhead when the tires squealed to a halt.
Chapter 2
I heard someone yell from behind and turned. My brother emerged from the doors with a clear plastic bag. He opened the bag and pulled out a sweatshirt, looked through the rest, and immediately pitched the bag in the nearest trash bin two steps away. Then he gave me a smile the size of the building. He was free.
I was overjoyed and forgot about the parking meter for a minute.
He laughed as he ran over to give me a hug. Brian whispered as he reached me, “I can’t believe I made it. I’m out of there.”
We embraced for several seconds then I walked him over to my car, a black Dodge Charger. The parking attendant nodded her acknowledgment of me having nearly fifteen minutes on the meter.
“You owe me a buck twenty-four for the parking.”
My brother was unsure of how to respond.
“I’m joking. Buckle up. Here’s some stuff for you.”
I gave him a brown paper bag containing several useful knickknacks: a used cell phone, some bank account information, a pack of Marlboro’s and a Bic lighter. I rolled down his window so he could smoke and not smell up my car.
Brian pulled out the pack. “Thanks, it’s been a while.”
He unwrapped the pack carefully, enjoying the feeling of the cellophane as it clung to his fingers. He looked over the car quietly and tapped the bottom of the pack, like a professional smoker. Some skills never leave you. I never took up the habit, but he had been at it since high school. I quit judging when he went into the joint. He had other issues and smoking was the least of his worries. Brian flicked the lighter once to test it. He pulled out the first cigarette and fired it up. He took his time, his first luxury in seven years.
The first drag seemed like he went underwater and held his breath. He exhaled out the window and coughed slightly. Then he smiled back at me. I remembered why I never picked up the habit, the odor was fiendish.
“That felt good. But I haven’t smoked in so long I don’t think I want to start again. I’ll hold onto the pack just in case though.” He flicked the lit cig out the window.
“Already breaking the law. Lucky the parking attendant didn’t see that. So, what do you want to do first?”
“Is there a fast-food place nearby? I want to take a shit without everyone watching and order a cheeseburger with a fountain Coke. Like when we grew up.”
My priority was getting Brian out for a nice day before he had to report to his halfway house and begin the transition back into the world. If that meant destroying his gut the first day out, so be it.
I knew the closest place and drove east on Washington Street. Just on the other side of the interstate was a Hardee’s. We pulled into the lot and I parked in the first spot. Brian didn’t say a word and I was not going to press him. He would talk when he was ready. He was a patient person.
I gave him a twenty. “Your first meal out is on me. Just get me a Coke and a bacon cheeseburger with nothing else on it.”
“Still can’t handle condiments on your food, huh?” He chuckled as he got out of the car.
The neighborhood was falling around us. Abandoned office buildings that housed large companies just a few years ago lined the street. Electric cars took up priceless parking spots in front of stores no one shopped in anymore. Small business was being choked by high taxes and higher crime. This was the city our Mayor had created.
While Brian was inside, I received a phone call that went to voice mail. When the message popped up, I listened. It was Vonnegut Lake, my old acquaintance. The message was quick but said to tell Brian hello and that Vonnegut wanted to talk about the canal incident. His call was not a surprise. He and Brian had been close growing up, and I did pull his wife’s dead body from the water. I would call him later.
After twenty minutes, Brian exited the restaurant with a sack of food and two drinks. He got in and gave me a Coke and put a root beer, his favorite, in the console cup holder.
“Sorry it took so long. I had to take a few minutes in the bathroom to let everything sink in. But I’ll be good.” His eyes were wet and red.
We distributed the food and I jumped on the expressway and started on our way. I knew where Brian wanted to go.
“When do you have to check in at the house?” I asked.
“How did you know?”
“You know what I do for a living, right?”
He took a bite of his burger and leaned back into his seat. “This is so good. Anyway, not until six tonight. But I have some things to do first. I’m assuming you’re taking me somewhere specific, right?”
“Relax Brian. I know you want to go home for a little bit. Just sit back and enjoy the food.”
Chapter 4
Most of the females I deal with are heartbroken, vengeful, or desperate. There isn’t anything beautiful about a betrayed woman or a woman that wants revenge. Occasionally, I run across a true lady. A woman that is gorgeous and doesn’t show it, like my friend Tara Harvest. Then there are those that know they catch all the guys eyes and enjoy it. That is my landlord, Polly Heart.
Tara jokingly refers to her as Polly Purebread.
Polly managed The Block Apartments for the owners. She surrounded herself with frail debutantes and young girls biding their time until they get into some large company working in fashion design, public relations, or, worse yet, human resources. Polly was a woman; quite different from those around her. Her gray eyes showed that she lost some of her innocence, like she was defeated by love in the past. When she flashed a slightly crooked smile, her face evinced the image of an angel with shoulder length blonde hair. Her face said purity, but her body yelled action. Let’s just say the strippers at the Classy Chassis, a club on the west side of town, would kill for her curves.
Our relationship was cordial conversation and subtle flirtation over the four years I knew her. I had little success in getting past that stage, mostly because I was romantically incompetent. That was until I needed some information. I had to go see her a few weeks back.
I opened the door to the apartment office and saw Polly sitting behind the desk. My eyes were overwhelmed by the paisley colors on the wall and the scripted inspirational sayings plastered everywhere.
She flashed me her pearly whites and that slightly crooked lip. She asked, “How can I help you today Mr. Flynn?”
“Well, that’s a loaded question for a beautiful woman to ask.”
“Are you just saying I’m beautiful Mr. Flynn? Or are you saying you are loaded and ready to fire?”
There was an awkward pause as her smile and banter disarmed me. I pulled myself together and got to the point. “Perhaps both, but I have something else I need to ask. I need to get into an apartment.”
“Fine. You owe me something.”
I was curious about the request and why she was so willing to do this without questions, or an outright refusal. “Sure. What?”
She sat back and was all business; she challenged me. “I see the way you check me out every time you walk in here. I know you just come in to shoot the breeze and see if I’m here. Either ask me out properly or stop coming in here and flirting with me. I’m not just some guy’s pin-up girl.”
“What if I asked you out?”
“Fat chance. Get out Marco. Come back when you know what you want.”
I turned like a dog with my tail between my legs. I was an idiot. I had a gorgeous dame working in my apartment building and couldn’t work up the courage to ask her out. She called my bluff. Five minutes later I was back in asking her on a date. That’s how I got to this point.
Can you, for those who don't know you already, tell something about yourself and how you became an author?
I started by submitting articles to national golf magazines. Eventually I had an idea for an article about a golf course architect named Perry Maxwell. That evolved into a book project and I’ve been writing pretty much since then.
What is something unique/quirky about you?
My day job is in the accounting and finance arena and is about as opposite of writing as you could imagine.
Tell us something really interesting that's happened to you!
I was able to be a golf course consultant for a restoration of Perry Maxwell’s home golf course.
What are some of your pet peeves?
Procrastination and people who pretend to be organized.
Where were you born/grew up at?
I was born in a small town called Elwood, Indiana and grew up in that area until moving to the Indianapolis area after college.
If you knew you'd die tomorrow, how would you spend your last day?
Hanging out with my wife and family.
What kind of world ruler would you be?
Authoritarian, but I would listen to the people and take their thoughts into consideration in ruling the nation.
What are you passionate about these days?
My granddaughter and my wife. After that, trying to really find a direction for my writing career to take the next step.
What do you do to unwind and relax?
Read and spend time with my wife.
How to find time to write as a parent?
My kids are older now, but when they were younger it was really just blocking out a certain time after they went to bed or on the weekend. Now, I do an hour right after I get done with work to address the writing.
Describe yourself in 5 words or less!
Writer with a free mind.
When did you first consider yourself a writer?
It was probably after I decided to writer my first fiction book because I knew that was just the start. Before that, everything I did could have easily been the last piece I’d write.
Do you have a favorite movie?
Star Wars! Episode 4, the original, A New Hope. Whatever you want to call it, but to me it will always be Star Wars.
Which of your novels can you imagine made into a movie?
Curator of the Gods. I actually did an exercise where I casted out the characters to have a better idea of how they looked visually.
What literary pilgrimages have you gone on?
I live in the same city as Kurt Vonnegut and have gone to his museum a few times, but that’s about it other than research trips.
Christopher
Clouser lives in the Indianapolis, Indiana area and pursues writing
speculative fiction in his free time. His family consists of his
wife, two children, and one grandchild. He has written sixteen books
that include fantasy, science-fiction, mystery, and sports history
while contributing to several others, along with multiple articles.
He also has spoken to many local and national organizations on
creative writing and the career of Perry Maxwell, a noted American
golf course architect.
Website
* Facebook
* Instagram
* Amazon
* Goodreads
Follow
the tour HERE
for special content and a giveaway!
$10 Amazon
a Rafflecopter giveaway
#Mystery #Suspense #Thriller #NewRelease #TheMarcoFlynnMysteries #TGITE #TheGoldInTheirEyes #TheYoungAndTheWicked #AsTheCityBurns @ChristopherClouserAuthor #books #readers #reading #booklovers #bookbuzz #BookBlogger #Bookstagram #bookish #bookclub #MustRead #OnTour #BookTour #Giveaway @SilverDaggerBookTours #SilverDaggerBookTours
Thanks for posting about the books.
ReplyDelete