Sites that Tweet Offers of Free and Discount Books

Here are eighty sites in the U.S., U.K. and India that tweet offers of free and discount books:
United States: @4FreeKindleBook, @ASMSG1, @AuthorBookBuzz, @AuthorNetwork, @AuthorShout, @AvidReadersCafe @BlogSquares, @BookBuzzers, @bookplugs, @BookShout, @book_tribe, @bookyrnextread, @CriFiLover, @EasyBookPromo, @ebookadventure, @eBookBuilders, @eBooksGOT, @eBooksHabit, @eBookPromo, @eBook_Thrillers, @eCrimeThrillers, @FabulosityReads, @fkbooks, @FreeBookPromo, @FreeEbooksDaily, @FreeEBooksNet @Freebooks4us, @FreeBooks4You, @FreeBooksNow, @Freebooksy, @FreeKindleBook4, @FreeKindleDaily, @IBDBookoftheday, @IndBk, @IndieEbookGuru, @IndieKindle, @IndieWriterNews, @IndTwt, @IndiesBookPromo, @KDFR1, @KindleBookPulse, @KindleDaily, @Kindle_Freebies, @KindleFreeReads, @Kindleguyz, @kindleninja, @KindlePost, @kindlepromoter, @KindlePromotion, @Leannepit, @MadKindlePromos, @MedThriller, @MustReadMystery, @mybookishways, @OrchardBookClub, @PeopleReads, @PromoBooks, @pumpupyourbook, @Rabidreaders, @ravencrime, @Reading4Pleasur, @Thrillerink, @TweetBookTweet, @TweetYourBooks, @TweetYourEBook, @TweetYourNovel, @TweetsForBooks @VoiceOfindie, @writeawaybliss
Naked_Fear_Cover_for_KindleUnited Kingdom: @BookViral, @dailyfreebooks, @eBookDailyUK, @EndeavourDeals, FreeBooks4You, @FreebooksUK, @IndieBookBargs, @Kindle_Promo, @KindleShoutOuts, @lovereadingUK
India: @India_Hot_Deals, @OnlineDealsIn

Grind His Bones Pits Jack Scully Against Pit Bulls and Psychopaths

Here are the back-cover text and first chapter of Grind His Bones. In the U.S. you can find the Kindle edition at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00GEJDNZU. In the UK go to https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00GEJDNZU. In India go to http://www.amazon.in/gp/product/B00GEJDNZU?*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Back Cover Text: Colby Clark has a penchant for murdering young women. And his billionaire father is ready to spend whatever it takes to keep him out of prison. The Clarks make their first mistake when they frame Jack Scully’s cousin Hugh for a double murder. Hugh’s the perfect patsy. He made headlines when he sicked his pit bull on a pair of Chihuahuas. But Scully isn’t buying. Nor is Scully’s girlfriend, Diane Marsh, the assistant medical examiner. She proves that the blood evidence against Hugh is fake. Now the Clarks go to Plan B: kill anyone who might cause trouble, including Diane. It’s a Killer-Take-All scenario. And Jack Scully’s running a day late and a billion dollars short.

Chapter 1

“He killed them. He killed them both.”

The speaker, a tall, raw-boned woman wearing a heavy woolen sweater, a plaid skirt, thick knee socks and sturdy walking shoes, was leaning over Phyllis Rubin’s desk. “It was so awful, so awful.” She paused between words and sobbed.

Officer Rubin, typing with two fingers, struggled to keep up and kept asking the woman to repeat what she’d said. As Phyllis typed out her report on the double slaying, a half-dozen police officers clustered around her desk, sipping coffee and whispering asides.

Standing in the back of the squad room was short, squat Billy Farrell, the chief of detectives. “Keep it calm, everybody, keep it calm,” he kept saying.

Watching from the doorway to the Hillcrest Police Station, a briefcase hanging from his hand, was Jack Scully. He hesitated, wondering whether to step inside and interrupt the chaotic scene or to leave and come back later. The New Jersey Turnpike was so close he could hear the big trucks rumbling by. In half an hour he could be back in his office in Jersey City. Then he could give some thought to finding another lawyer to represent his cousin Hugh McGrady. Representing family isn’t good business. They expect you to work for little or nothing.

The gaunt woman’s voice caught his attention. “They were covered with blood, and the old lady was wailing over their bodies. It was horrible.” She paused to catch her breath. “And the bastard just walked away, casual as could be, as though nothing had happened.”
grind_his_bones_BookFRONT_02forWeb

Scully wavered a moment longer, drawn back by the gaunt woman’s tearful story. Then, in an instant, it was too late. Billy Farrell, the head detective, glanced across the room and spotted him. “Hey, Jack. Come on in. We’ve got your client out back in a holding cell.” The fat detective walked across the squad room toward Scully. “His mother should be here any minute. Do you want to wait for her or go back and see him?”

“He’s not my client,” Scully said. “He’s my cousin. I’m just standing in until he can obtain counsel.”

Farrell covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. “Lots of luck on that.”

Scully gave a halfhearted shrug, then pointed toward the tall woman making the police report. “Looks like you’ve got a big one.”

“Big as they come,” Farrell said. “It’s your cousin’s case.”

“My cousin? Are you serious? I thought his dog bit someone.”

“Hell no,” Farrell said. “It’s a double homicide.” He pointed at the gaunt woman. “She saw it. She’s a bird watcher. She was chasing a turkey buzzard when she spotted the incident.”

“You mean Hugh’s dog killed someone?”

“No, two someones.” Farrell held up two fingers. “Cupcake and Frosty. According to the bird watcher, your cousin turned his pitbull loose on a couple of Chihuahuas.”

Scully pointed at the policemen gathered around Phyllis Rubin’s desk. “All this over a couple of Chihuahuas?”

“Slow day.”

“Was it an accident?”

“Not according to the bird watcher. She says your cousin pointed his dog at the Chihuahuas and turned it loose.”

Scully gave the bird watcher a quick once over. ”Those eyeglasses are a half-inch thick.”

Farrell shook his head. “She photographed the entire incident with her cell phone. We’ve got photos.”

“Besides the bird watcher, were there any other witnesses?”

“The owner of the Chihuahuas, an old lady named Charlene Grant. We haven’t been able to talk to her. The pitbull bowled her over, and they had to take her to the hospital for observation. Phyllis will catch up with her later and get a statement.”

“Is it Phyllis’s case?”

“Afraid so. If I’d known McGrady was your cousin, I’d have assigned it to Regan. He’s a little more reasonable than Phyllis. Too late now. She’s on a roll.”

The bird watcher suddenly started sobbing. “The puppies were so cute in their little sweaters. That poor woman, she tried to scoop them up, but the pitbull knocked her over and killed them both.” Her shoulders were heaving as she sobbed. “They were all bloody, lying there. And the poor woman was on her knees crying. She couldn’t stop crying.”

“Looks bad,” Scully said. “Can I see my cousin?”

“Sure, follow me.” Farrell glanced at Scully and laughed. “Is he really your cousin?”

Scully shrugged.

Yeah, now that you mention it, I can see the family resemblance.”

Scully forced a smile. Tall and lean, he was almost a foot taller than his short stocky cousin, Hugh McGrady. The only traits the two men shared were their pitch-black hair and deep blue eyes.

In the back of the police station Hugh McGrady was sharing a cell with a young car thief and a middle-aged drunk. The drunk was lying passed out on the floor, his head resting in a puddle of vomit. The car thief, a scrawny man with a shaved head and a panorama of tattoos, was sitting on an upper bunk, his legs dangling over the side, a cigarette drooping from his lower lip. The sour smell of vomit filled the hallway.

“Jesus, it took you long enough,” Hugh said when he saw Scully. “Get me out of here. It’s a fucking cesspool.”

“Your arraignment’s at nine tomorrow morning. You’ll have to tough it out overnight.”

Hugh looked outraged. “I can’t believe this shit. There’s puke all over the floor. And look at that.” He pointed toward the toilet at the far end of the cell. “It’s filthy and doesn’t even have a seat!”

“Just hang in,” Scully said. “By this time tomorrow you’ll be home.”

“Will that be the end of if?”

Scully shook his head. “You’re facing a number of charges, including assault. Besides that, the old lady will probably sock you with a civil suit. This could drag on for years and cost you a bundle.”

“Could I go to jail?”

Scully nodded. “Jail’s a possibility but unlikely, considering you have no previous criminal record.”

“Like a virgin, touched for the very first time,” the young car thief sang in a mellow baritone.

Hugh glowered at the man, then turned back to Scully. “All this fuss over two shitty little dogs. I can’t believe it. It was an accident. I don’t give a shit what anyone says. It was an accident. The thing just broke loose.”

“Don’t worry; we’ll fight it. Your Mom should be here any minute.” Scully nodded in the direction of the passed-out drunk. “Might be better if she doesn’t come back to see you. It’s kind of nasty. I’ll tell her you’re holding up well. In any case she’ll be at the arraignment tomorrow morning. You can talk with her then.”

After giving Hugh a few more words of encouragement and promising to get someone to mop up the vomit, Scully left and hurried back to the squad room. Hugh’s mother, Alice McGrady had arrived and was sitting just a few feet from the desk where Phyllis Rubin was taking down the bird watcher’s statement. Alice, a short, buxom woman in her early sixties, looked as though she’d been on hands and knees scouring the kitchen floor when she got the call about Hugh’s arrest. When she spotted Scully, she stood up and said, “What’s the little shit got to say for himself?”

“He says it was an accident.” Scully gave her a buss on the cheek, then put his arm around her shoulders and guided her away from Phyllis Rubin’s desk. “Keep your voice down.”

Alice lowered her voice half a notch. “He’d better cut the silly shit or they’re going to stick his sorry ass in jail.”

“It shouldn’t go that far. We’re talking about a couple of dogs. Even if the court decides it was intentional, his lawyer can point to Hugh’s spotless record.”

“What do you mean ‘his lawyer’? I thought you were his lawyer.”

“I handle divorces and personal-injury cases. I have no experience with this kind of thing.”

Alice McGrady, hands on hips, stood looking up into Scully’s face. “Jesus, Jack, you’re all we’ve got. We can’t get another lawyer.” She took a deep breath. “You know what they say about the devil you know being better than the devil you don’t know. It’s like that with Hugh. You know what I mean?”

Scully gave her a blank stare.

“Come on, Jack! You know what I mean. Nobody really likes Hughie. So it’s better you defend him than some other lawyer who doesn’t know him, somebody who might take a real dislike to him. At least you’ll do your best.” She gave Scully an imploring look. “You will do your best, won’t you?”

Scully nodded. “I’ll do my best.” He put his arm around his aunt’s shoulder and gave her a hug. “I’ll do my best.”

“Jesus, you really had me going. Now, if we can just get Hughie to straighten up.” She reached down and picked up her handbag. “I’d better go back there and set him straight.”

Scully held up his hands and blocked her way. “Best you wait until tomorrow. Give him time to think it over. You can talk with him at the arraignment.”

“When’s that?”

“Tomorrow at 9 a.m. They’ll either release him on his own recognizance or ask for bail. If they ask for bail, it shouldn’t be much. We’ll have to put down ten percent with the bail bondsman. Is that a problem?”

Alice snorted. “Not for me. I’m not going to pay a penny. He got his ass into this mess; he can get himself out.” She gave her head an indignant shake. “You’ll have to get the bail money from him. I’m just his mother.”

Scully checked his watch. “I’ve got a client waiting for me back at the office.”

“And I’ve got a house to clean.” Alice turned and headed toward the door. At the doorway she looked back at Scully and said, “See you in court.”

A moment after she’d left, Scully noticed Billy Farrell standing in the back of the room and gave him a friendly wave.

The detective laughed. “You sure get the winners.”

Scully ignored the jibe. “What’s the chance of moving McGrady to another cell?”

Farrell shook his head. “This ain’t the Ritz.”

“There’s a drunk passed out on the floor of his cell and vomit all over the place.”

“Okay, we’ll clean it up. Maybe we can ship the drunk to the hospital.”

As Scully headed out of the police station, he was silently cursing himself for being so stupid. As soon as Farrell mentioned the Chihuahuas, he should have turned tail and run. Now he was stuck with Hughie. The case would eat up hours of his time, and would he ever get paid? Not likely, at best dimes on the dollar. But at least it was a simple case, simple and straightforward.

New Thriller, Naked Fear, Introduces Sitka Annie

Big-game hunting in Alaska gets a new twist in Naked Fear.
One moment Annie Roszkowski’s closing the bar at Sitka Lillie’s and sharing a cup of coffee with the last customer; Naked_Fear_Cover_for_Kindlethe next moment she’s running naked across a barren Alaskan island pursued by three wealthy hunters and a pack of hounds. Running with her are two kidnapped prostitutes. They are the prey in a “good old-fashioned whore hunt.” Can Annie outrun death? And if so, how long will it be before the hunters track her down and once again begin the hunt?

Naked Fear is the first in a series of Sitka Annie thrillers. Besides Naked Fear, Richard Newell Smith has published two other thrillers, The Hitman’s Lover and Grind His Bones, both built around Jack Scully, a “divorce and dog bite” lawyer who, in trying to help relatives, is drawn into the world of crooked cops, organized crime and the black market in human organs. All three of Smith’s novels have won awards from the Florida Writers Association in their annual Royal Palm Literary Awards.

Here is the first chapter of Naked Fear:

Chapter 1

The old boat creaked as it rubbed against the dock. The hunters – there were three of them – were standing near the foot of a narrow wooden gangway, drinking coffee from plastic cups and eating sandwiches that had been wrapped in aluminum foil. A few feet away, Captain Willoughby and the boy were chatting. The Captain, a stout man, wore a naval officer’s cap and a black eye-patch. The boy, actually a young man, had a bullwhip wrapped around his shoulder. Nearby two beagle dogs were lying on the ground in the shadow cast by a wheelbarrow. One was sleeping; the other was watching the hunters and wagging its tail. The wheelbarrow was empty except for what looked like several black plastic garbage bags.

Annie was watching the men through the dusty glass of the cabin’s porthole. A few feet behind her the two prostitutes were sitting on the bottom bunk of an old, wood-framed bunk bed talking about the day ahead. Their hands like hers were handcuffed behind their back.

The older woman’s voice was high-pitched and whiny. “They better pay us good, all this shit they put us through.”

Annie had seen her before. They called her Lucy One-Step, perhaps a reflection on her short pudgy legs. Annie had kicked her out of the saloon a half-dozen times, but she kept coming back. The other prostitute, the black one, was Lakeesha, Lakeesha Robinson. Annie knew her from Blatchley Middle School, where Lakeesha was a couple years ahead of Annie. Lakeesha had quit school after the tenth grade and gone into hooking.

Lucy One-Step whined, “We could call the law on them.” Lakeesha cut her off. “Shut your mouth. Lucy, none of that talk. We’ve got enough trouble without your talking a lot of shit.”

“You can’t call the law,” Annie said. “They are the law. I’ve seen the young guy handing out parking tickets, and the fat one’s a patrolman. He calls himself Captain Willoughby, maybe because he owns the boat. Anyway the eye-patch is a fake.”

“Yeah, the fat one’s a prick. He arrested me once,” Lakeesha said.

Lucy One-Step continued to whine. “They got no right to treat us like this. They better pay and pay good.”
“Pay good for what?” Annie asked.

“For having a good time. Me and Lakeesha are good-time girls.”

“I’m no good-time girl.”

“Well, you are now. You been drafted.”

The two prostitutes had been chitchatting for the past hour, at least that long. They could have been talking all night for all Annie knew. It had been dark when she passed out. Now it was a sunny August morning.

Annie could remember seeing the young man at the saloon. He’d been trying to hit on her. But she’d been too busy to talk with him and finally, out of exasperation, had told him to stop being a jerk and leave her alone. Later as she was closing the saloon and shooing the last customers out the door, he came over and apologized and asked her to join him in a glass of brandy. She waved off his offer and, instead, set two coffee mugs on the bar. She remembered pouring coffee into the mugs and then turning around and putting the coffee pot back on the burner, but that was it. She couldn’t remember drinking the coffee. Whatever the man slipped into it must have worked fast. The next thing she knew, it was morning and Lakeesha was shaking her awake.

“Rise and shine, honey, we got a busy day coming up.”

The two women had helped her to her feet and steered her to the toilet, a tiny room that reeked of urine. Now Annie was staring out the porthole at the hunters. She’d tried desperately to pull her hands out of the handcuffs, but Lakeesha told her to stop. “Don’t waste your time, honey. They’re not coming off. And you’re getting blood all over your wrists. They won’t like that. They’re paying good money. They don’t want blood.”

“What makes you think they’re going to pay?”

The black woman laughed. “They’ll pay. They’re big spenders out for a good time, a real good time.” She looked into Annie’s eyes. “Don’t be so uptight. They just want to play around a little.”

“Not with me, they won’t.”

“You don’t have a choice, honey. So just grin and bear it, and take the money.”

“I don’t want their money. I just want to go home. I’m feeling sick. They so much as touch me, and I’ll throw up on them.”

The bunk creaked as one of the prostitutes got up and walked across the room toward the porthole. Annie could feel the woman standing behind her looking over her shoulder. “They sure got fancy gear,” the woman said. “Plenty of money.” It was Lucy One-Step.

“I don’t like the looks of it,” Annie said. “If it’s just fun and games, how come we’re handcuffed?”

“They just want to show us who’s boss. It’s a sex thing. Gets them off.”

“But why me? I’m no hooker?”

“Maybe they was running late.” Lucy looked into Annie’s face. “And you’re good looking, real good looking.”

“To hell with them!” Annie shook her head. “As soon as I get back to Sitka I’m going right to the police.”

“No, no, no!” Annie heard Lakeesha get up from the bunk. “Don’t you dare say that. You’ll get us all killed. Just be all smiles. Then after we get back to Sitka, you can do whatever you damn well please. But don’t scare them; Jesus, don’t scare them.”

“And where are we?” Annie asked.

“It’s a little island, a few miles off Sitka, Hersee Island.”

Annie shook her head again. “If they wanted to hunt, they could go up in the mountains and shoot all kinds of stuff. There must be a million places in Alaska got better hunting than this one. It makes no sense.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Lakeesha said. “You’re just scaring us. Everything’s going to be fine. It’ll be a nice pay
day for all of us.”

Lucy One-Step cut in. “Once they show you the money, you’ll be happy just to go to the bank. No need to make a stink.”

“Bullshit! They kidnapped me right out of the saloon. They can go to prison.”

“Yeah,” Lucy One-Step said, “I seen you working the bar at Sitka Lillie’s. Lillie was your mom, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry about your loss. I would have gone to the funeral, but I was already booked. I hear it was a real first-class affair.”

“That’s the way she wanted it. She wanted to go out in style.” Annie smiled bitterly to herself. Her mother had left instructions for the funeral covering every detail, right down to the type of casket, mahogany with a satin lining. Annie figured her mom had spent more in one day on that funeral than she’d spent on Annie in her lifetime.

“I was there,” Lakeesha said. “Just about every working girl in Sitka showed up to see Lillie off. We got a lot of trade out of Sitka Lillie’s. And the biggest steaks I’ve ever seen.”

Annie nodded. “Any bigger and you’d be eating the whole heifer.”

“The prayer card called your mom Lillian Roskolinski. Is that really your name, Roskolinski?”

“No, Roszkowski. I think it’s Polish. But we’ve been in Alaska so long nobody really knows. And my mom didn’t give a damn. Sitka Lillie was good enough for her.”

“You can always call yourself Sitka Annie,” Lucy One-Step suggested. “That sounds real nice.”

“Might be too late,” Lakeesha said. “They say the city’s going to tear the saloon down and turn the whole area into condos and fancy shops.”

“They’ve got to get by me first.”

“Good luck on that. Like they say, you can’t beat city hall.” Lakeesha moved closer to the dust-caked porthole and pointed at the hunters. “And you can’t beat them either. They’ve got tons of money. They can buy all three of us a million times over.” She paused for a moment, staring out the porthole, then pointed at one of the hunters, a tall man with wavy black hair. “He’s kind of cute.” The hunter had just removed his rifle from its case and was wiping it down with a cloth. “He looks like a nice guy, you know, just out to have a good time.”

Lucy One-step wedged in between the two women and pointed toward a skinny, baldish man with thick rimless glasses. “He don’t look nice. I’ve seen fish look warmer than him.” As she spoke, the man tossed his coffee cup aside and picked up a can of beer and popped the tab. He took a swig, then set the can down and began fitting a scope to his rifle.

Annie felt fear gripping at her stomach. “They creep me out.”

“Yeah, that one’s real ugly.” Lucy pointed at a stocky, middle-aged man with red hair, freckles and little slits of eyes. He was holding his rifle under his arm awkwardly and pacing back and forth. He glanced at his watch, took a few more steps, then glanced at his watch again. “Look at his eyes!” Lucy said. “They call them piggy eyes. He looks like a piggy. We can charge double for him.”

The two beagles, now both on their feet, were watching the hunters and wagging their tails.

Lakeesha put her hand on Annie’s shoulder. “It’s game time, honey. Better brace yourself.” She pointed towards the young man, the one with the bullwhip coiled around his shoulder. He was walking up the gangway toward the cabin.

“I don’t see no food,” Lucy One-Step said. “Where’s the food? I don’t like this. It’s creepy.”

“There’s a shack over there.” Lakeesha pointed toward a rise where someone had built a ramshackle shed. “Maybe they’re going to stow us there while they go hunting.”

“Be more comfortable on the boat.”

“I’d like to take a shower,” Lakeesha said. “It’s getting pretty warm. By the time they get back, we’ll be all hot and sweaty.”

The boat’s horn suddenly sounded, with a loud blare.

“What the fuck’s that?” Lucy One-Step asked. Before she could speak again, the cabin door opened and the young man stepped in. “Okay, ladies, out you go!” He took the coiled whip from his shoulder and slapped it against Lakeesha’s hip.

“Watch, yourself, shorty,” she said and headed out the door. Lucy One-Step was right behind her.

Annie shook her head and backed away. “I’m not part of this.”

“You are now, bitch. Move your ass.”

He waved the coiled whip at her, and she backed away. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“How about I drag you out by your hair?”

He reached for her, and she ducked under his arm and shot out the door. Then she ran across the boat’s wooden deck and down the narrow gangway to the dock.

Captain Willoughby was waiting at the foot of the gangway. Next to him was the wheelbarrow with its black plastic bags. “Over here ladies, over here. Form a line.” He pointed to a spot near the end of the dock. “That’s it, ladies, shoulder to shoulder,” Annie joined Lakeesha and Lucy One-Step. “Very good, very good!”

“You aren’t going to hurt us, are you?” Lucy One-Step asked in a weak, trembling voice.

“Patience, ladies, patience! It’ll all be revealed in good time. But first things first.” He unsnapped his cell phone from his belt and set it down on the ground. “No cell phones. Turn them off and leave them on the ground. People can eavesdrop on calls, and police can trace them.” The three hunters took out their cell phones and placed them side-by-side next to the Captain’s.

“Good,” the Captain said. “Now, let the games begin.” With that, he pulled an old-fashioned straight-edge razor from his pocket and flipped open the blade. Then he stepped behind Lakeesha, placed one hand on her shoulder, to hold her steady, and with a few strokes of the razor, cut away her dress, bra and panties, leaving her standing naked on the dock, her hands handcuffed behind her back. The captain then unlocked her handcuffs.

“That dress cost good money,” Lakeesha said. “You’ve got no right doing shit like this.”

“Don’t worry ladies,” the Captain said. “We’ll balance our accounts at the end of the day.”

At that the hunters laughed.

“Don’t touch me,” Lucy One-Step said in a loud plaintive voice.

“Shut your mouth. I’m not going to cut you.”

As soon as the blade began slicing through her clothes, Lucy One-Step bent her head and began to wail.

“Knock it off. You’re spoiling everyone’s fun.”

Her wails turned to whimpers. And in a moment her clothes were lying on the dock, slashed to pieces. The handcuffs were gone, and she was rubbing her wrists.

“You can’t do this,” Annie said as Captain Willoughby stepped toward her. “Get away from me.” When he reached for her, she kicked him in the shins.

“You bitch,” he yelled and slapped her hard across her face. Before she could kick him again, he grabbed her by the hair and forced her to her knees. “Any more shit from you, and I’ll cut your ears off.” The Captain’s straight-edge razor quickly slashed through her clothes.

Annie, her eyes shut tight, felt her clothing falling away. A moment later, she was standing naked next to Lucy One-Step and Lakeesha. A rough hand grabbed her wrist. There was a metallic clicking sound and the handcuffs came away. She immediately held her hands in front of herself, covering her breasts and pubic area.

The Captain took three strides to the front, turned smartly on one heel and faced the women. “Ladies, what we have here today is a good old-fashioned whore hunt.” He paused for a moment to smirk at the women and then continued. “You will be given a twenty-minute head start. Anyone still alive at sundown will be set free.” He stepped over to the wheelbarrow and patted the black plastic bags. “You won’t have to walk back, ladies; we’ll give you a ride.”

The young man with the bullwhip laughed. “You’ll be in the bag.”

Annie looked closer at the wheelbarrow and realized the black plastic bags were body bags.

The Captain raised his hand for silence and turned toward the three hunters. “The gentlemen have drawn straws to determine which whore each will hunt. So, starting with you, Mr. Buchanan, which whore do you select?”

The tall black-haired man pointed his rifle at Annie. “I’ll take the blonde.”

“Excellent choice, she’ll give you a good run for your money.”

The Captain then turned to the freckled man with the piggy eyes. “Mr. Baugh, which whore do you choose?”

Baugh, his hands trembling, hesitated. The tall black-haired man put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Frank, It’s just a bunch of whores. It’s not like they’re an endangered species.”

Baugh nodded his head and pointed at Lucy One-Step. “I’ll take the little white girl.”

Captain Willoughby turned to the third hunter. “Mr. McDowell you get the African-American lady.”

McDowell, a beer can in his hand, said, “Shit, if I wanted to shoot a nigger, I could just go down to Front Street and shoot a bunch of them.”

The black-haired man laughed. “But, Charlie, you’ve got to catch her first. And she sure looks like she can outrun you.”

McDowell surveyed Lakeesha through thick, rimless glasses. “I’ll catch her alright. And when I’m done I’ll fucking skin her and make myself a nice leather jacket.”

“Fuck you, you creepy bastard,” Lakeesha yelled.

“Now, ladies, none of that,” the Captain said. “This here is a high-class whore hunt.” He then reached into his pocket, took out a stopwatch and held it up for everyone to see. “On your mark, ladies, get set.” He pressed a button on the watch. “Now, get going.”

When the women didn’t move, he turned to the young man with the bullwhip. “Get them moving.”

The young man uncoiled the bullwhip, cracked it once in the air, and then brought it down on Lucy One-Step’s back. She screamed and began running towards the woods, wailing as she ran. Annie hesitated a second, then darted away and quickly caught up with One-Step.

Lakeesha held her ground. “You bastards, you’re all going to prison.” Annie heard the whip crack and Lakeesha scream. “You bastards, you’re going to pay for this.” The whip cracked again. Annie looked back and saw Lakeesha still swearing at the hunters. The whip cracked two more times. When Annie looked back again, Lakeesha was loping up the path towards her.

With her long strides, Lakeesha quickly overtook Annie and Lucy One-Step. “Come on, girls, keep moving,” she yelled as she sprinted past them. “Keep moving.”

Annie, her eyes fixed on the ground trying to avoid the sharp rocks, struggled to keep up with Lakeesha. Every few strides she’d feel a stabbing pain as one of her bare feet struck a sharp edge. She ran through the pain. She didn’t dare stop.

A half-dozen strides ahead of her, Lakeesha was cursing between breaths. Annie glanced back over her shoulder. Lucy One-Step had stopped and was down on one knee, sobbing and gasping for breath.

“Lucy, keep moving, keep moving,” Annie yelled. “Stay with us.”

Lucy straightened up and began running again. Her steps were short half-strides. She was moving slowly, dragging her bare feet along the rocky path.

Annie glanced from side to side as she ran, looking for a place to turn off into the trees. But there were no trees, just spiny little bushes growing out of the massive rocks and boulders along the path. The path, Annie realized, was really a gully, a gully that had worn its way through the rocks. The only way to get out was to scramble up over the rocks.

“Lakeesha,” she yelled, “we’re trapped. We’ve got to climb over the rocks.”

“Not yet. We’ll keep running ‘til there’s no place left to run. Then we can start climbing.” Lakeesha’s words came in gasps. “We can’t let the bastards catch us, no matter what. We’ve got to keep running.”

As Annie ran along the gully, the ground rose sharply. Behind her Lucy One-Step’s wails and sobs were growing fainter. A gunshot sounded, and far behind her she heard the baying of the beagles.

“They’re coming,” Lakeesha yelled. Then she stopped, turned around and looked back down the gully. “I don’t hear One-Step.” She cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled, “Lucy, where are you? Move your ass! They’re coming!”
Annie looked back and saw Lucy One-Step stumbling along the path. She was far behind them.

Lakeesha put her hand on Annie’s shoulder. “Move it, honey. We can’t wait for her. We’ve got to run.”

Gasping for breath, they ran upward through the gully, along a rocky path that rose ever more sharply. Lakeesha began scrambling up the rocks that lined the side of the gully. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Oh, my God,” Annie cried as she followed her.

The rocks were bare and eroded, and between the smooth gray surfaces were deep cracks and crevices. The women climbed up the rocks and leaped over the crevices, angling their way upward until they reached level ground. Ahead of them was a rocky ledge and beyond it the dark blue of the ocean. Annie hurried to where Lakeesha was standing on the ledge and stood beside her. Lakeesha put an arm around Annie’s shoulders. “One hell of a jump.”

Annie glanced downward. Far below, huge waves were smashing over massive boulders and pounding against the base of the cliff.

“Oh, my God, there’s no way down.” Annie felt the tears welling up in her eyes, the words choking in her throat.

“There’s got to be a way down.” Lakeesha said.

Annie shook her head. “The cliff’s all gutted out. There’s no way down.”

“We’ll try the other side.” Lakeesha ran back down the rocky slope toward the gully. “Hurry, we’ve got no time.”
Annie followed her across the smooth surface of the worn-down rocks. Wherever Lakeesha stepped, she left dark streaks of blood. Annie’s feet were bleeding too, with blood splattered over her ankles. Her body was begging her to stop, but she had to keep up with Lakeesha, keep going, no matter what. In the distance the baying of the beagles was drawing closer.

Lakeesha, with Annie close behind, ran back down to the rocky path. They followed the path for another hundred yards, until it came to an abrupt end at a high crag. Lakeesha reached the top of the crag first. Annie struggled up the steep path, gasping for breath, then stopped cold. A rifle shot had echoed up the gorge. There was a scream and plaintive wailing. “Please, please don’t kill me! Don’t kill me.”

A voice, clear and commanding, said, “Finish her!”

“Please, don’t do it! Don’t kill me!”

The commanding voice spoke again, “Do her,” and another shot reverberated.

“Jesus! They’ve killed Lucy One-Step!” Lakeesha shook her head, then gestured to Annie to join her at the edge of the cliff. Far below waves were smashing over rocks and sending spume high up into the air.

“We’ve gotta jump,” Lakeesha said. “It’s our only chance.”

“Are you crazy?” Annie’s jaw trembled as she spoke. “We’ve got to find a way down.”

Lakeesha’s face was calm, resigned; her voice was firm. “We’ve got to do it, Annie. It’s the only way.” She turned away from the edge of the cliff and walked back some thirty feet. “I’m not going to let those bastards make sport of me.” She turned to Annie. “Promise me this, if you get out of here alive and I don’t, you’ll track those bastards down and kill them.”

Annie tried to speak but the words froze in her throat.

Lakeesha spoke louder. “Promise me.”

Annie forced out the words. “I promise. I promise. I’ll get them; I’ll get them all.”

“Okay, Annie, we’ve got to jump.” She looked Annie straight in the face. “Do it, Annie! Just do it. Don’t think about it; just do it.” Then she lowered her head and started to run. When she reached the edge of the cliff, she leapt far out into the air and then plummeted out of sight.

Annie walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. At first she saw nothing but waves smashing over the rocks. Then there was something in the waves, a black shape thrown forward against the rocks and then dragged backwards, then thrown forward again, a black shape, limp and lifeless.

Annie held her hands over her eyes and staggered backwards. For a moment she stood silent. Then she heard something coming up behind her. It was the two beagles, their tails wagging, their eyes alert. One stopped, held its head back and began to bay. The other quickly followed.

From back down the gully a voice shouted, “We’ve got them, we’ve got them!”

Annie stepped back a few feet, crossed herself awkwardly, then lowered her head and began running toward the edge of the cliff. She kept running until the ground gave way beneath her feet and the wind rushed past her face.

She screamed and kept screaming all the way down.

Award-Winning Thriller: The Hitman’s Lover

The Hitman’s Lover, is the first in the Jack Scully series of thriller novels. Readers can find it on Amazon in the US at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00D0WZ2GM – in the UK at https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00D0WZ2GM – in Canada at https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B00D0WZ2GM – and in Australia at https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B00D0WZ2GM

Here’s a brief synopsis, followed by the first chapter:
Jack Scully, a partner in a Jersey City law firm, has a nice practice until his old Aunt Maude guns down a policeman and insists that Scully handle her case. What’s her defense? She claims the cop was really a hitman hired by her alcoholic husband Teddy. As Scully digs into the shooting, he learns that Hitmans_Lover_BookJacket_Cover_01Ba gang of crooked cops is moonlighting for organized crime boss Carmine D’Annunzio and carrying out contract killings. One of the cops, charming Tommy McGann, is also squiring the crime boss’s gorgeous daughter Angela. Scully zeros in on McGann. Then McGann turns up dead, burnt to a crisp. But is the body really McGann’s? Scully learns the truth when he sets a trap for the crooked cops and gets caught in his own snare. A fiery escape leads Scully to what he’s wanted all along, the luscious Angela D’Annunzio – and he follows her blindly into the final betrayal.

Chapter One
The hitman was late. Maude Ryan didn’t want to be in her bathrobe when he arrived. So, just after daybreak she took a shower and slipped into the black Ralph Lauren knockoff that Teddy had given her for her birthday almost eight years earlier. Times were better then, at least for Teddy. He still had his job and did not have to depend on her for money.

She had applied her makeup a bit thick. Her skin was rough and pitted, and no amount of powder could fill in the deep wrinkles around her eyes or lift her sagging jowls. She was generous with her perfume. It was a hot August morning and would get hotter as the day wore on. If her deodorant broke down, she’d still have the perfume.

Maude studied her face in the mirror and tried playing with her reading glasses. If she could get them to perch half way down her nose, she might look like a sweet grandmother. But it was no use. She wasn’t a grandmother and didn’t look like one. She was a big-boned woman with a prominent jaw and a beaked nose that dominated her face and made her look grim. “What the fuck,” she muttered and went looking for the gun.

The gun was Teddy’s. That was the funny thing. She had always been afraid of guns, afraid that a child would play with the gun and get hurt or that she’d get angry at Teddy and start shooting.

It was a small gun with a long barrel, a .22 caliber Smith & Wesson. The salesman had told Teddy that he’d get much more accuracy with it than with a larger gun, but Teddy wanted something with more pizzazz, like a Magnum. That was when Maude cut into the conversation. “But, Teddy, what if you’re not home? What if I’m all alone and someone breaks in?”

Now her remark seemed prophetic. Teddy had been gone for over a month, and just the week before, she had packed the rest of his things in cardboard boxes and taken them to the Salvation Army. She relished the thought of his coming back for his stuff and finding his bedroom stripped clean. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Teddy, I thought you didn’t want them.”

The gun was in the top drawer of her nightstand, alongside a fully loaded clip. She shoved the clip in place and then wrapped the gun in the morning newspaper as if to hide it from prying neighbors.

She had fed the dog and had tried to eat a donut but couldn’t. The donut was two days old, and her mouth was dry. She brewed a cup of tea and took a few sips. Then with the teacup in her hand and the morning newspaper under her arm she walked out onto the porch and sat down on the couch. She put the tea on the rattan table in front of her and unrolled the newspaper. The gun slid out of it and fell into her lap.

She sipped the tea slowly and kept checking her wristwatch. After an hour she began wondering what she’d do if her bladder started to act up.

Her left leg was aching — varicose veins. Now that she had Medicare, she could afford to get them stripped out. But for the time being an ace bandage wrapped around her leg like a puttee was the best she could manage.

She was pretending to read the comic strips, but her eyes kept darting up from the newspaper to check the road. The gun was sitting in her lap, her right hand resting on it. The safety was off. When the hitman came, she didn’t want to be fumbling around. She’d just aim the gun and pull the trigger.

Except for the paperboy no one had come near the house all morning, not surprising since 11 Cutler Circle was the last house on a dead-end street, a street that curved like a fishhook with Maude’s house at the point of the hook. Between the houses were fifteen-foot-high hedges that provided privacy and muffled the noises from the New Jersey Turnpike.

Maude had inherited the house from her grandmother, so it was hers. Teddy couldn’t lay claim to it, nor could he touch her 401(k) or her Social Security benefits. He had his own pension and benefits, but they didn’t amount to much. When he whined about having no money, she told him to learn Spanish and move to Nicaragua. “You’ll be rich, Teddy – a rich gringo in a white linen suit with a beautiful brown-skinned girl clinging to your arm.”

The sky was cloudless. The morning sun was glaring off the windows; the summer heat was rising off the grass. Her hand felt moist against the cool steel of the pistol. She was thinking of brewing another cup of tea when the hitman finally came around the corner.

He wasn’t what she was expecting. No tattoos on his arms, no gold rings in his ears. He was young, with a full head of black hair and a handsome face, the kind of face that’s easy to trust, the Judas face.

He was wearing a navy-blue windbreaker. That was the giveaway. Who wears a windbreaker in the middle of August? It was zipped up, and his hands were buried in the pockets as if to protect them from some chilly breeze. What if the windbreaker’s pockets had been cut out? He could reach down and pull a pistol out of his belt before she could react. She wiped her hand against her dress to get rid of the sweat and clutched the pistol. Her hand was trembling.

The hitman was nonchalant. He smiled at her as he approached. When he was directly in front of the porch, he said, “I’m a police officer,” and his hand came out of his pocket.

Even before she saw the glint of metal, Maude was on her feet, holding the twenty-two in both hands and firing.

The first shot struck him in the shoulder and drove him backward. The second shot missed, but the next two buried themselves in his side. He screamed, pitched forward and then collapsed onto his knees. He held his hands in front of his face, screaming, “Stop! Stop!”

Maude moved cautiously down the porch stairs, a step at a time, the gun in front of her, grasped tightly in both hands.

“You bitch,” he yelled.

She crouched, aimed and fired a fifth shot, this time striking him in the chest. He slumped forward still on his knees, his forehead resting on the sidewalk, his arms wrapped around his chest. “My God! My God.” His voice was a high-pitched wail.

Maude moved cautiously toward him. “You bastard,” she screamed and kicked him in the ribs. The kick sent him rolling onto his side. “Thought you could kill me, just walk up and kill me. Is that it?”

“Please, please.”

His voice was so weak Maude could scarcely hear the words. “Fuck you,” she yelled and kicked him again. The hitman rolled into a fetal position and stopped moving. His only sign of life was a low keening sound. A dark trickle of blood meandered slowly across the sidewalk and disappeared into a crack in the concrete.

Maude stood over him, the gun hanging loosely at her side, and took a deep breath. Her body shuddered; she started to shiver. She stepped backward and looked around. It was only then that she saw people running towards her.

“Maude, Maude, are you all right?” a man yelled. Maude couldn’t answer; her mouth was too dry. Then a woman said, “Put the gun down, Maude. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

The woman ran over to Maude and put an arm around her shoulders, then turned her away from the bleeding man and guided her back toward the porch. When Maude got to the steps, she plopped herself down and let the pistol fall out of her hand.

By now a dozen people had gathered in the roadway outside Maude’s house, and more were coming, a few men but mostly women and children. A man walked over to the hitman, bent down and placed his fingers on his neck. “He’s still alive.”

Maude closed her eyes, leaned back and listened. In the distance there were sirens, a lot of them, coming from all directions. The first to arrive was a police car. It came around the corner at high speed, then screeched to a halt in front of the crowd of people. The car door flew open, and a patrolman stepped out, pistol in hand. He looked around and then spotted Maude sitting on the steps next to the gun. “Okay, lady, don’t move.” With his gun pointed up in the air, he ran to the steps and picked up the .22 by its barrel. “Any more guns?” He looked at the faces of the people in the crowd for some kind of sign, but no one said anything.

Maude waved her hand at the wounded man. “He tried to kill me. My husband hired him.”

The patrolman paced around the man, careful not to step in the trickle of blood. “Anybody see anything? Any witnesses?”

“I saw her kick him,” a little boy said. His mother grabbed him by the shoulders. “Shut your mouth! It’s none of your business.”

A moment later a second patrol car pulled up in front of the house, and a large policeman climbed out. He glanced over the crowd standing near the roadway and shouted, “Okay people, move it back! Move it back!” He nodded to the patrolman who had been first on the scene. “Any weapons?”

“Just a pistol, lieutenant, and I’ve secured it.” The patrolman pointed toward the steps where Maude was sitting. “The old lady over there shot the guy on the ground. Claims he tried to kill her.”

The lieutenant walked over to the bleeding man. “Oh, shit!” He bent down on one knee and took a closer look at the man’s face. “It’s Larry Serido. Christ, she shot Larry Serido.”

The patrolman turned towards Maude and shook his head. “Jesus, lady, you just shot a cop.”

“He had a gun. He tried to kill me.”

The patrolman looked at where the man was lying. “Where’s the gun? I don’t see no gun.” He walked over to Serido’s shield lying in the grass and picked it up. “Is this what you mean?” He held the shield in front of Maude’s face. “That’s no gun.”

Maude stared at Serido’s shield. “He had a gun. He was trying to kill me. And I can prove it.”

The lieutenant, a large man with a florid face, knelt down and unzipped the front of the wounded man’s windbreaker. Hanging from the man’s belt was a leather holster. His revolver was still holstered. The lieutenant stood up, drew his pistol and pointed it at Maude’s face. “Okay, down on the ground! Down on the ground!”

Maude stood up slowly. “Are you kidding?” She grabbed the folds of her dress and held them up. “This is a Ralph Lauren.”

The lieutenant stopped and stared at her, his mouth half open. Then he holstered his pistol, grabbed Maude by the upper arms and turned her around. A moment later she was standing in front of the porch, her hands cuffed in front of her. “Stay right there,” he yelled at Maude. “Don’t you move.” Then he turned to the patrolman, who was busy pushing the crowd away from the wounded policeman. “Forget that, Hannigan. Help Serido. Try to stop the bleeding.” When Hannigan gave him a blank stare, he yelled, “Use your shirt to staunch the wounds. Move it!”

Within minutes a half dozen police cars and an ambulance were parked in the street outside Maude’s house. Cops, their arms outstretched, were moving the growing crowd back. “There’s nothing to see. There’s nothing to see,” the cops kept yelling, as little kids struggled to squeeze past the adults and get a closer look at the bleeding policeman.

Medics slipped an oxygen mask onto the man’s face and slowly eased him onto a gurney. Maude, standing a few feet away, kept saying in a weak voice, “He tried to kill me. He tried to kill me.”

The big lieutenant walked over to Maude. “You’re under arrest, lady.” From his pocket, he drew out a piece of paper and began reading from it. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“He’s the criminal,” Maude said, nodding toward the gurney. “Why don’t you read him his rights?”

“Shut your mouth and let me finish.” The lieutenant glared at her and continued to read. “You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you at interrogation time and at court.”

“Yeah, I want an attorney.”

The lieutenant put his hand on her shoulder and began pushing her toward the open door of his patrol car. “The county will get you an attorney.”

“I want Jack Scully.”

“Who’s Jack Scully?”

“He’s my nephew. I’m not going to waste good money on a bunch of shysters.”

The lieutenant put one hand on her shoulder and the other on the top of her head and guided her into the back seat of his cruiser. He waited until the ambulance taking Larry Serido to the hospital had driven away. Then he got into the cruiser and drove Maude to the Hillcrest Police Station. There she was seated in an interrogation room. In front of her was a small metal table.

A policeman came into the room. Without saying anything to Maude or looking at her, he placed a spiral-bound notebook on the table and left. A few minutes later a policewoman entered the room and set a Styrofoam cup of black coffee in front of Maude. She too said nothing.

For the first time Maude sensed that something was terribly wrong. Maybe the woman who told her about Teddy had lied. How could Teddy have hired a hitman? He had trouble just tying his shoelaces.

Two Novels Featuring Jack Scully Win Royal Palm Literary Awards

The Florida Writers Association has named the winners of its annual Royal Palm Literary Awards. Among them are two thrillers featuring New Jersey Lawyer Jack Scully. The Hitman’s Lover won the second-place award in the Published Thriller/Suspense category; while Grind His Bones took the third-place award for an unpublished Thriller/Suspense novel. Here are brief synopses of the two novels, both written by Richard Newell Smith:

The Hitman’s Lover

After Jack Scully’s Aunt Maude guns down a policeman and claims he was actually a hitman, the young lawyer finds himself battling for his life against a quartet of crooked cops. Chief among them is the charming Tommy McGann, who is squiring Mafia Princess Angela D’Annunzio. Scully zeros in on McGann. Then McGann turns up dead, burnt to a crisp. But is the body really McGann’s? Scully learns the truth when he sets a trap for the crooked cops and gets caught in his own snare. A fiery escape leads Scully to what he’s wanted all along, the luscious Angela D’Annunzio – and he follows her blindly into the final betrayal.

The Hitman’s Lover is available from Amazon at http://amzn.to/L4ewfm Barnes and Noble at http://tinyurl.com/buvc8hk and Kobo at http://tinyurl.com/c32w3cy

Grind His Bones

For Jack Scully, pit bulls and sociopaths aren’t half as obnoxious as his cousin Hughie. Now he’s risking his life to save Hughie from being framed for a double murder. The frame-up looks perfect until Scully begins picking it apart. To save themselves, the plotters kill off potential witnesses – and kidnap Scully’s girlfriend Diane. For Scully, time is running out, and his only hope of saving Diane is to persuade Cat Dolan, a high-priced hooker, to help him. But the Cat has already sold both body and soul and sees Scully as nothing more than a threat to her dreams of sudden wealth.

Grind His Bones will be published later this year.

Second Jack Scully Thriller Named Finalist By Florida Writers Association

The Florida Writers Association has named a second Jack Scully novel, Grind His Bones, as a finalist for its Royal Palm Literary Awards. The novel is scheduled for publication later this year. Previously named as a finalist was The Hitman’s Lover, which is now available in both print and electronic versions. The award winners will be announced at a banquet on Saturday, October 20.

Following is a brief taste of Grind His Bones. Readers can find a synopsis of The Hitman’s Lover and its first chapter by scrolling down on this blog.

Grind His Bones – by Richard Newell Smith

Jack Scully’s legal practice doesn’t cover dog murderers, but he makes an exception for his nasty cousin Hugh McGrady, who sicked his pit bull on a pair of Chihuahuas. It’s a routine case until billionaire George Colby Clark discovers he has a problem. His son has murdered two women. Clark needs a patsy, and who better than Hugh McGrady. The frame-up is perfect until Jack Scully begins picking it apart. Clark then comes up with a new scheme – to eliminate anyone who can tie his son to the murders. Clark’s henchmen begin icing potential witnesses. But Clark’s son, a charming sociopath, has an even more ambitious plan, one that will leave him rich and everyone else dead.

For Scully, time is running out, and his only hope is to persuade Cat Dolan, a high-priced hooker, to help him. But the Cat has already sold both body and soul and sees Scully as nothing more than a threat to her dreams of sudden wealth. The stakes grow when Scully’s girlfriend is kidnapped. In a desperate attempt to save her, Scully goes face to face with a gang of killers with no weapons to guard his front and only the treacherous Cat Dolan to guard his back.

For more of Jack Scully, check out The Hitman’s Lover, available at Amazon at http://amzn.to/L4ewfm Barnes and Noble at http://tinyurl.com/buvc8hk and Kobo at http://tinyurl.com/c32w3cy

The Hitman’s Lover – Chapter 1 and Synopsis

(Synopsis: Jack Scully, a partner in a Jersey City law firm, has a nice practice until his old Aunt Maude guns down a policeman and insists that he handle her case. What’s her defense? She claims the cop was really a hitman hired by her alcoholic husband Teddy. As Scully digs into the shooting, he learns that a gang of crooked cops is moonlighting for organized crime boss Carmine D’Annunzio and carrying out contract killings. One of the cops, charming Tommy McGann, is also squiring the crime boss’s gorgeous daughter Angela. As Scully pressures the crooked cops, they begin cleaning house. Maude’s husband Teddy takes a swan dive out the sixth-floor window of a seedy hotel, and the cop shot by Maude gets a dose of poison. Scully zeros in on Tommy McGann as the killer. Then McGann turns up dead, burnt to a crisp. But is the body really McGann’s? Scully learns the truth when he sets a trap for the crooked cops and gets caught in his own snare. A fiery escape leads Scully to what he’s wanted all along, the luscious Angela D’Annunzio – and he follows her blindly into the final betrayal. Copies available from Amazon at http://amzn.to/L4ewfm Barnes and Noble at http://tinyurl.com/buvc8hk and Kobo at http://tinyurl.com/c32w3cy )

Chapter One

The hitman was late. Maude Ryan didn’t want to be in her bathrobe when he arrived. So, just after daybreak she took a shower and slipped into the black Ralph Lauren knockoff that Teddy had given her for her birthday almost eight years earlier. Times were better then, at least for Teddy. He still had his job and did not have to depend on her for money.

She had applied her makeup a bit thick. Her skin was rough and pitted, and no amount of powder could fill in the deep wrinkles around her eyes or lift her sagging jowls. She was generous with her perfume. It was a hot August morning and would get hotter as the day wore on. If her deodorant broke down, she’d still have the perfume.

Maude studied her face in the mirror and tried playing with her reading glasses. If she could get them to perch half way down her nose, she might look like a sweet grandmother. But it was no use. She wasn’t a grandmother and didn’t look like one. She was a big-boned woman with a prominent jaw and a beaked nose that dominated her face and made her look grim. “What the fuck,” she muttered and went looking for the gun.

The gun was Teddy’s. That was the funny thing. She had always been afraid of guns, afraid that a child would play with the gun and get hurt or that she’d get angry at Teddy and start shooting.

It was a small gun with a long barrel, a .22 caliber Smith & Wesson. The salesman had told Teddy that he’d get much more accuracy with it than with a larger gun, but Teddy wanted something with more pizzazz, like a Magnum. That was when Maude cut into the conversation. “But, Teddy, what if you’re not home? What if I’m all alone and someone breaks in?”

Now her remark seemed prophetic. Teddy had been gone for over a month, and just the week before, she had packed the rest of his things in cardboard boxes and taken them to the Salvation Army. She relished the thought of his coming back for his stuff and finding his bedroom stripped clean. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Teddy, I thought you didn’t want them.”

The gun was in the top drawer of her nightstand, alongside a fully loaded clip. She shoved the clip in place and then wrapped the gun in the morning newspaper as if to hide it from prying neighbors.

She had fed the dog and had tried to eat a donut but couldn’t. The donut was two days old, and her mouth was dry. She brewed a cup of tea and took a few sips. Then with the teacup in her hand and the morning newspaper under her arm she walked out onto the porch and sat down on the couch. She put the tea on the rattan table in front of her and unrolled the newspaper. The gun slid out of it and fell into her lap.

She sipped the tea slowly and kept checking her wristwatch. After an hour she began wondering what she’d do if her bladder started to act up.

Her left leg was aching — varicose veins. Now that she had Medicare, she could afford to get them stripped out. But for the time being an ace bandage wrapped around her leg like a puttee was the best she could manage.

She was pretending to read the comic strips, but her eyes kept darting up from the newspaper to check the road. The gun was sitting in her lap, her right hand resting on it. The safety was off. When the hitman came, she didn’t want to be fumbling around. She’d just aim the gun and pull the trigger.

Except for the paperboy no one had come near the house all morning, not surprising since 11 Cutler Circle was the last house on a dead-end street, a street that curved like a fishhook with Maude’s house at the point of the hook. Between the houses were fifteen-foot-high hedges that provided privacy and muffled the noises from the New Jersey Turnpike.

Maude had inherited the house from her grandmother, so it was hers. Teddy couldn’t lay claim to it, nor could he touch her 401(k) or her Social Security benefits. He had his own pension and benefits, but they didn’t amount to much. When he whined about having no money, she told him to learn Spanish and move to Nicaragua. “You’ll be rich, Teddy – a rich gringo in a white linen suit with a beautiful brown-skinned girl clinging to your arm.”

The sky was cloudless. The morning sun was glaring off the windows; the summer heat was rising off the grass. Her hand felt moist against the cool steel of the pistol. She was thinking of brewing another cup of tea when the hitman finally came around the corner.

He wasn’t what she was expecting. No tattoos on his arms, no gold rings in his ears. He was young, with a full head of black hair and a handsome face, the kind of face that’s easy to trust, the Judas face.

He was wearing a navy-blue windbreaker. That was the giveaway. Who wears a windbreaker in the middle of August? It was zipped up, and his hands were buried in the pockets as if to protect them from some chilly breeze. What if the windbreaker’s pockets had been cut out? He could reach down and pull a pistol out of his belt before she could react. She wiped her hand against her dress to get rid of the sweat and clutched the pistol. Her hand was trembling.

The hitman was nonchalant. He smiled at her as he approached. When he was directly in front of the porch, he said, “I’m a police officer,” and his hand came out of his pocket.

Even before she saw the glint of metal, Maude was on her feet, holding the twenty-two in both hands and firing.

The first shot struck him in the shoulder and drove him backward. The second shot missed, but the next two buried themselves in his side. He screamed, pitched forward and then collapsed onto his knees. He held his hands in front of his face, screaming, “Stop! Stop!”

Maude moved cautiously down the porch stairs, a step at a time, the gun in front of her, grasped tightly in both hands.

“You bitch,” he yelled.

She crouched, aimed and fired a fifth shot, this time striking him in the chest. He slumped forward still on his knees, his forehead resting on the sidewalk, his arms wrapped around his chest. “My God! My God.” His voice was a high-pitched wail.

Maude moved cautiously toward him. “You bastard,” she screamed and kicked him in the ribs. The kick sent him rolling onto his side. “Thought you could kill me, just walk up and kill me. Is that it?”

“Please, please.”

His voice was so weak Maude could scarcely hear the words. “Fuck you,” she yelled and kicked him again. The hitman rolled into a fetal position and stopped moving. His only sign of life was a low keening sound. A dark trickle of blood meandered slowly across the sidewalk and disappeared into a crack in the concrete.

Maude stood over him, the gun hanging loosely at her side, and took a deep breath. Her body shuddered; she started to shiver. She stepped backward and looked around. It was only then that she saw people running towards her.

“Maude, Maude, are you all right?” a man yelled. Maude couldn’t answer; her mouth was too dry. Then a woman said, “Put the gun down, Maude. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

The woman ran over to Maude and put an arm around her shoulders, then turned her away from the bleeding man and guided her back toward the porch. When Maude got to the steps, she plopped herself down and let the pistol fall out of her hand.

By now a dozen people had gathered in the roadway outside Maude’s house, and more were coming, a few men but mostly women and children. A man walked over to the hitman, bent down and placed his fingers on his neck. “He’s still alive.”

Maude closed her eyes, leaned back and listened. In the distance there were sirens, a lot of them, coming from all directions. The first to arrive was a police car. It came around the corner at high speed, then screeched to a halt in front of the crowd of people. The car door flew open, and a patrolman stepped out, pistol in hand. He looked around and then spotted Maude sitting on the steps next to the gun. “Okay, lady, don’t move.” With his gun pointed up in the air, he ran to the steps and picked up the .22 by its barrel. “Any more guns?” He looked at the faces of the people in the crowd for some kind of sign, but no one said anything.

Maude waved her hand at the wounded man. “He tried to kill me. My husband hired him.”

The patrolman paced around the man, careful not to step in the trickle of blood. “Anybody see anything? Any witnesses?”

“I saw her kick him,” a little boy said. His mother grabbed him by the shoulders. “Shut your mouth! It’s none of your business.”

A moment later a second patrol car pulled up in front of the house, and a large policeman climbed out. He glanced over the crowd standing near the roadway and shouted, “Okay people, move it back! Move it back!” He nodded to the patrolman who had been first on the scene. “Any weapons?”

“Just a pistol, lieutenant, and I’ve secured it.” The patrolman pointed toward the steps where Maude was sitting. “The old lady over there shot the guy on the ground. Claims he tried to kill her.”

The lieutenant walked over to the bleeding man. “Oh, shit!” He bent down on one knee and took a closer look at the man’s face. “It’s Larry Serido. Christ, she shot Larry Serido.”

The patrolman turned towards Maude and shook his head. “Jesus, lady, you just shot a cop.”

“He had a gun. He tried to kill me.”

The patrolman looked at where the man was lying. “Where’s the gun? I don’t see no gun.” He walked over to Serido’s shield lying in the grass and picked it up. “Is this what you mean?” He held the shield in front of Maude’s face. “That’s no gun.”

Maude stared at Serido’s shield. “He had a gun. He was trying to kill me. And I can prove it.”

The lieutenant, a large man with a florid face, knelt down and unzipped the front of the wounded man’s windbreaker. Hanging from the man’s belt was a leather holster. His revolver was still holstered. The lieutenant stood up, drew his pistol and pointed it at Maude’s face. “Okay, down on the ground! Down on the ground!”

Maude stood up slowly. “Are you kidding?” She grabbed the folds of her dress and held them up. “This is a Ralph Lauren.”

The lieutenant stopped and stared at her, his mouth half open. Then he holstered his pistol, grabbed Maude by the upper arms and turned her around. A moment later she was standing in front of the porch, her hands cuffed in front of her. “Stay right there,” he yelled at Maude. “Don’t you move.” Then he turned to the patrolman, who was busy pushing the crowd away from the wounded policeman. “Forget that, Hannigan. Help Serido. Try to stop the bleeding.” When Hannigan gave him a blank stare, he yelled, “Use your shirt to staunch the wounds. Move it!”

Within minutes a half dozen police cars and an ambulance were parked in the street outside Maude’s house. Cops, their arms outstretched, were moving the growing crowd back. “There’s nothing to see. There’s nothing to see,” the cops kept yelling, as little kids struggled to squeeze past the adults and get a closer look at the bleeding policeman.

Medics slipped an oxygen mask onto the man’s face and slowly eased him onto a gurney. Maude, standing a few feet away, kept saying in a weak voice, “He tried to kill me. He tried to kill me.”

The big lieutenant walked over to Maude. “You’re under arrest, lady.” From his pocket, he drew out a piece of paper and began reading from it. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“He’s the criminal,” Maude said, nodding toward the gurney. “Why don’t you read him his rights?”

“Shut your mouth and let me finish.” The lieutenant glared at her and continued to read. “You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you at interrogation time and at court.”

“Yeah, I want an attorney.”

The lieutenant put his hand on her shoulder and began pushing her toward the open door of his patrol car. “The county will get you an attorney.”

“I want Jack Scully.”

“Who’s Jack Scully?”

“He’s my nephew. I’m not going to waste good money on a bunch of shysters.”

The lieutenant put one hand on her shoulder and the other on the top of her head and guided her into the back seat of his cruiser. He waited until the ambulance taking Larry Serido to the hospital had driven away. Then he got into the cruiser and drove Maude to the Hillcrest Police Station. There she was seated in an interrogation room. In front of her was a small metal table.

A policeman came into the room. Without saying anything to Maude or looking at her, he placed a spiral-bound notebook on the table and left. A few minutes later a policewoman entered the room and set a Styrofoam cup of black coffee in front of Maude. She too said nothing.

For the first time Maude sensed that something was terribly wrong. Maybe the woman who told her about Teddy had lied. How could Teddy have hired a hitman? He had trouble just tying his shoelaces.