Yeah, I’m doing more books. Along with the long overdue Saylor Patron novel that will be out later this year, I am finishing a book without a name. The working title is Die, You Filthy Animal, unless one of you guys comes up with something better.  It takes place in Kingston Jamaica and Long Beach California. The characters are mostly new with a few of the old school SoCal Noir characters sprinkled throughout.

As your dedicated pulp writer, I will get this new one knocked out as fast as I can…. what? There was a question in the back row… can you see an excerpt? Is there no pleasing you people???  Ok, fine… here is an excerpt.

WARNING

NOT SUITABLE FOR ANYONE UNDER THE AGE OF FORTY – DRINK HEAVILY BEFORE READING

 

“Do we have any government backing on this?” Denelli asked. “You know, if we get caught or captured.”

Nagurski closed the trunk lid, “Not a whole lot.”

Denelli paused and frowned, “How much is not a whole lot?

Gorn explained, “If we get captured, the terrorists will kill us. If we get found out, the government will probably kill us. That’s about as far as our authorization goes.”

Denelli let that information sink in a moment before shrugging it off. “Ok… Yeah, that sounds about right. So don’t get caught is the name of the game.” Denelli didn’t look happy, but he didn’t push it any further. The answer Gorn provided wasn’t the answer Denelli was hoping for, but it was the one Nagurski usually gave, so he decided to quit asking about operational authorization shit. Why make things worse by knowing what’s going on, he concluded.

They divided the equipment between them and suited up. Denelli slipped on leather gloves, stuffed a thin nylon ski-mask in his belt for later, and jammed a Glock 26 in his hip pocket. He switched out his flip-flops for some canvas tennis shoes. He wrapped a fanny pack around his waist that contained his share of the bugs to be planted. He didn’t look like a macho special operative. He looked like a middle-aged drunk fat guy… which was the perfect cover… and also exactly what he was.

Gorn switched his orange Aloha shirt for a baggy dark red t-shirt that had a palm tree logo on the front. Orange wasn’t the best burglary color. Dark red was actually as good as black for night ops.  He also took a fanny back full of bugs. He had his Sig Sauer 220 secured in an inside the waistband holster.

“Want a cold one before we roll?” Gorn asked as he retrieved two beers of a cooler in the trunk.

“Sure.”

“It should calm our nerves so we don’t get scared.”

“Excellent idea… I’ll probably be scared afterwards too. Do you have any more of these in your cooler?” Denelli asked.

“No… well, twenty… but that is almost like being out of beer.”

“At least we got a reason to come back.”

They slammed two ice cold cans of local island beer, then started walking through hills, backlots, alleys, and gullies until they got close to the safe house.

excerpt from -Die, You Filthy Animal – Copyright©2017 Sierra West Books, Mesa, Arizona. All rights reserved