By John Paulits
Comic
Mystery, 293 pages
Cover art by
Richard Stroud
Blurb:
Mayhem and
mix-ups follow Bruno
Brunotaglia’s murder of a hit man sent
after him by a rival mob. Panic stricken, Bruno
leaves behind a briefcase of money and an import notebook. Two down-and-out
friends find the briefcase and notebook, and Bruno
needs them back before his father, head of the Philly mob, blows a gasket. Will
Richard get to keep the briefcase of
money he found with Strangler and the Indian hard on his trail? Can Clarence make hay from the information in the
notebook? It’s a battle of half-wits in this deadly game of hide and seek.
Excerpt:
Bruno waited in the dark, his panic festering. Where
the hell were they? He’d decided to waste the two kids and hope the old men ran
off. At any rate, after he shot the two kids, he’d run off so fast those
old men wouldn’t have a prayer of catching him even if they tried. But where
the hell were they? He decided to investigate.
He crept
along in the dark, growing less and less comfortable about walking over
people’s graves. It was like begging for bad luck, and he’d already had enough
bad luck tonight to last him until the 2015 San Gennaro Festival. Bruno saw the mausoleum and paused. The assassin’s
body lay in full view, and he wondered what had become of his jacket. He knew it
had covered most of the body.
Oh, shit!
Oh, shit, shit, shit! The briefcase! The hundred thousand dollars! The
whole purpose of the night. He rushed out into the open and scanned the area.
No briefcase. Oh, shit. Please, God. He proceeded to the body and, with
a grimace, turned it over. The Glock appeared, but no briefcase. Bruno picked up the Glock. Now he had enough bullets
to waste all four of those motherfuckers. One of them must have taken the briefcase.
He cocked his head to listen for footsteps. Nothing. They hadn’t gone past him,
so they could only have gone the other way. Why would they do that? he
wondered. They must have seen him waiting. They must have seen him! Oh,
shit, oh shit. Tears welled in Bruno’s
eyes. No money, a dead guy and four people knew about him! He started running
in the only other direction the four interlopers could have taken.
When he
reached the far end of the cemetery and dashed breathless out onto the
sidewalk, he saw them. Oh, shit! he swore. The two kids were already on
the porch and following the old guys into the house. Bruno
dashed down the street, trying to think. They would call the cops. It had to be
they’d call the cops. He had to get out of the neighborhood and pronto. When he
rushed past the old guys’ house, he noted the address. His stomach in knots,
his ear dreading the sound of a siren, he beeped open his Lexus, got in, and
stepped on it.
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