Eight Cylinders by Jason Parent

 

Release date: November 13, 2020

Subgenre: Horror, Crime thriller

 

About Eight Cylinders:

 

 Sebastian “Seb” McAlister has run out of luck in Vegas. Cornered by a trigger-happy gang and shot through the stomach, he makes a desperate escape in his supercharged Hellcat. Fate guides Seb safely out of Sin City and into the desert, but as his wheels fade into the horizon, he fades into darkness.

He awakes among a tiny community in the middle of nowhere. A mountain range circles the hodgepodge of shacks like prison walls looming high. And the warden that resides in those mountains is big, ugly, and deadly—a creature straight out of a Lovecraftian nightmare.

If Seb hopes to escape that wayward way station, he’ll need enough cunning to outwit a force beyond comprehension… and a fast car. With a little luck and a ragtag group of would-be monster mashers racing alongside him, Seb just might have a shot of making it through the mountains alive.

Proudly represented by Crystal Lake Publishing—Tales from the Darkest Depths.

 

Excerpt:

 

A soft tapping on Seb’s cheek woke him from anxious dreams that vanished with the light, his thudding heart and a short gasp the last indicators of a fretful slumber. A long pink tongue lolled over his face, and hot breath blew through his eyebrows. Another droplet of drool spattered on the bridge of his nose.

Fangs? Seb stared, bewildered, at the saliva-gleaming teeth set in black gums then pushed the short-haired mutt away. Getting a closer look at the animal, he gasped, jerked back in his bed, and cowered against the wall. He sputtered, struggling to speak, until words came to him at last. “A fucking coyote!”

Fear snapped away whatever fogginess remained. Seb groaned in pain, his side burning from the sudden movement. Bandages were wrapped so tightly around his otherwise bare ribs that he could hardly breathe. The room he found himself in was so swelteringly hot that his bandages were wet from a combination of blood and sweat. The bedsheets around him, not his own, were likewise soaked. On top of them, more disturbing than the foreign surroundings, was a coyote, standing sentinel.

A fat man in overalls entered the room, holding a glass of water and carrying with him an aroma of bacon grease and unwashed gym socks. He walked up beside the canine and stroked it behind the ear.

“This here’s Juke,” the man said, patting the coyote’s side. “He’s a big softie.” He snapped his fingers, and Juke jumped off the bed to sit on his haunches at his master’s feet.

“And I’m Earl,” the man continued. “I guess you can say I’m what passes for a doctor in these parts.” His triceps hung loose, jiggling as he extended his arms, offering the water to Seb. His extra weight hid some of the lines in his face but not enough to conceal the marks of someone tired and worn. Sweat ran in a V down his stained white T-shirt and beaded on his forehead, beneath close-cropped blond hair.

“I’m also the village mechanic, cook, handyman…you name it. Round here, we all wear a lot of hats. Those of us that are left, anyway.” He laughed. “Man, have we got a lot of questions for you.”

Seb crept forward on the bed, his eyes trained on the strange pet. His side screamed with pain as he reached for the water. With the stinging came recollection. He’d been shot. Carlo, his partner, took one in the head. Did he make it to the car? No, he was already dead. Where’s the car? Fucking Ling. He scowled. Ling’s men had all but chased him out of Vegas. That was…how long ago was that?

And how did I get here? He looked around for his gun, but it, his clothes, his things—all were missing. He was naked. His face flushed, and he pulled the sheet over himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been without his piece, and he didn’t like the feeling. For that matter, he couldn’t remember the last time he woke up naked in a stranger’s home, and the coyote was a whole new element entirely. He laughed uneasily.

 

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About Jason Parent: 

Jason Parent is an author of horror, thrillers, mysteries, science fiction and dark humor, though his many novels, novellas, and short stories tend to blur the boundaries between genres. From his EPIC and eFestival Independent Book Award finalist first novel, What Hides Within, to his widely applauded police procedural/supernatural thriller, Seeing Evil, to his fast and furious horror novels, They Feed and The Apocalypse Strain, Jason’s work has won him praise from both critics and fans of diverse genres alike. He currently lives in Rhode Island, surrounded by chewed furniture thanks to his corgi and mini Aussie pups.

The Jupiter Man (Unique Tales, Book 1) by Nick Dorsey

Release date: July 1, 2018

Subgenre: Superheroes, Crime fiction

About The Jupiter Man:

 

Let’s say you’ve just gotten out of prison, and your old boss wants to rehire you. Sounds great! But what if your old boss is the Frozen Avenger? His last job was the attempted kidnapping of an acclaimed astrophysicist in order reinstate Pluto as a full-fledged planet, and now he wants you to help him steal a set of precious meteorites to fund his obsession. Still sound great?

And what if an elite team of superheroes forces you to take the job and work for them as a double agent? Do these superheroes want to put away criminals, or are they just looking for a way to get these meteorites for their own mysterious purposes? Maybe these superheroes aren’t heroes after all.

What if all of the Frozen Avenger’s old goons are turning up murdered and it looks like you might be next? What if sinister corporations are taking an interest in your work history, and you’ve got a seductive cat woman, whiskers and everything, knocking on your door at all hours?

What are you going to do?

If you’re Zach Hernandez, professional henchman, you better forget about the dream of getting a normal job, having a normal life. You better learn not to follow orders. Then you do what it takes to stay alive.

 

Excerpt:

 

The Frozen Avenger was tall, though not as tall as Zach, and all decked out in black and silver gear. Like a kid had thrown on a medieval suit of armor and hot glued hoses and servos and gears onto the whole thing at random. His hands were empty, but there was a holster at his hip with some sort of gun there. It was big and silver, with a vacuum hose running from the grip to a big metal backpack strapped to the guy’s back. He had a ponytail and mustache. Sharp green eyes looked down at Saturn as he did his best to look imposing.

“I am the Frozen Avenger. Please. Forgive me for being late.” His voice ruined it, high and reedy with a hint of country twang the guy couldn’t quite hide. The Frozen Avenger’s armor whirred and chunked as he walked, sounding like an old CD player about to give out. “Thank you all for coming. We are about to be bold. We are about to be groundbreaking. What we are going to do will change the face of our Solar System.”

Of course. Unique criminals didn’t just want to knock over banks like normal gangs. Their jobs had ambition.

Gregor sighed, leaned over to Zach and said, “I bet five bucks we’re going to have to wear spandex for this job.”

 

Amazon

 

About Nick Dorsey: 

I was born and raised in New Orleans, Louisiana. After a stint at Louisiana State University, I moved all over the country and I worked odd jobs. These included, but are not limited to: barista, copywriter, house painter, bicycle assemblyman at Toys R Us, carpenter’s assistant rebuilding houses damaged during Hurricane Katrina, writing instructor, indie film screenwriter, and salesman at an art gallery. You know those little beads that make up braille words set into plastic signs in office buildings? For a while, I was the guy who stuck those beads into the plastic. Yeah. They still don’t have robots for that. I grew up reading Kurt Vonnegut and Elmore Leonard, Robert Heinlein and Newton Thornburg. I live in New Orleans with too many dogs. Bleeding Levee Blues is my first novel.

 

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The Luck Thieves (Crime and Magic in the New Russia, Book 2) by James Beach

Release date: June 8, 2018

Subgenre: Supernatural crime fiction, Urban fantasy

About The Luck Thieves:

 

Someone stole Aurelian's luck - and is coming for his life.

 

Excerpt:

 

The bullet was gone from Aurelian’s back, but its ghost remained as pain. He leaned back in the small room’s sole piece of furniture, a couch that probably dated back to Khrushchev. The movement made him wince. 

The veterinarian they’d bribed into removing the bullet said Aurelian he was lucky - the low caliber slug had hit muscle instead of bone, head or heart. Aurelian had to laugh at calling this luck. It stung more than his usual rolls of the dice. Life as a thief in post-Soviet St. Petersburg had been hard enough. Then he became ensnared into violent dances with things that should not be. 

Still he could not deny his good fortune in being alive. Even more, along the way he had met Lyita. In underground lairs lost since Stalin they had saved the entire city. 

Then they had returned to the surface, to find the world very much the same. He had looked high and low for any of the spoils from the Hermitage museum theft that had led to the bullet in his back, to no avail. He remained as poor as ever, and still on the run from the law. 
At least Lyita’s friends gave them a place to stay while he healed. This cramped room and couch weren’t much, but they were far warmer than the streets. 


Lyita had returned to work herself, and left Aurelian to heal. That was a week ago. She had been as good and patient with him as any woman could be under the circumstances. Aurelian would have to find work too, and soon. It might even have to be hon.
His Lyita…he did like the sound of that.
She was lovely, and often moody, and smart - maybe smarter than him, although of course it never did a man good to admit something like that. Yet she stayed with him. Maybe she wasn’t that smart after all. Not that he was so bad himself. Sure, he was average height. But he was also pretty fit, from years of getting in and out of buildings and situations. Whatever her  reasons for liking him, he was glad of them. It was time to not make her think too hard about the reasons. 
He moved on the couch, wincing more as a result, and snatched the newspaper he had left on the couch’s armrest. He looked through the work advertisements again. Maybe there was something he had missed. 

Suddenly there was.  


Seeking light construction workers. Skilled or unskilled, pay cash at end of day. Meet at the docks at 3pm today. 
An address followed, near the Port of St. Petersburg. 

The position was perfect for him. How had he missed it?

A chill ran across his back, as if a wind blew across the room. He looked around nervously. The last time he’d felt something similar, he’d ended up shot. This lousy little apartment still shouldn’t have a sudden draft like that. 

He wished Lyita were here, so at least he could ask her if spirits were involved. Those strange skills of hers helped save them both before. 

Aurelian shook his head. Dark magic and a job ad? He did not want to face his woman with fears that sounded like excuses not to work. He locked his foreboding away.

Light construction was something he could do. It might require some sort of kickback to local mafia, but that shouldn’t be too bad for a man who knew how to handle himself.

 

Amazon

 

About James Beach:

James Beach is a writer, photographer and recovering musician. He was born and raised in New Jersey, and was once told he was a bad Photoshop superimposition on the East Coast. He successfully escaped and now lives in San Francisco, a perfect locale for exploring his emerging super powers.

 

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The Shantytown Robin Hoods by Cora Buhlert

Release date: June 8, 2018

Subgenre: Dystopian crime thriller, Cyberpunk

About The Shantytown Robin Hoods: 

 

 Latisha, Moses and Tim are three street kids eking out a living in a dystopian future. Together, they are the Shantytown Robin Hoods, a street gang that steals from the rich and gives to – well, themselves.

"The Hole" is the hottest night club in Shantytown, where the rich and the famous can party among the less fortunate. But "The Hole" is also a favourite hangout for Latisha, Moses and Tim to find marks they can rob.

But then their latest job is derailed by a mobster with sticky fingers and a prize on his head, a teen pop sensation, a trigger-happy bodyguard and a red-haired assassin.

Soon bullets are flying in Shantytown and Latisha, Moses and Tim must keep their heads down to survive and steal another day…

This is a short dystopian crime story of 2800 words or approximately 10 print pages.

 

Excerpt:

 

The Hole was the hottest nightclub in Shantytown, the place where the rich and the beautiful went to slum among the common people. Not that they ever saw the common people, unless they chanced to look sideward, while crossing the three metres between the entrance to The Hole and their waiting armoured groundcars.
However, if one of the patrons of The Hole had chanced to glance to the left, they might have noticed a transformer box, covered over and over in graffiti and posters for gigs in venues far less exclusive than The Hole. And if they’d looked very closely, they might have noticed a shadow behind the transformer box, a shadow that looked distinctly human.
Moses, the owner of said shadow, was currently crouching behind the transformer box, together with Tim, his very best friend in the whole wide world. Both of them were clutching weapons, automatic rifles left over from the last slum war. The rifles no longer worked properly, at least not when you needed them to, but they still looked damn scary and that was enough for Tim and Moses.
Because people — at least the sort of people who patronised The Hole — usually handed over their wallets, their com-units and their bling willingly, when faced with an automatic rifle, even one that no longer worked.
Tim and Moses were twelve years old and two thirds of a street gang that called themselves the Shantytown Robin Hoods. The name had been Tim’s idea. He’d heard a story once about a man named Robin Hood. He lived a long time ago, fought the coppers and stole from the rich to give to the poor. This Robin Hood sounded like a really cool guy and so Tim, Moses and Latisha, the third member of the gang and Moses’ older sister, had decided to name themselves after him. Okay, so they mostly stole for themselves, but then they were poor, damn it.
Latisha was currently sitting on a blanket on the other side of the street opposite The Hole. In front of her, there was a tin can with a few coins and a piece of cardboard with “Homeless — No parents — Need Help” scribbled in a scratchy hand. To everybody who chanced to notice her, Latisha was just another panhandler, one of hundreds that lined the streets of Shantytown. But in truth, she kept watch on those who entered or exited The Hole and pointed out lucrative targets to Moses and Tim.
“Groundcar rolling up to the entrance,” Latisha reported through a mini-com they’d stolen two months ago, “Luxury model. Looks like a good mark.”
Moses crept forward to peer around the corner of the transformer box, clutching his rifle.
“What do you see?” Tim whispered behind him.
“Big groundcar,” Moses whispered back, “The driver gets out, looks tough.”
“Careful,” Latisha whispered through the com, “He’s got a gun.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. It’s under his coat. He tries to hide it, but I can see it.”
From their respective hiding places, the three kids watched as the driver walked around the car and opened the rear door. A second later, three figures emerged from the neon-drenched entrance of The Hole.
A man in a long black coat came first, hood pulled up against the rain.
“Bodyguard,” Moses remarked.
“Careful,” Latisha whispered through the com, “He’s armed, too. Pulse rifle and handgun.”
Moses scowled. Latisha always worried too much. Big sisters were like that, he guessed.

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About Cora Buhlert:

Cora Buhlert was born and bred in North Germany, where she still lives today – after time spent in London, Singapore, Rotterdam and Mississippi. Cora holds an MA degree in English from the University of Bremen and is currently working towards her PhD. 

Cora has been writing, since she was a teenager, and has published stories, articles and poetry in various international magazines. She is the author of the Silencer series of pulp style thrillers, the Shattered Empire space opera series, the In Love and War science fiction romance series, the Helen Shepherd Mysteries and plenty of standalone stories in multiple genres.

When Cora is not writing, she works as a translator and teacher. She also runs the Speculative Fiction Showcase and the Indie Crime Scene and contributes to the Hugo-nominated fanzine Galactic Journey.

 

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Now Reduced: Addict (The Cassie Tam Files, Book 1) by Matt Doyle

 Release date: May 8, 2017

Subgenre: Science fiction mystery,  Cyberpunk

About Addict:

New Hopeland was built to be the centre of the technological age, but like everywhere else, it has its dark side. Assassins, drug dealers and crooked businessmen form a vital part of the city’s make-up, and sometimes, the police are in too deep themselves to be effective. But hey, there are always other options …

For P.I. Cassie Tam, business has been slow. So, when she’s hired to investigate the death of a local VR addict named Eddie Redwood, she thinks it’ll be easy money. All she has to do is prove to the deceased’s sister Lori that the local P.D. were right to call it an accidental overdose. The more she digs though, the more things don’t seem to sit right, and soon, Cassie finds herself knee deep in a murder investigation. But that’s just the start of her problems.

When the case forces Cassie to make contact with her drug dealing ex-girlfriend, Charlie Goldman, she’s left with a whole lot of long buried personal issues to deal with. Then there’s her client. Lori Redwood is a Tech Shifter, someone who uses a metal exoskeleton to roleplay as an animal. Cassie isn’t one to judge, but the Tech Shifting community has always left her a bit nervous. That wouldn’t be a problem if Lori wasn’t fast becoming the first person that she’s been genuinely attracted to since splitting with Charlie. Oh, and then there’s the small matter of the police wanting her to back off the case.

Easy money, huh? Yeah, right.

Excerpt:

 

I always did like Venetian blinds. There’s something quaint about them in a retro-tacky kinda way. Plus, they’re pretty useful for sneaking a peek out the front of the building if I feel the need. That’s something that you just can’t do with the solid, immovable metal slats that come as a standard in buildings these days. That said, a thick sheet of steel is gonna offer you a damn sight more security than thin, bendable vinyl, so I keep mine installed. Just in case.
Another round of knocking rattles the front door, louder this time than the one that woke me.
The clock says 23:47, and the unfamiliar low-end car out front screams “Don’t notice me, I’m not worth your time,” which makes for the perfect combo to stir up the paranoia that the evening’s beer and horror-film session left behind. This is my own fault. My adverts are pretty descriptive in terms of telling what I do: lost pets, cheating partners, theft, protection, retrieval of people and items, other odds and sods that the city’s finest won’t touch…I’ve got ways to deal with it all. That’s right, I’m a real odd-job gal. The one thing that I don’t put in there are business hours. The way I see it, even the missing pet cases usually leave me wandering the streets at half-past reasonable, so what’s the point in asking people to call between certain hours?
More knocking, followed this time by the squeak of my letter box and a voice. “Hello? Cassandra Tam?”
It’s funny, really. For all the tech advances that the world has made, no one has been able to improve upon the simple open-and-shut letter box. I stumble my way through the dark and wave dismissively at the frosted glass. The light switch and the keypad for the door lock are conveniently placed right next to each other on the wall to the right of the door, so welcoming my apparent guest is a nice, easy affair. The lock clicks a moment after the lights flood the room, and I pull the door open.
“Cassie,” I say, turning and skulking my way back into the room. “Or Caz. Drop the Tam.”
I hear a sniff behind me, and the lady from the letter box asks, “Are you drunk?”
“If I pass out in the next five minutes, then yes,” I reply, turning the kettle on. I’d left it full, ready for the morning, but I guess this is close enough. “Take a seat at the table. Would you prefer tea or coffee? I’d offer beer, but since I reek of it, I guess I must’ve finished it.”
Footsteps creep unapologetically across the room, and a chair squeaks on the floor. Good. If you can’t deal with a snarky response to something, don’t say it all, and if you can deal with it, then as far as I’m concerned you don’t need to apologise.
“Coffee,” the lady says. “So, do you always see potential clients in your underwear, or is it just my lucky day?” Her voice has a slightly playful edge to it, but with a sarcastic kick to round it off.
The business portion of my apartment comprises entirely of a small open-plan room separating my kitchen from my living room. And by open plan, I mean an allotted space that encroaches on both territories but is conveniently large enough to house what I need. Or, in other words, a table, four chairs, and nothing else. Since filing went near entirely digital, filing cabinets have pretty much become obsolete, so the two that I found dumped outside the building when I bought the place currently live in my bedroom, and contain a mix of quick access work stuff and personal files I’d rather not have floating on the net. Most things, though, I store electronically, the same as everything else.
I rarely use the business table to eat, read, or any of that junk, so until this evening it’s been entirely empty for a good few weeks. The lady sitting there now is studying me, I can see, and probably wondering if this was a mistake. Whatever she may have expected, a Chinese-Canadian gal of average height in a cami top and a loose pair of sleep shorts most likely wasn’t it. For what it’s worth, though, I’m studying her just the same. She’s a lithe-looking thing, dressed in a casual pair of jeans and a plain black fitted top under a leather jacket. If the metal plugs running down her shaven head like a shiny, rubber-tipped Mohawk weren’t a giveaway for what she is, the light scarring punctuating the outer edges of her pale blue eyes certainly would be. She’s a Tech Shifter, and like most of her ilk, she looks like a punk rocker gone cyborg.

 

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About Matt Doyle:

Matt Doyle lives in the South East of England and shares his home with a wide variety of people and animals, as well as a fine selection of teas. He has spent his life chasing dreams, a habit which has seen him gain success in a great number of fields. To date, this has included spending ten years as a professional wrestler, completing a range of cosplay projects, and publishing multiple works of fiction.

These days, Matt can be found working on far too many novels at once, blogging about anime, comics, and games, and plotting and planning what other things he’ll be doing to take up what little free time he has.

 

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