They can go together, honest. 🙂
First off, after many delays, the paperback version of Brutal Season is finally ready and available at Amazon. As soon as possible, I’ll get it live at other outlets. Work is just so incredibly slow these days as I deal with health issues, that I hesitate to set dates anymore. I’ll get to it all when I can, and I’ve been learning not to obsess over missing deadlines. The world won’t end if something on my to-do list doesn’t get crossed off.
Anyway, whithout further delay here is the cover of the paperback. This is an optimized image of the cover, so the back-cover wordage will be easier to read when you are holding your copy of the book in your hands. 🙂
Eighteen-year-old Jamel Frederickson is shot and killed by a white, rookie Dallas police officer. His crime? Being black and mentally ill.
Detectives Sarah Kingsly and Angel Johnson are thrust into the investigation of two subsequent murders, while desperately clinging to the threads of their partnership that is threatening to unravel like a cheap sweater.
Are the alt-right white supremacists that invaded the city with their guns and inflammatory rhetoric responsible?
Or is there more than one person out there with an agenda?
Will more people get killed?
Angel and Sarah risk their own lives to make sure that doesn’t happen.
The Kindle version of the book is free for Kindle Unlimited, or only $3.99 to buy. The paperback is $14.99
Now, as promised, a little humor from Slim Randles.
“What do you figure he’ll weigh now, Doc?” said Steve. Mavis topped off their cups at the philosophy counter of the Mule Barn coffee shop.
“A good three pounds, if my guessing is any good,” Doc said, shaking his head.
“Your dog?” asked Mavis.
“No, Hon,” Doc said with a smile, “Ol’ Lunker, that big trout down in Lewis Creek.”
The best fly tying and fly fishing had failed to bring O.L. to the net for a long time now. Oh, sometimes he’d investigate a fly closely and start a near panic attack in the angler, but then he’d turn back into his hole and let the fly drift on by. It was maddening.
“Maybe he’s just smart,” Dud said.
“Instinct, I think,” said Doc. “I just don’t think any trout is all that smart. But instinct could account for it. He knows what he wants to eat, and somehow, the flies we send him just don’t quite look right, or smell right, or float properly, or sink fast enough. Who knows?”
“I’ve tied my best for him,” Marvin Pincus said, looking semi-depressed. “I swear I don’t know what that fish wants.”
“You’re the best fly tier in the valley, Marvin,” Steve added. “If your flies can’t do it, I’m wondering if anything can.”
“Have you tried using bait?” Mavis asked. “My brother does okay with worms and salmon eggs.”
Every member of the world dilemma think tank gave hostile stares at their friendly waitress until she remembered something in the kitchen and left in a hurry.
“Bait? Use BAIT?” Doc moaned.
Marvin nodded. “Might just as well shoot the dang fish.”
Life, after all, would mean nothing without standards and values.
Brought to you by Saddle Up: A Cowboy Guide to Writing.