Bloody Pulp

Book 2: Brick Ransom

by Mike Attebery

Genres: Fantasy action & adventure; Crime & Mystery; Thrillers; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

Two shots on a snowy Seattle street, and a once-bestselling mystery writer lies dead. When Brick Ransom is assigned to the case, the trail quickly leads to an up-and-coming hard-boiled mystery writer, his publisher, and a number of industry notables. But who did it? And why? And with the murders still happening, who will be next?

Bloody Pulp is bloody good fun, with all of the mystery, suspense, humor, and over-the-top action Brick Ransom fans crave!

What readers are saying about the Brick Ransom Series:

"If you like your mysteries tinged with noir and humor, you'll love this book."

"Fast paced and action packed. Reads like a movie."

"Upped the ante with great character development. A potent and punchy storyline. If you like Brad Thor check this out."

"I had a hard time putting this book down - it's tough to find a good spot to stop reading! The main character, Brick, is a refreshing alternate take on the "macho" hero."

"A great little popcorn action flick in book form. This is a fine way to spend a rainy Sunday afternoon, curled up on the couch with a cup of coffee and officer Brick Ransom. There are plenty of bullets, explosions, double-crosses, and enough grit to shake a stick at. If you like classic action and modern pulp, this is probably right up your alley."

"Interesting and action filled. Good storyline with lots of twists and turns for each of the characters."

"Intense scenes are balanced with believable dialogue and humorous moments that you can identify with."

"With some great twists and turns, the adventure never seems to stop."

Release date: October 15, 2012

Publisher: Cryptic Bindings

Print pages: 223

Sample

 

Chapter 1

A murder of crows leapt from the snow-covered branches that hung heavy over the home, startled by the sounds of the older woman slamming the front door and bolting it with her key. The birds flapped their wings, climbing toward the gray sky, their caws dying away as the heavy-set figure below trudged down her front walk. The lumbering of her steps, and the sullen expression on her face, gave her the appearance of a woman significantly older than her 63 years.

 

A blanket of snow had fallen during the night, and icy, crystalline flakes were still coming down as the woman -- the only figure visible in any direction -- walked the length of the dimly lit street. It was a typically dark February morning in Seattle, but the snowfall and the diffused light gave the streets a curious feeling, as though they existed outside of the normal dawn hours.

           

She slipped a winter cap over a head of gray hair, pulling it down over her ears as she turned onto East Madison, and continued past the stretch of shops that ran through the center of the Madison Park neighborhood. A stream of cold air was blowing in from Lake Washington, driving the icy particles against her weathered face, and causing her brow, forever pinched in a dubious glower, to droop even further over her darkened eyes. She stared at the sidewalk in front of her as she marched on, only occasionally shooting glances to the left and right, primarily to prepare herself for any unwelcome encounters. Aside from the odd dog-walker, whom she made a particular effort to circumnavigate, no one bothered her on the walk of a half-dozen blocks.

           

Uninterested in seeing or being seen, once she turned onto Lake Washington Boulevard -- a woodsy street that was especially quiet on this snowy morning -- she failed to notice the black sedan that had been following her for several blocks. With her heavy cap and her focus on solitude, she had no clue the vehicle was even there. She also failed to notice when it picked up speed as it rounded the corner after her. The car had closed the gap to less than a block when the driver abruptly swerved to the right, rolled down the window, and extended a gun in a gloved hand. Two shots rang out as bullets struck the woman in the side and the back of the head. The gunshots, and the resulting echoes, rumbled in the winter air, sounding more like the cracks of snow-weary branches than shots from a handgun.

           

Before the woman’s body had even settled in the roadway, the driver’s side door opened, and a figure in a dark, shapeless trench coat stepped out, retrieved two shell casings from the snowy ground, returned to the driver’s seat, and shifted into reverse. The car struggled to gain traction before it finally caught hold and backed up in a wide arc. The driver shifted back into drive and there was once more a moment of hesitation before the tires dug in and the vehicle took off, slipping and sliding on the slick surface. The driver overcompensated with the accelerator, which caused the car to fishtail half out of control, roaring back and forth across the roadway and briefly running up onto the curb and across a stretch of snow-covered lawn, before ultimately regaining control and racing away.

           

The sprawled figure lay motionless on the ground some 20 yards away. Snow was quickly gathering on the woman’s clothing and drifting around the outline of her lifeless body. The sound of the fleeing vehicle disappeared in the distance as a growing puddle of dark red blood pooled in the once-white snow around the dead woman’s head.

           

A single crow swooped in, landing on a branch overhead, where it surveyed the scene from a distance. Everything was still under the cascading flakes. The crow took a final look at the body below, flapped its wings, and flew away.