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Sniper! Tour

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 A Natalie McMasters Mystery, Book 5

 

Crime Fiction

Date Published: November 16, 2020

Publisher: Tekrighter, LLC

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A crazed sniper. A loved one wounded, in danger of death. The unforgiving
Fake News media. And a hidden villain more loathsome than any that Natalie
McMasters has encountered before.

Nattie’s in the crosshairs as a series of seemingly random
shootings terrorizes the city. She must fight to keep her polyamorous
family from disintegrating, her emotions from running wild and her
personal integrity uncompromised. This would be a formidable task for
anyone, much less a twentysomething college student who just wants to
graduate and get on with her life. Nattie must rely on old friends and
new, but how can she even, when friends can become enemies in the blink of
an eye? As Nattie nears an emotional meltdown, society collapses along
with her, as the sniper’s depredations take their toll on the
city.

Sniper! is a twisted, sexy, absolutely gripping descent into darkness jam
packed with nail-biting suspense. Don’t miss it!

Sniper! tablet

EXCERPT

It’s 0300oh dark thirty if I’ve ever been there. I’m driving down a two-lane road on a ridge. One side is a forest, the other overlooks a valley which is packed with homes. Suburbia, U.S.A. 

Rounding a curve, I come to a place where the shoulder widens and tire tracks indicate that many have pulled off to enjoy a smoke or neck a little while looking down on the pastoral scene below. I follow suit, then shut off the engine and get out of the truck. This is my final firing position today. Going to the rear, I open the tailgate, flip up the bed cover, and climb in. I reach up and close the bed cover again, leaving the tailgate down.

I open the backpack I find inside and take out the pieces of my weapon system. It only requires a minute to assemble the rifle—insert the bolt into the receiver, screw the barrel on in front, followed by the suppressor, the bipod, then slap a mag of 7.62s into the bottom. I remove the lens caps from the scope, put the rifle to my shoulder, and rest the bipod on the tailgate. Only about an inch peeps out from under the bed cover, so it’s highly unlikely anyone driving by will even notice.

There’s only a quarter moon tonight, so it’s still too dark to survey the killing ground, but that’s OK. The most essential quality that a sniper must possess is patience. Lying as still as a corpse, I mentally review the mission parameters—insertion is complete, camo in place. All that remains is recon, carrying out the mission itself, and exfiltration from the FPP.

As the sun rises, the homes transform from a uniform grey to a colorful palette on a green background. This is an older neighborhood, so no two adjacent houses are alike. I begin my surveyideally, I’d like to take out a target after they get into their car. That will be less obvious than dropping them in the driveway, allowing plenty of time to elapse before the body is discovered so I can be long gone. The streets of the subdivision begin to fill with traffic, but I don’t want to take out anyone who’s made it out to the road. The longer it takes people to realize what’s happened, the greater my chances of a clean exfil.

I catch a glimpse of movement in a driveway. A side door opens, and a boy about ten comes out. I capture him in the reticle, framing his head and shoulders. It’s short rangeonly about 100 meters. I take one more check of the surroundings and it’s a good thing. The door opens again and mom and little bro exit the houseI guess she’s driving everyone to school. I abort the target and look for another.

A few blocks away, a garage door opens and the rear of a car appears. Placing the reticle on the passenger window, I can see the silhouette of the driver inside, but the body of the auto provides enough concealment to make a precise shot impossible. I’m not looking to wound. I abort again.

Finally, patience pays off, as it always does. A guy comes out his front door and goes to his car in the driveway, parked with the front facing the street. It’s a red Mustang, and he caresses the hood as he passes in front of ithe really must love that car. He unlocks the driver’s door and slips inside as I put the reticle on him and make the range about 400 meters. I let him pull the door shut before I squeeze off a round, and I see him slump toward the passenger seat. Perfect left temple kill shot.

I open the bolt and eject the round, push forward to load another, and survey the scene once more. Shit. Here comes wifey, out the front door, holding his briefcase. She must be calling out, but he doesn’t hear her of course, so she walks over to the car to give it to him. It takes her a second when she bends down by the passenger door to realize something’s wrong. When she straightens up to scream, I squeeze off a round and drop her. Now I survey the area again, looking for witnesses. Back on the front door, a teenage girl is framed in the opening. She looks toward the driveway, and her mouth pops open in horror. She disappears back inside the house before I can get a round off. Shit! It was time to get outta Dodge two minutes ago.

I lay the rifle down on the towel I’ve placed there for it, climb out of the load bed, close the tailgate and hop in the truck. A car coming towards me passes as I fire the engine up. Good thing this state doesn’t require a license plate on the front. I put her in gear, check my mirror, then pull out in the road. I head for the highway where there’ll be lots of traffic to lose myself in.

Mission complete.

 

  About The Author

 

Thomas A. Burns, Jr. is the author of the Natalie McMasters Mysteries. He
was born and grew up in New Jersey, attended Xavier High School in
Manhattan, earned B.S degrees in Zoology and Microbiology at Michigan
State University and a M.S. in Microbiology at North Carolina State
University. He currently resides in Wendell, North Carolina. As a kid, Tom
started reading mysteries with the Hardy Boys, Ken Holt and Rick Brant,
and graduated to the classic stories by authors such as A. Conan Doyle,
Dorothy Sayers, John Dickson Carr, Erle Stanley Gardner and Rex Stout, to
name just a few. Tom has written fiction as a hobby all of his life,
starting with Man from U.N.C.L.E. stories in marble-backed copybooks in
grade school. He built a career as technical, science and medical writer
and editor for nearly thirty years in industry and government. Now that
he’s a full-time novelist, he’s excited to publish his own mystery series,
as well as to contribute stories about his second most favorite detective,
Sherlock Holmes, to the MX anthology of New Sherlock Holmes Stories.

 

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Sniper Blitz

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 A Natalie McMasters Mystery, Book 5

 

Crime Fiction

Date Published: November 16, 2020

Publisher: Tekrighter, LLC

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A crazed sniper. A loved one wounded, in danger of death. The unforgiving
Fake News media. And a hidden villain more loathsome than any that Natalie
McMasters has encountered before.

Nattie’s in the crosshairs as a series of seemingly random
shootings terrorizes the city. She must fight to keep her polyamorous
family from disintegrating, her emotions from running wild and her
personal integrity uncompromised. This would be a formidable task for
anyone, much less a twentysomething college student who just wants to
graduate and get on with her life. Nattie must rely on old friends and
new, but how can she even, when friends can become enemies in the blink of
an eye? As Nattie nears an emotional meltdown, society collapses along
with her, as the sniper’s depredations take their toll on the
city.

Sniper! is a twisted, sexy, absolutely gripping descent into darkness jam
packed with nail-biting suspense. Don’t miss it!

  About The Author

 

Thomas A. Burns, Jr. is the author of the Natalie McMasters Mysteries. He
was born and grew up in New Jersey, attended Xavier High School in
Manhattan, earned B.S degrees in Zoology and Microbiology at Michigan
State University and a M.S. in Microbiology at North Carolina State
University. He currently resides in Wendell, North Carolina. As a kid, Tom
started reading mysteries with the Hardy Boys, Ken Holt and Rick Brant,
and graduated to the classic stories by authors such as A. Conan Doyle,
Dorothy Sayers, John Dickson Carr, Erle Stanley Gardner and Rex Stout, to
name just a few. Tom has written fiction as a hobby all of his life,
starting with Man from U.N.C.L.E. stories in marble-backed copybooks in
grade school. He built a career as technical, science and medical writer
and editor for nearly thirty years in industry and government. Now that
he’s a full-time novelist, he’s excited to publish his own mystery series,
as well as to contribute stories about his second most favorite detective,
Sherlock Holmes, to the MX anthology of New Sherlock Holmes Stories.

 

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Website

Facebook

Twitter

Blog

Instagram

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Purchase Link

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The White Field Release Blitz

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Crime Fiction, Urban Fiction, Noir, Drama

Release Date: September 18, 2020

Publisher: TouchPoint Press

 

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The White Field is a fast-paced journey of a man, Tom, fresh out of prison
and trying desperately to rebuild his life. But he is caught by mysterious,
unseen forces beyond his knowledge or control. After his release from
prison, he is dropped back into the world in the wastelands of the city. In
the menial work afforded the underclass, he begins his new life among
characters at the edges of society, dwellers of the netherworld such as
Raphael, a former cop from Mexicali singing Spanish arias in the mists of
the industrial night among drug addicts and crooked cops; Tony, a stoner
scholar with an encyclopedic knowledge of history based solely on the
intricate study of rock and roll; and Larry, the bloated, abusive manager
trapped as much as his workers in a world of tedium and repetition and
machines. Think, The Three Stooges on acid. Unable to reconnect with
what’s left of his family, Tom embarks on a criminal path more
harrowing than the one that led him to prison in the first place. Lured in
by the nefarious, Thane, he slips into a plan that will leave him with no
way back. And with no place left in this world to go but prison, he makes
one last run for freedom. Will he escape?

 

Praise for The White Field:

 

“The White Field is a rabid yet tender odyssey into the oscillating
abyss of an ex- convict degenerating into redemption. Cole writes with
haunting splendor, illuminating the dreams of the doomed.”
—Matthew Dexter, author of The Ritalin Orgy

 

“Author Douglas Cole’s breakneck prose places us squarely in
the hectic mind of a man influenced from all sides, seeking a life free from
fear. The result is a stunning narrative that is simultaneously frightening
and familiar.” —Kerri Farrell Foley, Managing Editor Crack The
Spine.

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 Excerpt

 

I walked into the sun. It seared the road and the rooftops, intense,
blinding. I went up Eighty-Eighth Street through the homes and the old elms
with their heavy summer growth and darkness along their limbs, light
strobing through the shadows. I knew someone might recognize me. They might
even call the police. But I couldn’t resist. I was free, now. Nobody
could touch me.

Only those who cared, and by now there were none, would have known my
release date. My wife may have known. At one time, I imagined her writing it
on a wall calendar, marking off each day leading up to it with a big, black
X. But I knew I’d fallen far from her thoughts.

I couldn’t be sure of my children, though. They were so young when I
went in they could have forgotten all about me. My wife had remarried. Very
likely they called her new husband daddy. Very likely, they thought he was.
Events had erased me. After all, I’d made no contact. And while I had
no idea what my wife might have told them, unless she’d changed in
ways I couldn’t foresee, I knew she’d tell them the truth if
they asked and say nothing if they didn’t. At worst, they believed I
was dead.

And that life seemed like something unreal. There were no traces of it
around here. But my sense of time was way off. From counting, literally,
minutes as they passed, I went into a vast timeless trancezone where whole
years vanished. In the midst of this, I reemerged from time to time to peer
into my little cell of life with seconds hanging like drops of water on a
window ledge and refusing to fall. But now, walking this street, I was the
last person anyone around here was expecting to see.

So, as I went up Eighty-Eighth to the old house, I had this strange feeling
that I was invisible. In the dusk light, I saw the windows of the houses
blazing. Commuters on their way home shot by and curved around the meridians
in the intersections, their faces steel traps that snapped and flashed
mirror eyes and grim lips and frenzy, frenzy for home, motion so fast they
blurred into tracer ribbons. And the sun only cloaked me that much more.
Even my shadow was a rail.

And I heard it, that high tension ping, like my own past ringing from the
driveway and those days when I was a kid, too, playing into evening as our
faces disappeared in the darkness with only the square of the backboard
above and the black sphere of the ball and the heat and breath of the other
players around me. Then I saw them, three boys playing basketball in the
driveway. One was a tall gangly kid with long black hair and ripped jeans
and a T-shirt with the word ENEMY printed on it. Another kid stood beside
him, but the light made it hard to see his features. Then, the ball landed
on the rim, bounced up, arced over to the other side of the rim, hung there
suspended in the net for a moment and then dropped through. The third boy
stood back from his shot with his hands on his hips, breathing hard, turning
his head slowly as I saw, I swear, my own face there in front of me.

With a brow of concentration like a hawk’s predatory gaze, he looked
at me as our eyes locked for an eternal moment that I thought carried some
recognition, but the moment changed before I could read it.

Then, I was passing on, and my son returned to his game.

About the Author

Douglas Cole has published six collections of poetry, a novella and has a
novel, The White Field, coming out in September with Touchpoint Press. His
work has appeared in several anthologies as well as The Chicago Quarterly
Review, The Galway Review, Bitter Oleander, Louisiana Literature and
Slipstream. He has been nominated twice for a Pushcart and Best of the Net
and received the Leslie Hunt Memorial Prize in Poetry. He lives and teaches
in Seattle. His website is https://douglastcole.com/.

 

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Eating the Forbidden Fruit Tour

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Crime Fiction / Family Drama / Women’s Fiction
Date Published: March 30, 2020
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Eating the Forbidden Fruit is a gritty fiction novel loosely based on true events in author Roland Sato Page’s life. The newcomer author delivers a personal journey into his rise and demise as a St. Louis City Police Officer. He takes the readers on a roller coaster ride of good ole family memories to the nightmarish reality of being a police officer indicted on federal drug charges. During his trial, he wrote memoirs as a testimonial of redemption. Roland’s case stems from the conflict of his childhood affiliation and his oath to uphold the law. What is certain is one can’t run from sin for karma is much faster.
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Excerpt

I will never forgive myself for turning my back on him (father). I wish I could turn back the hands of time. Thursday I told my father, “Go fuck yourself.” Saturday evening he passed away from a heart attack. Never had the chance to say “I love you pops.”

 

 

“Face down! Face down! Ordered to the ground with multiple knees on my back. The nightmare was in full effect. Early noon as a St. Louis City Detective I was booking in a suspect. Late that evening the FBI were booking me in on federal drug charges. 

About the Author

Roland Sato Page was born in Brooklyn New York in a military household with a mother from Osaka Japan and a combat trainer father with three war tours under his belt. He grew up in a well-disciplined home with five other siblings. As he got older his family relocated to St. Louis where the author planted his roots and also pursued a military life in the Army Reserves.
Roland married his high school sweetheart and started a family of four. Roland joined the St. Louis police department were his career was cut short when he was convicted of federal crimes due to his childhood affiliation.
After enduring his demise he rebounded becoming a famed a tattoo artist opening Pearl Gallery Tattoos in downtown St. Louis Mo. The company grew into a family business yet another unfortunate incident tested his fate. He was diagnosed with Lupus which halted his body art career. However, with tragedy comes blessings. Roland’s sons took over the business and propelled the shop to a higher level. Roland consumed with depression began writing to occupy the time. With a newfound passion, he traded visual art for literary art. 
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It’s Personal Blitz

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Crime Fiction
Date Published: August 2019
Publisher: Austin Macauley
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Tenacious and methodical in pursuing a story, Harry’s a dismal failure in choosing the ‘right’ man until trailing the scent of corruption leads her to a life-threatening yet fortuitous encounter.
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About the Author

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Not yet the septuagenarian but he is a father, Philip Bond was a husband and always the lover of words. He’s not here for awards but only to take his reader into another place of his creation. Journey with him now and, should you wish, those that follow.
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