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Martin and Martine - Part 1

Lawrence Bridges — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 15:00:57 +0000

Martin and Martine - Part 1, is the next in a series of “Movie Novellas” brought to you by veteran filmmaker Lawrence Bridges. This new kind of reading experience, serialized in short chapters, was created specifically for the Kindle.

Meet MARTIN, a young American working at a bank in Paris. He surfs the coast of France, drives a classic Alpha convertible through the back roads of the French countryside, and sings in the Metros with his dog “Bits” at his side. Martin is about to meet MARTINE who works in telecommunications. She is 23, tall, with short blond hair. They both love music. They both have perfect pitch.

It is the not-too-distant future and the world has been transformed by the power of technology. Think beyond “The Terminator,” beyond “The Matrix.” Benign machines run the economy and innovate well beyond the capabilities of human brains. The citizens of Paris enjoy a comfortable life, fenced in and protected from the perils of the outside world. Cities like New York, Perth, Tehran, and Beijing share the same lifestyle, frozen early 2000’s. In return for protection from the forces outside the “Fence”, human beings have relinquished control of their lives to the all-knowing “Server,” a silicone intelligence supervised by an aristocratic race of genetically engineered clones known as “the Perfects.” But for average citizens, life has never been better. Martin has never felt so alive, especially after trying a new form of entertainment released by Apple Computers that overcomes the computer/brain barrier. It’s called Best Friend, and it provides intense emotional encounters as well as instantaneous realizations of dreams and fantasies, all in 3D. Hardwired into the human brain, Best Friend is the rage of Paris and Martin is one of the earliest adopters.

Martine is similarly using the powers of Best Friend, to try to figure out a way to meet Martin. While sitting on opposite sides of the Metro tracks, they are drawn to each and connected mysteriously by Best Friend. But inside Best Friend it difficult to know what is organic and what is artificial. Will Martine be able to find out who he is, or if he even exists, before the trains come and the moment is lost?

Parts 2 and 3 are also available for download at Smashwords and the Kindle Store.

Martin and Martine - Part 1

$0.99

40 pages

Martin and Martine - Part 1

Questions And Answers About Islam

Wael El-Manzalawy — Wed, 03 Mar 2010 15:00:38 +0000

In his book: “Questions And Answers About Islam”, Wael El-Manzalawy is discussing many major issues: the presence of the God, the necessity of religion, the truth about the Christ, woman in Islam, the relationship between Muslims and non-Muslims……etc. Did Islam spread by the sword? Is Islam the religion of terrorism? Using the technique of imagined dialogues, Wael El-Manzalawy answers these questions and many other questions.

Wael El-Manzalawy is an Egyptian writer. He writes articles and short stories in Arabic and English. His articles and short stories were published at many newspapers, magazines and web sites.

Questions And Answers About Islam

Free

48 pages

Questions And Answers About Islam

That Which is Human

akwbooks — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 15:00:27 +0000

2009 Fiction Novel of the Year!

The war with the Rilz is pushing humanity to its limits and Intruder pilot Lt. Alan ‘Mac’ McAllister and his flying partner ‘Ivan’ Ivchenko are in the thick of the fighting. Battling the Lizards is bad enough, but fighting a planet full of rebel humans tests their friendship and Mac’s integrity as a Naval pilot. But the biggest test for Mac is maintaining his own sanity in the face of a creeping dependence on the electronic link that allows him to fly the most advanced combat spacecraft ever devised. When a vicious counter attack by the Rilz places the lives of his ex-wife and her new family in harms way, he must set aside that which is still human within him in a final showdown with mankind’s most implacable enemy.

Rated PG-13

That Which is Human

$4.95

414 pages

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The Visions of Koto-Ryin

lovelylj — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 15:00:43 +0000

The Visions of Koto-Ryin, is a collection of short stories that takes place after Return 2 Earth, when the assistant of an Elder, Koto-Ryin receives visions of her Deltorian ancestors from more than a hundred years ago.

These five short stories are about the Deltorian Warriors, also known as the Delta Four who must protect Queen Lora and the citizens from Deltor from the ravenous bodiless beings known at the Revkar, the evil aliens called the Skyro, and any other creatures who are against the realm.

Koto-Ryin doesn’t know who to trust when she begins to receive these visions of her long hidden Deltorian history. She approaches the soon-to-be Oracle Nolan from the planet Xanar. And together the two travel to the past without being seen or heard and witness the events of the battles of these warriors.

Vision I: Battle at the Revkar Portal

Vision II: Attack of the Skyro

Vision III: The Vadarian Nightmare

Vision IV: The Return of the Skyro

Vision V: Double Crossed on Kitnar

Author Website

The Visions of Koto-Ryin

$4.99

77 pages

The Visions of Koto-Ryin

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Finally Text to Speech Voices That Don’t Suck!

Mark Gladding — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 11:52:06 +0000

I’ve just released two incredible new text to speech voices for use with Text2Go. They are called Amy and Brian and have been developed by IVONA Software. I really think they’re amazing - certainly the best I’ve ever heard. You can read the press release on the Text2Go blog or better still listen to the press release as narrated by Amy or Brian.

Listening to ebooks aloud has never sounded so good!

The Graduate Student

James Polster — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 15:00:12 +0000

When anthropology graduate student Blackwell James returns from the Amazon jungle with a trunk full of hallucinogenic vines, but no research notes, his life suddenly becomes a wild, high-octane tale of adventure, suspense and intrigue.

In an attempt to help Blackwell finish his elusive Ph.D., his professor and mentor secures a job for him in Los Angeles, a place he has never been, to work on a primate experiment - something he knows nothing about. And walking unarmed into the world of Hollywood proves to be even more dangerous for Blackwell than the Amazon.

Caught up in the secret ambitions of his employers, Blackwell James’ trip through a surreal world of movies and movie stars, murder, money, a secret society, a ghost town, two large chimpanzees and several shamanistic drug-induced journeys makes THE GRADUATE STUDENT a riveting ride.

The New York Times calls Polster’s writing “Outlandish adventure”, NPR calls it “Outrageously funny”, and the San Francisco Review of Books placed him on “the cutting edge of talented, West Coast writers.”

“Polster’s deadpan wit makes the twists and turns of his clever books a joy to read.”
- Matt Groening, Creator, Executive Producer, The Simpsons

“Polster writes with the understated precision and controlled chaos of a Jason Bourne car chase.”
- Paul Sandberg, Producer of the Bourne Supremacy and Bourne Ultimatum

“One of the best books ever written about Hollywood, and it’s not even about Hollywood.”
- Gary Goldman, Executive Producer of The Minority Report and Writer of Total Recall

“I’ve loved Polster’s writing since I first read BROWN. THE GRADUATE STUDENT is fantastically entertaining and its view on Hollywood is hilarious, dead on, and clearly written by someone who’s been there.”
- Cary Brokaw, Executive Producer, THE PLAYER

“Bold, hilarious, essentially unclassifiable…Polster fits somewhere between Hiaasen and Vonnegut.”
- Publishers Weekly (BROWN) starred review- One of the Best Books of the Year

“Careening with Hunter Thompsonesque panache…Polster practices the humorist’s craft with a bold, sure hand that recalls Mark Twain.”
- Kirkus Reviews (BROWN)

“BROWN among the most acclaimed books of 1995-6.”
Winner - The Critics’ Choice Award

The Graduate Student

$12.50

323 pages

The Graduate Student

The Master’s Reliquary Book 2: The Song of the Cross

akwbooks — Sat, 27 Feb 2010 15:00:49 +0000

It is the summer of 1381, London, a complex time of crisis brought on by an oppressive poll tax, the warring of two rival claimants to the Papacy, and the preaching of Friar Ball and John Wyclif. Richard II is only fourteen, and threatened by his uncle, the unpopular Duke John. Caught in this political and spiritual turmoil are Mary Oldfield, who shoulders family responsibilities beyond her years, and Paul Angus, a searching young musical genius.

The exiting and romantic sequel to The Man of Signs by the master story-teller, Jim Dameron.

The Master’s Reliquary Book 2: The Song of the Cross

$3.95

348 pages

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Who Killed Michael Douglas

BooksForABuck — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 15:00:58 +0000

Chambers Elliot, a tall man with gray hair and dark smears beneath his blue eyes from habitual lack of sleep, looked up from the brief on his limed-oak desk to focus upon the black-clad figure entering his private, well-appointed office. "Good morning, Father Zamoyski," Elliot said in his usual, reassuring manner. His deeply-timbered voice resonated from the rosewood walls. He arose from his swivel chair and with a finger indicated one of the brown Harvard chairs fronting his desk. "Please sit down." The stooped, white-haired Priest took a ragged breath. Then he moved unsteadily across the brown carpeting toward the lawyer's desk, not unlike a sailor on the deck of a ship in heavy seas. Below the Priest's thinning hairline was a pale, deeply-lined, wet face set off by hollow eyes with constricted pupils, a generous nose, and a heavy jaw. Lodged in one ear was an old-fashioned hearing aid. The wire from the ancient device dangled across the priest's tunic into an inside pocket. His short legs joined large feet encased by scuffed, black shoes. Despite the unusually warm weather for June his hands were sheathed in thin, black leather gloves. "You're a trial-lawyer?" The priest's voice was ragged, like the sound of tearing canvas. "Litigator," Elliot corrected, and resumed his seat. Then the lawyer leaned back in his chair and smoothed his gray, pinstriped vest. "What can I do for you?" The Priest sat down with great reluctance, like a prisoner expecting execution. Then he looked into Elliot's curious eyes. "I talked to your receptionist." The lawyer crossed his arms. "Maggie Sharp." "She sent me to see your legal-assistant." "Lydia Marshall." "Neither explained my need?" asked the priest, his voice despairing. Elliot pursed his lips. "Lydia told me your name is Father Aleksey Ivanovich Zamoyski. You want to speak with me concerning a murder; the details of which you would disclose only to me." The lawyer's voice trailed off slightly upon noticing the erratic vibration of the priest's carotid artery. He quickly tilted forward resting his forearms upon the desk. "Do you need a doctor, Father Zamoyski?" "Doctor? There's nothing a doctor can do for me once..." The priest left the words hanging as he paused to clear his throat. Then he said, "It's been so many years since the incident that brings me to you. However, I feel I must make an effort to right a terrible wrong." His lips thinned at the end of the last words, as if the statement fouled his tongue. "Right what wrong?" Elliot's voice rose slightly with his quickened interest. After taking several choking breaths the priest replied. "The wrong man was charged. He hanged himself while in jail rather than face the humiliation of a public trial." There was another pause for breath. Then Zamoyski added in a worried whisper, "I am concerned, however, that I have waited too long. The murder occurred nearly thirty years ago." "Thirty years?" Elliot's bushy, gray eyebrows furrowed with sudden disappointment. "There is no statute of limitations on murder," he muttered, making a vague gesture. "However, if the perpetrator is deceased..." The priest's shaggy head shook. "He isn't." The lawyer licked his lips with renewed curiosity. "You know who the killer is?" "Of course." Elliot splayed his hands in confusion. "Then why have you waited thirty years to right this wrong, as you put it?" "Rules of my profession, Mr. Elliot." The priest's voice took on a weary tenor. "There are many rules. So many, many rules." Father Zamoyski glanced around Elliot's office, his eyes pausing as if with purpose or envy at each of the several Joan Miro wall-hangings. "You enjoy abstraction," he eventually remarked. "I enjoy all sorts of puzzlement." Studying the priest, Elliot concluded that opium-addiction--possibly taken in treatment for chronic pain--explained the man's sickly pallor. "If these rules have kept you silent for thirty years, what has changed?" The priest jerked toward the attorney's voice with a start, as if having been awakened from a dream. "I'm dying. There are even rules for that. Did you know? We are constricted at every turn, from womb to coffin. I..." His voice faded, again, as if confusion's talons were plucking at the folds in his brain. "Why don't you tell me about it from the beginning, Father Zamoyski?" Elliot urged. "Take your time." "Yes," Zamoyski muttered, uneasily. "The beginning. It's always best to start from the beginning. But beginnings can be very difficult." He composed himself, brought his knees tightly together and then leaned slightly toward the lawyer; his wrists rested upon his lower limbs, his gloved hands gripping his knees. "As you must realize I am privy to a great many secrets. The majority are trivial matters. But some would blight even the most tarnished of souls." The priest looked around the office for a second time, the lines in his face deepening as if he were having trouble concentrating. "A few are horrendous tales of violence. Others are infected with loathsome depravity. Then there are..." He made a despairing movement with one hand. "Then there are those so filled with blood-lust I shudder to make recollection." Elliot said slowly, evenly, "I give you my word that whatever you confide will remain between us." Zamoyski raised his gloved hands to his face as if in shame. Then between the fingers he gasped, "I feel such despair!" The priest's voice faltered, into a sob. Then his hands fell away and he stared teary-eyed at Chambers Elliot. "Had I broken my vows of the confessional and come forward, that man would be alive." "Possibly," Elliot said with faint impatience. "But there can be no certainty. Thirty years is a very long time, Father. Illness and accident take their toll. Who was murdered?" "Michael Douglas." "Who do you suspect killed Mr. Douglas?" probed the lawyer. "I don't suspect, I know!" The priest's chin fell to his chest, his body quivering with grief. The lawyer considered the tormented man a moment. Something was not quite right. What it was, Elliot had not yet pinpointed. But something was definitely wrong. He said, "I assume, based upon what you've disclosed that you came by this information through a parishioner's confession?" Zamoyski nodded, blinking back tears. "In part." Elliot folded his hands on the desk, still assessing the priest. "What is the killer's name?" "God help me, I can't break my vows." The lawyer twisted his mouth sardonically. "Father Zamoyski, unless you are willing to disclose what you know, then nothing can be done." The priest gave Elliot a small, sad smile. "To speak means the revocation of my ordination. Even at this low point in my life, I could not bear such a disgrace." Chambers Elliot flipped his arms wide in exasperation. "Father Zamoyski, I am bewildered as to what you expect me to accomplish. Your silence shackles me." The priest squirmed in the chair as if suddenly feeling the scrutiny of his maker. "All I want you to do is clear the accused man's name based upon information I have gathered outside the confessional." "To what end? You said the man was dead." "Surely you realize his family shares this unwarranted shame!" exclaimed Zamoyski. "It is for them, that I come to you." "Each of us has a predecessor of dubious character, Father," Elliot remarked. "It is the nature of mankind." Then the lawyer stopped, his face darkening with remorse. "I'm sorry for those remarks. They were uncalled for. But my point was well meant. Whatever's been done by our forbearers hardly reflects upon us, good or evil. We are who we are--no more, no less." Zamoyski seemed mildly amused. "For a man of strength like yourself, perhaps. But for the rest of us..." The priest's unfinished words hung in the air. After taking a ragged breath he said, "Shame is the most powerful of emotions, Mr. Elliot. It tears at our hearts like a ravenous beast whose hunger can never be sated." Elliot scowled in silence for many seconds. The he said, "I cannot possibly meet your expectations." "But you can," Zamoyski insisted. "How?" The attorney's hands flew apart. Then he leveled a long forefinger at the priest. "Without the killer's name, I am stopped before I begin." Chambers Elliot leaned back in his chair. "I'm sorry, Father. But there is nothing I can do." "At least hear me out?" the priest pleaded. "I beg you." There was a long pause. Then Chambers Elliot smiled as he suddenly realized what was wrong. The man sitting before him was not a priest. The cassock Zamoyski wore was double-breasted. Therefore it was not of a Catholic priest, but that of an Anglican. Further, in this country, that garment was traditionally worn only in church or at a seminary. In public, Catholic priests were never attired in it. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure--Father Zamoyski." The priest's gloved hands became animated, his voice confidential. "You see, I have devised a scheme to get around my obligation to the cloth." "I don't understand," Elliot said, purposely baiting the man into disclosing as much as possible about his real purpose. The priest glanced about for a few seconds. Then he tilted confidentially toward Elliot. "You will identify the killer without my disclosing the name." Elliot chuckled grimly. "Surely you don't take me for a mind-reader?" The priest wagged his head. "I'm serious, Mr. Elliot. You will know who the killer is--when he kills, again." "Again?" The lawyer's eyes widened with mock alarm. "Are you saying you've concealed the name of a serial-killer?" "No," declared the priest. "Then what are you saying?" Father Zamoyski's spread his lips into a leering grin, giving Elliot a peak at decay-blackened teeth. "I've set a trap for him." "Trap?" Elliot echoed, still baiting. The priest nodded. "He is going to kill me, Mr. Elliot. At which time, you will deduce his identity. Whereupon, you will have all you need to clear the wronged man." "Nonsense. You have referred to the killer as 'he' and 'him'. Can I assume this killer is a man? Or are you leading me down the garden path in that respect, as well?" "As well?" asked Zamoyski, tilting his head askance as if suddenly caught in a lie. Elliot leaned back and crossed his arms, staring fixedly at Father Zamoyski. "Have you been threatened, after all these years?" The priest giggled, "It is I who have threatened him--with exposure." "Then the killer is a man?" The priest looked down at his gloved hands. "I can admit nothing." "Father Zamoyski, the best legal advice I can give you is to go to the police." The lawyer once more leaned his arms upon the desk. "Tell them all you know. Including whatever you're planning by way of entrapment..." "I have the wherewithal to pay your fees, Mr. Elliot," the priest quickly interjected. "I am not here seeking charity." Chambers Elliot gaped a moment in surprise. "Nevertheless, my point of concern is for your safety." "But you need not worry, Mr. Elliot. I am not seeking protection. In fact, you must agree not to take any action along those lines. Otherwise my plans may be thwarted." Elliot got to his feet. "Plans?" "To entrap the real killer." "Ah, yes, those plans." "My passing is of my own choosing, Mr. Elliot. Its timing and method are that of my assassin." The priest's countenance became anxious. "When we complete our arrangements you and I will not see each other, again--at least, for what remains of my life. Your duty is to the wronged man--not me." "A dead man." The lawyer moved to the front of the desk and took a perch on its edge, facing the priest, still suspicious. "For whom you expect to die?" "Death is my penance, Mr. Elliot." Father Zamoyski's pinpoint pupils peered desperately up at the lawyer, from beneath craggy white brows. "I beg that you accede to my request?" Elliot shrugged. "Should I choose not to, what do you propose to do?" "I had not considered that possibility. You see, what has been set in motion cannot be stopped. Even as we speak, my assassin makes plans. By the close of this week--no later--I shall be with my maker whether you assist, or not." Elliot elevated his lean height, his eyes studying the priest's ghastly pallor. At this close proximity he could see the makeup being used to create the man's deathly complexion. "Before we march you to your grave, Father, tell me the circumstances of Michael Douglas' death." "A liquor store," said the priest, leaning back in the chair. One hand went to his chest as his breathing became short and rapid. Then, when his breaths normalized the hand fell away and he said, "The clerk--Michael Douglas--was shot during what the police foolishly believed was a robbery." "The murder was motivated by other reasons? You are certain?" The priest nodded. "A woman." "Indeed? What was the name of the store?" Father Zamoyski paused, his brows furrowing deeply as if he was searching his deepest memories. "Winston Liquors." "I don't recall the incident." Elliot returned to his chair, taking a yellow notepad and pen from a desk drawer before making a notation. "I'm not surprised," Father Zamoyski observed. "Doubtlessly, there have been thousands of liquor-store robberies since that terrible time thirty years ago. We humans are such horrid creatures. Each of us is infested with the promise of violence and avarice." "And deceit. Did the killing take place inside that store or outside?" "Inside." The priest cast a sideways glance at Elliot as if testing for a reaction to his tale. "Is this store still in business?" Elliot asked, still taking notes. "Yes. It is in Georgetown." Chambers Elliot nodded as he wrote, recollection pushing at him, fast and hard. Suddenly his eyes widened and he looked over at the priest in genuine surprise. "Douglas was killed execution-style." "Yes. Exactly." The priest quickly brightened into a smile. "You do remember." "The man charged with the crime was Jerome Petty," Elliot continued, the incident now becoming clear. "I was working for the Public Defender's Office, at the time. In fact, Petty's defense was assigned to me." The priest nodded. "Which is why I came to you rather than another attorney." The lawyer set down his pen, now more curious than before about the man sitting before him. "As I recall there was no mistake as to Jerome Petty's guilt. Petty was a career-criminal. Two eyewitnesses of sound character identified him as the shooter. The Jensens, Mr. and Mrs." Father Zamoyski shook his head in refute. "Those witnesses lied, Mr. Elliot." "Why would they?" Father Zamoyski's eyes narrowed. "We all have our price." The lawyer shoved the notepad off to one side scoffing, "That robbery, as best I recall, netted less than two hundred dollars. Lies may be bought, Father--yes. But they don't come cheaply--as you are aware." Father Zamoyski laboriously straightened his body in the chair, his gloved hands gripping the arms. "I'm not lying, Mr. Elliot," he declared, fervently. Elliot said grimly, "Aren't you?" "Mr. and Mrs. Jensen were killed in a helicopter crash during their vacation to Samoa, shortly after Douglas' murder. Convenient--at least for Michael Douglas' killer--wouldn't you agree?" "So it would seem." Chambers Elliot rested his elbows on the desk. "You said Michael Douglas was killed over a woman. Can you tell me her name?" "I was not able to discover that." "So, this unnamed killer who you referred to as 'he' and 'him' but could be of either sex, took personal offense to Mr. Douglas' philandering with a particular woman who remains unidentified?" Zamoyski hesitated. "I realize it must sound a bit odd..." "That is an understatement. But what makes this incredible is that you expect me to believe this brutal killer sought absolution." "It was not his confession that I heard." The lawyer's face fell. "Come, again?" The priest's very faint smile hardly moved his mouth. "It was another who made the confession." "A witness?" "Not directly. More along the lines of a confidante." "Then how can you be certain that what you heard was not just fools-play?" "My certainty is absolute, Mr. Elliot. I, through subsequent investigation, determined the real killer's identity and, thereby, the motive." Chambers Elliot leaned back laughing. "I strongly suspect your inquiry was flawed, along with the rest of your portrayal." "I assure you it was not." "If you concluded the killer's identity on your own, then you are not barred from disclosing it." "But I am, Mr. Elliot. You see, the confessor's identity would also disclose that of the killer." Chambers Elliot chuckled under his breath, for a moment. Then he said, "You're quick. I'll grant you that. But if you are murdered, what makes you think the police won't botch their investigation and charge the wrong man, again? In this state, it is a frightfully common occurrence." "I have every confidence the authorities will not repeat their mistakes of thirty years ago," Zamoyski declared. "The science of crime is far more advanced." "So is the sophistication of criminals. Your death may be interpreted as an accident. Or worse, considering your calling, as a suicide. Dare you risk being denied absolution over a man like Jerome Petty? No sacrament of any kind may be administered after such a death." Suddenly a conflict of emotions was expressed upon the sickly man's face. "I had not considered that." One eyebrow arched the merest trifle in the direction of the priest, as the flawed statement about sacraments failed to garner a correction from Zamoyski. "Father Zamoyski or whatever your..." Chambers Elliot began. Then he caught himself. "On second thought, I'm willing to pursue this matter inasmuch as you intend to pay my fees. But I want it understood that I cannot guarantee success." "Thank you, Mr. Elliot!" Father Zamoyski took a brown banker's envelope from within the recesses of his suit, and set it upon the desk. Then he took out a pair of extremely thick eyeglasses and put them on. "Within the envelope are two certified checks. One is for sixty-five thousand dollars, to cover your fees. The other is in the amount of twenty thousand dollars and is to be handed over to my brother, upon my death. It is my hope you will take care of that bequest, as well." "Acting as executor for your estate is not a problem," Elliot declared. "Did you give Lydia the details on your brother and any other assets?" "There is only the check. My brother--Daniel--will contact you, in a day or two. Naturally, he will have the appropriate documents to validate his identity." The priest made an embarrassed gesture. "I have been out of the country for a number of years. Therefore, I cannot recall my brother's address." Chambers Elliot pursed his lips in thought, remaining silent for nearly a minute. Then, with decision written upon his brow he said, "I want to add a codicil to our agreement. The understanding is that I have freedom to pursue this investigation in any fashion I choose." "To the extent your best-efforts are directed toward the cause of justice, for all concerned." "You can count on that, Father Zamoyski." Chambers Elliot picked up the envelope and tore it open. Within were two certified checks in the amounts stated by the priest. "I'll have my legal-assistant give you a receipt for these. I will be in court, this afternoon and tomorrow morning. Consequently, I won't have the executorship forms and the contract covering my efforts on your behalf finalized, until late tomorrow. But..." "I will return tomorrow afternoon, then." The priest glanced at his wristwatch. "I'm late for an appointment." "Where can I reach you between now and your return tomorrow, should the need arise?" "St. Michael's Rectory. I gave your receptionist the address and telephone number." Father Zamoyski struggled to his feet like a newborn calf, turned toward the door and then turned back. "The check for my brother... You do have a safe, I presume?" "Of course." "Would you humor me by putting my brother's bequest in there while I am present? Daniel is my only living relation. I know it must sound foolish. However..." Chambers Elliot got up without remark, turned and pulled aside the Joan Miro painting hanging on the wall behind his desk. A cylinder-safe came into view, which he quickly opened. After putting the envelope given by the priest within, Elliot shut the safe and gave the dial a spin. Then the lawyer turned to face Zamoyski. The priest nodded his approval, removed his glasses and stuffed them into a pocket. Then he hobbled away. Elliot watched his client's departure with special interest. "Why," he reflected, "was that man willing to spend so much money to retain my services under false pretenses?" Seconds later, Lydia Marshall, Elliot's legal-assistant, entered his private office. "Was that priest on the level, Chambers?" she asked, with dubious grin. Lydia was tall, blonde, slender, mid-twenties and attired in a pink suit. "You obviously think otherwise, Lydia." She shrugged. "For a priest, he didn't ring true to me." "You're a Baptist. Why should he?" Elliot went around to the front of his desk. There he stopped; legs splayed, hands balled at the bottoms of his trousers-pockets, eyes on Lydia. "I must admit, however, you are quite correct. He is not a priest." "Then who is he?" "I don't know. But I intend to find out." "Why didn't you confront him with it?" "I nearly did. But my curiosity got the better of me." She pointed at the exposed safe. "I hope you demanded an advance for services?" "That is what makes it all the more curious. He supplied eighty-five grand in certified monies," Elliot said, thoughtfully. "At least the checks appeared to be genuine. He'll return tomorrow to sign the executorship documents and the contract covering our efforts on his behalf. Sixty-five thousand is our fee. The remainder is a bequest to his brother. I'll give you the details later. In the meantime get in touch with the Taggart Detective Agency. Tell Jason Taggart to drop whatever he's doing and come to my office." "No can-do, Chambers," she said. "You have an ex-parte hearing before Judge Kereru on the Simpson case in less than an hour, remember? You'll be lucky to get to the courthouse before it convenes." "Then after that." Elliot studied her blue eyes, rubbing his chin with one paw. "Say four o'clock?" "Okay." Then Lydia wrinkled her high forehead. "Zamoyski talked to me about a murder. In fact, the man was in tears when he spoke with me." Elliot gave out a lazy laugh. "The murder was a teaser, along with his role. Zamoyski's purpose for seeing me, or so he claimed, is to hire me to find his killer. In so doing, I would be able to clear the name of the man blamed in that thirty-year-old murder. Do you see why I became so curious as to his real purpose?" Lydia blinked rapidly in confusion. "For a dead guy he talks pretty good." The lawyer's face darkened. "That's the part of this game that worries me." Elliot returned to his chair. "I don't think Zamoyski was lying about having a killer on his tail." "I'm not kicking about the chunk of change he dropped off. We can use that. But if Zamoyski's playing us, we could be in for more trouble that it's worth. What is that old saying about curiosity and cats?" "Zamoyski claims he's dying," said Elliot, ignoring her. "Based solely upon his appearance, I would agree. If my recollection of medical jurisprudence is accurate, constricted pupils and clammy skin are symptomatic of opium-addiction. But he was made-up to have that appearance. Why?" "Maybe he's an actor hired by someone else?" Elliot rocked her question back and forth in his mind before slowly saying, "I would agree that he is an actor. But you're missing the point. Why pose as a sickly priest? Why not a healthy dentist? It would've been a role easier to succeed at." "Who did he say was murdered?" "Michael Douglas." Elliot waggled a finger. "That's another part of his ploy that I found so curious. You see, I was assigned as defense-counsel for the man charged in the killing Michael Douglas--Jerome Petty." "So whoever this guy is, he knows a great deal about you." Chambers Elliot nodded. "Perhaps Petty put him up to it?" "Petty committed suicide not many days after his arrest." Lydia rested her weight on one leg. Then, she put her hands akimbo at her hips. "Is it possible Petty's relatives are taking revenge on you?" "What for? I wasn't responsible for Petty's suicide. No. I'm more inclined to think that Zamoyski's purpose has nothing to do with Douglas or Petty. But I'll be damned if I can figure out what he actually intends." She went over to the desk and leaned her hands upon it, staring into her boss' face. "Chambers, you're just asking for trouble with this. Let me send the checks back to him. I'll tell Zamoyski that your schedule simply won't allow you to accept another case." The lawyer shook his head. "Why not play his game?" Lydia folded her arms defiantly. "Good, old fashioned common sense comes to mind." Elliot smiled. "Something dramatic is about to occur, Lydia. Something very dramatic. I want to be in on it." She eased erect, her arms dropping. "What if his plan is to kill you? Did you consider that? Your legal wrangling is behind more than one prisoner's presence on death row. What if one of them hired Zamoyski? It's possible, isn't it?" The attorney pondered her question a moment as if searching for reassuring response. "Possibly. But I still want to know what's going on." She moved around the desk to stand next to him. "At the cost of your life?" Elliot said with a reassuring smile, "You worry too much, Lydia. Nothing bad is going to happen." She leaned back a little and regarded her boss with a childlike seriousness. "Jason Taggart's no fool, Chambers. He'll hear two words about that priest and head back to his own offices faster than he left." "I don't think so, Lydia. Thirty years ago, Taggart was a homicide detective. It was he who arrested Jerome Petty for killing Michael Douglas. That gives Jason a vested interest in Zamoyski's motives." "You're assuming Jason Taggart can remember that far back." Chambers Elliot stood up and gave his legal assistant a fatherly smile. "Anything else on the agenda?" "I telephoned the university about the summer-intern we hire each year. The woman I spoke with claims we were assigned an intern. But she's not sure which one. She thought it was either the girl with the green-stalked hair and no underwear, or the lanky guy in the gold chinos with the greasy, black mop and pencil-thin moustache." Elliot made a disbelieving face. "Pencil-thin moustache?" "Apparently it's making a comeback among young, romantic males who have no idea what a woman wants." "Magistrate Elmo Whitaker has a moustache like that," said Elliot, with a shudder. "As I recall," she said, "Magistrate Whitaker also wears silk suits, has a silver-capped front tooth, and dangles lots of gold jewelry. He reminds me of a Tijuana pimp." Elliot grinned. "I'm not so sure he wasn't." "The University is supposed to call back as to the intern's name and telephone number." He made a meaningless gesture. "If they give you a choice, Lydia, take the one without underwear. I'm not sure I can cope with being reminded of Magistrate Whitaker every day for an entire summer."

Texas Roads

catbry1 — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 15:00:11 +0000

One secret kept, another uncovered…

A disillusioned widow must choose between her new-found home and guarding a secret. Then a devastating discovery leads her down a road she never expected to travel…

Excerpt:

“Look, ma’am.” His picture-perfect smile disappeared behind the long line of his lips, his voice laced with impatience. “I know you’re concerned about accepting a ride with someone you don’t know. Can’t say I blame you. But by the time I get to town, get gas and get back out here, it’s going to be dark. Then you’ll have plenty of reason to be afraid.”

She raised a hand to her lips. What he said made sense, but could she trust him?

His mouth curled at the corners. “Coyotes are pretty bad in these parts. Sure wouldn’t want to be out here after dark. Especially alone.”

Coyotes? Dani yanked on the door handle and hoisted herself onto the grimy seat. After one breath in, she wrinkled her nose and sniffed. What was that smell? Eau de Sweat? She swiveled her head toward him and found his gaze trained on her, his face lined with suppressed laughter.

He needn’t be so amused. She fidgeted with the seat belt and held it with one hand to keep it from riding across her nose. “I think someone up there must not like me.”

“What makes you say that?” He stared at her like she was mentally unbalanced and put the truck in gear.

“It’s just been a rough day, like God has it in for me or something.”

He raised one brow. “I think God must love you a lot, or I wouldn’t have come home this way. Not many people use this road anymore.”

Dani drew in a sharp breath. Did God love her? She gave her wet head a shake, sending droplets of water to the worn seat. Yeah, right. No one could love her. Not even God.

Print Edition coming Spring 2010 to Amazon.com

Texas Roads book trailer

Sample Chapters at: http://TexasRoadsbyCathyBryant.blogspot.com

Author’s Website: www.CatBryant.com

Texas Roads

$5.00

248 pages

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The Fighter King

akwbooks — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 15:00:50 +0000

Oliver Lincoln III is a walking contradiction – he sells combat fighters for his dad’s defense plant, but he is a dedicated pacifist.

During a sales trip to the Sirian Confederacy, Oliver’s sister, a holonews reporter, tells him a disturbing secret. When his sister is later murdered by the Sirian secret police, the KK, it doesn’t take Oliver long to put the squares together —
Sirius is about to invade a peaceful world, using the combat fighters he sold them!

Oliver can’t prevent the invasion, but in a desperate race against time he travels to Vega 3, hoping to arm them with Lincoln fighters so they can at least defend themselves. But the timetable is shorter than he thought, and he finds himself trapped in a global war with a difficult choice to make.

The Fighter King is a novel about the clash of civilization, personal choices, and coming of age. Before The Fighter Queen, there was The Fighter King. It all starts here.

Rated “R” for sex, language, and violence.

The Fighter King

$2.22

424 pages

Your Guide To Travelling Australia

Tina — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 08:25:07 +0000

Have you been planning to visit or travel Australia? Not sure where to start with the planning and preparation? Are you struggling to find relevant information from books and from the hundreds of travel information websites? Frustrating isn’t it! Prior to organising my families travels in Australia I searched many websites and books, all I could find was small snippets of useful information.

Therefore I compiled all my travel experience and research into one very unique book ‘Your Guide To Travelling Australia’ which you will not find anything similiar on the internet or in a bookshop.

Australia is such a diverse country that wherever you go it is so exciting, from beautiful beaches, deserts, tropical rainforests, National Parks and hundreds of unique icons that are truly Australian. To discover these treasures driving around Australia or through several states is the best way to see the real Australia.

‘Your Guide To Travelling Australia’ gives you the insight and the information to be able to plan an unforgettable driving, camping and adventure in Australia.

Your Guide To Travelling Australia

$17.00

125 pages

About This - Part 1

Lawrence Bridges — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 09:50:03 +0000

About This - Part 1, is the first in a series of “Movie Novellas” brought to you by veteran filmmaker Lawrence Bridges. This new kind of reading experience, serialized in short chapters, was created specifically for the Kindle. The About This series captures in words the type of nuanced observations we see in our favorite films: touching and emotionally complex moments between characters, witty and memorable dialogue, sex, violent gripping situations, humor, diversion, cleverness, musical departures, suspense, mystery, general excitement and cliff hangers at the end of each chapter enticing you to read more. Bridges’ simple and easy to read style puts your mind in place of an observant lens… all you need to bring is your imagination.

Only weeks after arriving in Los Angeles from a small town in the Midwest, aspiring singer and harpist JEANETTE MAY takes a temp job as a receptionist for failed entrepreneur, JOHN MOORE, at the Jet Propulsion Lab in Pasadena, California. Jeanette came to Los Angeles to pursue a career in indie music, and to escape her unhappy small town past: a violent stepbrother, her father’s death, her mother’s illness and death soon after, a listless boyfriend, and a series of hopeless jobs. She struggles to keep her dream alive by playing small clubs in Los Angeles. She plays against the pain of these memories, trying to defeat them with sheer defiance and force of will, but will audiences take her seriously? Does anyone care about a thin girl from Pawnee, Illinois, who plays a harp and sings with a freaky novelty voice: the voice of a young child? During the first hour of her first day on the job, Jeanette almost gets fired. She despairs of her confinement in the bland technical world of JPL. She feels starved for inspiration. She feels she will never overcome the difficulties in her past and now, having traveled all this way for her dream, she questions her decision to leave home. Little does she know circumstances surrounding John Moore’s involvement with a private space probe funded by Islamist separatists will change her life and music career forever.

Parts 2 and 3 are also available for download from Smashwords and the Kindle Store.

About This - Part 1

$0.99

40 pages

About This - Part 1

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Whirl of the Wheel

catherinecondie — Sat, 13 Feb 2010 15:00:49 +0000

Three children whirl back in time through an enchanted potter’s wheel into the reality of evacuation in 1940s Britain. Only two return.

A whispering house, blue and gold spotted china cats that come to life, an enigmatic guardian of the potter’s wheel who is all-things purple, and the recurrence of a Lysander aircraft and its crew . . .

Whirl of the Wheel pulls feisty Connie, her brother Charlie-Mouse, and school pest Malcolm into dangers on the homefront and towards a military secret that will save their home from demolition. The children hit trouble when Malcolm fails to return to the present day.

Inclusive fiction.
Adventure for the 9+ age group.
Instructional with a series of letters telling a story of evacuation.

Whirl of the Wheel

Free

67 pages

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29 Jobs and a Million Lies

revolucion0 — Sat, 13 Feb 2010 02:27:41 +0000

Dark, twisted, and outrageous, 29 Jobs and a Million Lies is not the story of your all-American girl seeking glory and success, but a glimpse at counterculture’s underbelly and attempts to succeed within that world. From demented B-movie, roach-infested film production offices chock full of freakish characters to the Cannes Film Festival; from starting a punk rock record label to its hard but inevitable crash; from a grimy, Greenwich Village restaurant kitchen to failed attempts at joining the Navy, you gotta ask, What’s a nice girl from the suburbs doing all of this dirty work for, anyway?

29 Jobs and a Million Lies is the gut-wrenching, self-deprecating account of how ambition to stand out was wiped out by clumsy choices, immaturity and self-defeating righteousness. Energized to prove to the doubters that she could succeed despite the unorthodox approach, this litany of boneheaded decisions portrays how the author painfully hurled heart and soul into a long trail of draining pursuits, failing so often that success was invisible. 29 Jobs is a post-GenX novel, except it’s true, and in the vein of Sarah Vowell, Chuck Klosterman, and Dave Eggers.

29 Jobs and a Million Lies

Free ($7.77 for print)

144 pages

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Broken Bulbs

bonnieisgood — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 20:04:32 +0000

Frank Fisher is nothing. He wants to be something. When a mysterious young woman named Bonnie offers assistance by injecting seeds of inspiration directly into his brain, Frank finds himself involved in a twisting mystery full of addiction, desperation and self-discovery. Broken Bulbs, a novella by Eddie Wright, tells the story of the lengths one young man will go in the pursuit of “somethingness.”

Praise for Broken Bulbs:
“…a brilliant and stunningly original work, by far the best novel I read in 2008.”
- Alternative Reel

“as authentic as they come, experimental without trying to be intentionally obscure, dark without making you doubt humanity, smart and energetic. In short, it’s great writing.”
“…it’s about obsession, self-negation, love, even God (“The Everything”), making Broken Bulbs an entirely unique take on a subject. It’s a science fictional, hard-boiled, poetic vision of drug addiction and hamsters (read it!) A great addition to a genre that has never existed before.”
- Self-publishing Review

“…this slim volume is the bastard child of Memento and William S Burroughs, absolutely not for the faint of heart nor for anyone seeking a nice, simple beach read.”
- Jason Pettus, The Chicago Center for for Literature and Photography

“An existentialist’s dream, the author has dug in deep and laid bare the raw emotion so candidly that we can actually feel the futility, the desperation, and the humour.”

“Philip Dick would be proud.”
- POD People

“…the absolute perfect spot-on portrait of the mind of an addict.”
“The first chapter alone is a nauseating churn of short choppy staccato sentences, random thoughts and actions, that read like beat poetry at a slam.”
“The whole thing is filled with crazy quips and one liners worthy of a high lighter so you can memorize and use them later.”
- The LL Book Review

“…strangely complex and fascinating.”
- Kaye Trout’s Book Reviews

Broken Bulbs

You set the price

108 pages

Broken Bulbs

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The Master’s Reliquary, Book One: The Man of Signs

akwbooks — Tue, 02 Feb 2010 15:00:27 +0000

An ancient cedar chest from the hands of the master carpenter, Jesus. A time of violence in the warring fifth-century kingdoms of Dalriada and Cruithne (ancient Ireland and Scotland). Brother Brude, a product of both cultures and guardian of the precious chest, must survive and search out the will of God from amid the demands of men.

The Master’s Reliquary, Book One: The Man of Signs

$3.95

234 pages