BLOOD HARBOR: a novel of suspense
Matt Knox managed to reach middle age without ever breaking a law. So far as he is aware, he has never transcended the law, ever, no matter how trivial. He will not step outside the lines of a
crosswalk. He refuses to take the "creative" tax write-offs suggested
to him by professional advisers. He will not opt to get away with
anything simply because he can.
When a local crime gang forces Matt into helping them rob a museum in order to
take advantage of his holier than thou reputation, the floodgates Matt has
carefully erected on the river of his true self come crashing down. His first
targets: the criminals who unleashed his monster within. Their gruesome demises
put a charming, California seaside town on extreme edge. But once the common criminals are
dealt with, Matt struggles to put a stop to his new-found addiction, and a
local cop, recently fired for being on the take, fights to convince the
townspeople that Matt "The Saint" Knox is not at all what he seems.
BLOOD HARBOR is approximately 25% written, with about 20,000 words out of a projected 80,000. With your help I will be able to complete it this year and have it published in January of 2013. This is a novel intended for adults or mature teens who enjoy suspense, crime and thriller novels such as those by Harlan Coben, Michael Connelly or Dean Koontz. Is there violence in the book? Yes. Sex? Not so much. If it were a movie what would it be rated? Probably "R," for violence, language and adult situations.
A little about me: I have sold three thriller novels to small presses (WIRED KINGDOM, kiDNApped, and SOLAR ISLAND, the latter of which does not release until the end of this year but is already written), so rest assured that this is not my first rodeo and I will have the novel published by the stated deadline. All backers are free to contact me any time to inquire about the status of the project. For more information about me please see my web links (lower right of this page) and feel free to contact me on those sites as well.
To give you a good idea of what you're in for, pasted below are the first 7 chapters (about 30 pages) of BLOOD HARBOR. Please note that these pages represent a draft and may change a little by the finished product, although the tone and spirit of the story will remain the same. I will also entertain and respond to editorial suggestions from backers but reserve the right to implement or not implement said suggestions at my discretion. Character names may change according to the Reward for $100 pledges, and according to $500 and $1,000 pledges. The "project image" is not the final book cover (the raised funds will go to providing for that) but is a placeholder intended to convey the overall feel of the story.
How will the funds be used? In addition to providing for the backers' rewards, funding will be used to offset expenses incurred by self-publishing the e-book and print book editions of BLOOD HARBOR, including but not limited to commission of cover art, interior layout and design, editing fees, ISBN registration, promotional copies for marketing purposes, creation of a book trailer (that Backers will be shown first), production of an audiobook (see special pledge), website and other software expenses for promoting the work. All backers will receive regular updates on the status of the project, e.g. how many pages / words have been written, sneak preview of cover art and official sample chapters before they are released to the general public, when the rewards will be sent out, etc.
How you can help besides pledging: spread the word about this campaign! Post the link on your social networks, blogs, etc. Thank you in advance.
Thank you very much for your consideration in funding BLOOD HARBOR and happy reading!
~Rick Chesler, Los Angeles, 5/3/12
squinted at the morning sun invading his family’s kitchen as he tipped back his
glass to down the last of his orange juice. He heard the front door slam as his
two kids, Gavin, ten, and Caitlin, twelve, trounced outside to meet the school
bus. Matt’s wife, Summer, started the dishwasher and headed for the back door of
their three bedroom townhouse. She called to him as she reached the door that led
to the garage.
hon, you’re dropping me off today, we need to leave a little earlier.”
Matt slid his
chair out from the table and stood, gazing out across the early morning glassy
water of Sandy Cove Harbor. Their home was only a smallish townhouse, but it
was on the water, which in California did not come cheap. The boat slip next to
the weathered back porch gave it even more character.
you, hot stuff.” Even though she bore him two children and, as Matt was fond of
reminding her, they’d done “pretty much everything a couple could do together”
by now, he still couldn’t keep from staring at her ass while she walked. With
Sandy-blond hair halfway down her back, a subtle facelift and a not-so-subtle
breast augmentation, she attracted almost more attention than Matt was
comfortable with. He’d even heard his son’s friends whispering the word MILF when they thought no one could
He was a lucky
man, Matt was thinking, as he heard Summer open the passenger-side door to his
SUV. Then he spotted the pile of broken, colored plastic on the garage floor,
saw the crushed taillight from whence it came. The waterfront garage was small,
the SUV almost backed right up to the wall in order to fit inside.
happened to the taillight?”
She eased the
door open just wide enough to sheepishly poke her head outside. “I’m sorry,
honey. Last night when I took it to the store—to get that pino grigio—I backed
it into the wall. This beast is too big for me. I meant to tell you, I just
Matt went to
the driver side and turned the ignition, flipped on the turn signal. He walked
back to the rear of the vehicle and shook his head. “Bulb’s smashed.”
He returned to
the front of the SUV and turned off the engine, pocketing the keys.
“What are you
doing?” Summer looked away from the visor mirror from where she was touching up
her makeup to stare at him as if he’d sprouted a third eyeball.
“I can’t drive
it. Light’s got to be fixed. I’ll take care of it today.”
drop me off, right?”
it’s against the law to drive without working taillights. I won’t do it. C’mon,
her purse into her lap. “Matt, really!” She reflected for a moment. It wasn’t
an attempt to control her. After all, it was her fault that she’d ignored the
check engine light in her sporty little BMW for so long. And Matt did hold
himself to the same standards. She knew that even if she weren’t around that he
wouldn’t use the car until it was fixed. That was his nature, she’d known that
when she married him more than a decade ago.
“Would it kill
you to break a damn law for once in your life?”
Might kill someone else, though.” In
his mind, Matt …grabbed her by the hair
with both hands and pulled her from the front seat, slamming her head against
the car’s door frame repeatedly, red blood on white paint…
“What are you
He swallowed. “I
just mean that if we can’t signal, it might cause an accident. The laws are
there for a reason.”
“I’ll drive it
if you won’t.” She held her palm out the open door for the keys. Matt shook his
registered in my name. No vehicle of mine operates on the roadways unless it’s
one hundred percent street legal.”
said while my car is in the shop, that you’d take me to work. What am I
supposed to do?”
“I’ll call a
cab.” Matt produced his cell-phone and pecked at its keys while his wife gave
an exasperated sigh of defeat and exited the SUV.
to call two cabs. I’m in the complete opposite direction, it would be stupid to
share a cab.”
“I can take
the boat to work.” Matt’s job as a manager at the harbor’s waterfront yacht
brokerage meant that it was possible for him to get to work by boat, although
he preferred driving.
fixing the car?”
“At lunch I’ll
get a ride to Auto Zone, pick up a replacement tail light and swap it out myself
the SUV’s door shut. “Sometimes I wish you’d be a little less perfect, Matthew
Knox.” She huffed out of the garage without kissing him goodbye.
of those days
stepped into his 14-foot Boston Whaler and steadied himself when he almost
slipped on the deck, wet with morning dew. Friends who didn’t live in the harbor
had some romantic notion that it must be great to take a boat to work, but in
reality, Matt rarely did it. A five minute drive in a warm car was much better
than a twenty minute slog in an open boat on the wind, plus tying and untying
the dock lines. He cursed when the outboard motor failed to start on the first
pull. It cranked to life on the second, but he made a mental note to give it a
tune-up this weekend.
lack of use, Matt suspected, eyeing the larger vessel that also occupied the
dock in front of his home, a 42-foot sailboat. Courtesy of the yacht brokerage
he worked for, he’d been taking potential buyers out on it lately, but it was
far too large to be practical for the cross-harbor jaunt.
He cast off
the lines of his Whaler and eased out of his slip into the small harbor
channel. Matt waved to a retired neighbor jogging past with his dog on a
walkway that paralleled the channel. It was a chilly morning despite it being
mid June, not unusual for central California, and his breath fogged over his
GPS display as he leaned over the unit to switch it on.
need the GPS for directions—he knew exactly where he was going, but a small
boat like his didn’t come with a speedometer, so he relied on the GPS to tell
him how fast he was going through the harbor’s posted five mph NO WAKE zones. It
was hard to tell, after all, exactly how fast five mph was, especially with a breeze
like there was today, and, like always, Matt wished to obey the law.
He reached the
end of his small residential channel and made the turn into a wider harbor
thoroughfare. A sleek speedboat, ignoring the no wake signs, caught up with
him. Its pilot, another of the Knox’s neighbors, called out to Matt.
“Sell your catamaran?”
His neighbors were used to seeing him with a different yacht every few weeks or
months. He had the use of one at a time from his brokerage to entertain
potential clients until they sold. “Yeah, it went to a guy down in Santa
Barbara, but now I’ve got a Hunter 42—barely fits at my dock, you’ve got to
come by and see it!”
“I’ll do that.
Wine tasting at our place this Friday, hope you can make it.”
Tom!” Matt said, as his friend’s boat pulled away, leaving his little Whaler to
bounce over its wake. Clearly, Tom wasn’t worried about the speed limit, Matt
thought, but then again most owners in Sandy Cove Harbor weren’t. They lived
here. Paid property taxes and homeowner’s association fees. Their taxes paid
for the Harbormaster, after all, so why should they worry if they wanted to get
where they’re going a little faster? It was the rental boats they should be
concerned with. It irked Matt that he was the only owner he knew of who
regularly followed the “rules,” as he heard Tom and other neighbors refer to
them—as if to diminish their importance.
But Matt knew
that in fact they were real laws, and he intended to obey them.
He motored on
through the harbor, now passing much nicer homes than his own—single family
houses with true yards and large decks, still right on the water with even
larger private boat docks than his own. There was no way he’d ever be able to
afford one of these by working his brokerage job, that was for sure. Not that
he was complaining. Many of the boats parked along these million-dollar-plus
homes had been purchased through him. He made a good living and he and his
family were lucky enough to live where they did.
Matt passed under
a bridge to the harbor’s commercial section where the waterway widened
considerably. Sea lions basked on the swim steps of the larger boats, seagulls
squawked overhead, and a Harbor Patrol boat passed by Matt heading under the
bridge in the opposite direction.
enforcement officer merely smiled and waved at the pilot of the little Boston
Whaler. He knew that Matt “the saint” Knox, as was his nickname in the harbor
community, would have nothing worth writing up. As usual, he maintained a well
running vessel, current registration stickers, life jacket on, no stray lines
hanging over the side of his boat. Matt Knox’s boat never slowed down
immediately when a patrol boat came within sight, as almost all other boats
routinely did. He didn’t have to, because he was already within the speed
limit. Everything was in perfect order.
gave Matt a bored wave as he passed, making his rounds through the harbor. Matt
returned the gesture with a smile before focusing on his destination ahead on
Should be an
okay day at work, Matt thought, throttling down as he approached the expansive
dock fronting the decades-old harbor business.
And then he
saw one of his employees, John Samson, step outside the back door onto the
walkway above the dock and point right at Matt’s Whaler. A second man followed
John out of the office. John retreated back into the building but the guest
remained on the dock, his eyes closely tracking Matt’s progress as he neared
Matt thought to himself as he cut power and glided up to the dock. This isn’t going to be such a good day after
Get a job…
Washington rubbed his temples while contemplating the pile of bills on his
kitchen table. Eight A.M. Normally he’d be in his police cruiser by this time,
making his rounds. Sitting alone at home just didn’t feel right, but he had
nowhere else to go. Wife at work, kids in daycare. He wasn’t sure how much
longer that daycare was going to last with him out of a job. He’d be watching
the kids himself any day now.
subsonic bass of a rap track from a car stereo pounded through his thin walls. A
knock sounded at the door of his shabby two-bedroom on the outskirts of town.
agricultural fields on one side and a small but seedy commercial strip on the
other, Jeremy was pressured in one direction by blowing dust, pesticides and migrant
worker shantytowns, and on the other by a stream of light but ever-present traffic
to storage units, tattoo parlors, sports bars and a strip club. Sandy Cove in
name only. To get to the beach meant a nearly thirty minute drive made longer
by having to go the long way around the gated harbor and beachside enclaves.
“Come in,” Jeremy said without looking up from
“I heard how
it went down, man, how you doin’?” This from a Hispanic man about thirty years
old. His jeans and T-shirt were covered in oily grease stains.
Jeremy acknowledged, still sorting through his bills. No matter how he did the
math in his head, he couldn’t see how he was going to be able to manage it all.
“Read about it
in the papers,” Pablo went on. “Shit! I’m sorry, Jer, man.”
up at his childhood friend, Pablo Martinez. “No worries,” he mumbled.
around the living room, then toward the adjoining kitchen. “Alisa?”
to relax a bit and then took a seat on the couch next to Jeremy. “I just got
off shift at the shop.” He eyed the pile of paperwork on the table before
reaching into his pocket.
wants you to have this. It’s from all of us.” He tossed a roll of bills onto
the table. Jeremy glared at his friend.
fuck, you think I’m some kind of charity case?” It sat there on the household bills,
at once the cause of and the solution to his problems.
his eyes while making some sort of shrugging motion. “We thought it would help
out, you know, until you find another gig.” He swept a hand toward the pile of
slow and soft, his eyes still on the money. “You know I wouldn’t need another
gig in the first place if it wasn’t for your money.”
Pablo stood up
from the couch immediately. “Hey man, you kept an eye out for us, and that’s
cool. We paid you for that. That was your prerogative, man. Not our fault you
got busted. You were snitched from your
up at Pablo and then hung his head, rubbing his temples again. “They said I’m
not eligible for unemployment. Fired for cause.”
back onto the couch. “We’re setting something up right now. Something
different. Not a gas station or a store. It’s going down soon, but you could
still get in on it. You know every cop in town, their schedules, how they
say another word, Pablo. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
lucky as it is that I only lost my job over this. They could have put me in
jail. You know what happens to cops in jail?”
I—we—thought that maybe if you would…if you would, take, you know…” Pablo
stumbled over the words, uncomfortable.
that if I would take bribes to look
the other way when I was on the job, that maybe now that I’m out of a job I’d
help you guys actually rob something, join the gang for real after all this
time, is that it?”
into his friend’s eyes, gaze unwavering. “That’s it.”
“The answer is
no, Pablo. I regret helping the gang like I did. I wanted the money to put my
kid in a private school because Alisa says that’s what he needs. But it’s
the roll of bills off the table and pressed the money into Pablo’s chest, gripping
his shoulder tightly.
“Tell Sal I
the cash, got up without another word and walked to the front door. Once there,
he said, “Good luck, Jeremy.” He opened the door and walked out.
anything stupid, Pablo.”
customer is always right
held out a hand as Matt’s whaler glided up to the dock. Matt ignored his offer
of help and instead tied the line to a cleat himself. Sal grabbed his bow line without
being asked and pulled the front of the boat into the dock, securing that line.
can do for you, Mr. Jonason?” Matt asked as he stepped onto the dock.
“Yes sir, Mr.
Knox, I’d like to test drive a boat.”
walking toward the entrance to his yacht brokerage.
“I said I’d
like to test drive a boat!” Sal repeated, raising his voice this time. Matt
turned back to Sal as he pulled the door open.
“When did you
get out of jail?”
tugged at his long, gray beard. He lifted his sunglasses from his eyes and
parked them atop his shaved head. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,
Mr. Knox. Now listen here, I may not be a saint like you, but I have the same
rights as any customer.”
“You have to
pass a credit check for a test drive, like any customer,” Matt said as he
entered the brokerage and let the door close after him. He was face-to-face
with his employee John Samson as soon as he entered the business. Sal headed
for his desk.
passed the credit check,” John said.
“Did you check
his ID carefully?”
“It checks out. We’ve sold boats to worse credit scores than his.”
He didn’t think Sal would have been able to pass a credit check. A local boy
gone bad, Sal Jonason was the town thug. A semi-professional thief in charge of
a loose cadre of local hoodlums, he’d been in and out jail over the years. He sometimes
held down a job as a commercial fisherman, but most of the locals suspected
this was just to give the appearance that he had a legitimate income. But if he
had passed the credit check, Matt knew they would have to give him the test
John read his
mind. “I can’t do it. I’m already booked to take the Westons out on the Sea
Ray. They’re driving up from Montecito right now.”
Matt gave up
on the trek to his desk and turned around, exhaling slowly. “That’s a solid
lead, John, and I know you’ve been working hard to get them in here. You focus
on that, I’ll deal with Sal.”
Just then the
brokerage door opened and Sal stepped inside. “I’m looking for a cabin cruiser,”
Matt gave him
the kind of look most people reserved for panhandlers before addressing John.
“Get me the
keys to the Chris Craft.”
eased the 42’ cabin cruiser from its slip out into the harbor channel. From his
peripheral vision he watched Sal Jonason take hasty little drags from his
cigarette, glancing out at the harbor, then back to the dock, then to the
sides. Strange, Matt thought. Most
people thinking about buying a boat observed Matt like a hawk while he operated
Not this guy. Now
Sal was speaking softly into one of those phone earpieces Matt always thought
people wore to try to look important while they talked about the same stuff as
everybody else. He saw him glance at his watch and turn away when he caught
This freeloader is probably just looking for a free
harbor tour. But deep
down this assessment didn’t really sit well with Matt since Sal was at least
sometimes a commercial fisherman. He’d been out on the harbor plenty of times. He can probably handle a boat pretty well,
too. Still, he had requested a test drive and passed the credit check so it
was Matt’s job to show him the boat in action. He cleared his throat loudly to
be heard over the din of the cruiser’s engines.
thrusters, but we could retrofit some if that’s important to you.”
his butt into the water around turned around, apparently finished with his
phone conversation. “Thrusters on a boat this size? It’s not like this is a
goddamn cruise ship. Fuck the thrusters.”
his eyebrows and let out a sigh. Thrusters were expensive little propulsion
devices that allowed the boat to be controlled in tight spaces with a joystick
as opposed to wrangling the wheel. It was an attitude he’d heard before from
boating purists, especially commercial operators who really did know what they
But then why is this guy here? Commercial guys who know
boats well usually do their own shopping without a dealer.
explaining the features of the boat to you, Mr. Jonason.”
over to the wheel. “Let me drive.”
the turn out into the main channel and then stepped aside as Sal took his
place. Once in control of the boat, Sal squinted ahead at the waterway, barely
even glancing at the controls. Again, Matt thought, hardly the actions of
someone considering a major purchase.
Matt told Sal
some details about the controls, but the prospective customer merely listened
Then Sal bumped
up the throttle, increasing their speed. They passed a smaller boat filled with
“Slow it back down
until we’re outside the harbor, please,” Matt said. “No wake zone here.”
Sal glared at
Matt. It was the first thing Matt had said since getting into the boat that had
elicited any real response from Sal. He maintained the speed.
“I don’t want
to go outside the harbor on this run. Wanna see how she handles in here.”
Sal, but you’ll need to slow it back down. We’ve got a good relationship with
the harbormaster and need to keep it that way to do business here. Slow down.”
another smoke from the pocket of his loose fitting sweatshirt and cupped his
hand over it to shield it from the wind as he lit it. He looked Matt in the eye
while he waited for the light to catch.
In his mind,
Matt rammed the heel of his right hand
into Sal’s face, shoving the newly lit cigarette all the way into his mouth…
his lighter and exhaled a cloud of smoke toward Matt as he calmly shifted the
throttle back down. “Forgot I’m
dealing with Matt the Saint,” he smirked. Then he turned the boat abruptly,
left into a smaller canal style waterway lined with private homes on either
side. Most of them had large yachts in front of them.
“Want to get a
feel for how she handles in tight quarters, I guess?” Matt prompted.
like that. Like to try docking too. Here looks like a good spot.”
Up ahead on
the right was an empty section of dock next to a huge, old wooden sailboat. Sal
reduced speed and angled the boat toward the empty space.
what’re you doing? That’s a private dock. We can go to the public docks, or you
can dock us back at the shop.”
him while he continued to maneuver the boat. Matt could see that he was highly
competent, his hands working the controls with practiced ease as the cruiser
sidled easily up to the dock.
“Go ahead and
tie a line for me, would you?” Sal said.
flushed crimson. “I will not! I just asked you not to dock here because this is
private property.” He looked up at the large house, hoping to see someone there
getting ready to shoo them away, but it was clear from the way the deck
furniture was covered that this was likely a second home for owners who found the
central California coast too cold in the winter.
away from the house and back to Sal, who pointed at the sailboat they were now
docked next to.
“Matt, I need
you to get me something out of that boat.”
…you lazy bum
Washington tossed the classified ads section of the newspaper down on the
table. Job prospects were nil. Maybe he should check the Internet, he thought,
and went to track down the laptop he shared with his wife. He didn’t use it
much. Never had time, what with being a cop, spending time with his family, and
what little there was left for his friends after that.
He found the
machine on the kitchen counter. His wife used it for recipes there and gabbing
with her friends on social networks. Jeremy took it back over to the couch,
where he flipped it open and brought up a well known classified ads site for
the Sandy Cove region.
What the hell can I do besides be a cop, Jeremy thought, not knowing where to start
looking. He’d been a cop for ten years, joining the police academy two years
out of Sandy Cove high school. For those first two years, he’d sold used cars. He
scanned the Sales section but found nothing about cars, just a bunch of
marketing crap, MAKE $10,000 A MONTH WORKING FROM HOME crap.
Sales he saw it. Security guards. If he couldn’t be a cop he could always be a
rent-a-cop. That wasn’t a step down, right? Eight bucks an hour. Jeremy felt
the frustration begin to well up inside him and clicked away from the job ads.
The silly uniform, lack of respect and not being licensed to carry a firearm he
could handle. But eight bucks was not going to support his family even if he
worked double shifts. He navigated to the weekend’s basketball scores and
looked at those instead to take his mind off his predicament.
He was still
looking at the scores a few minutes later when his wife walked in.
You’re early.” He didn’t expect her back from her hair styling job for two more
hours. She barely looked at him as she breezed into the kitchen and dropped her
purse on the counter. “They cut my hours back a little at the salon. I’ll have
to see about picking up some more, maybe over at Stylez, but for right now we’re
going to have less coming in. How’s your search going?” She opened the fridge,
saw that it was mostly empty, closed the door again and looked over at Jeremy
who was fixated on the screen.
“So far, not
so good,” he said.
and walked over to the couch. She sat down next to her husband. “Well Jeremy,
you’re not going to find a job watching game highlights. How long have you been
doing that? Did you even look for a job today?”
and got up from the couch, leaving the computer on the table. “I was looking
until right before you came in. Believe me there’s nothing great right now.”
calling Lydia’s daycare today to cancel for next month. If you get something…”
I’ll watch her.”
“Now what are
“I was going
to wash the car.”
looks like crap.”
“Who cares? We
need money, Jeremy. Even on your police salary we were pretty much paycheck to
paycheck. We can go maybe another month, if we cut out the daycare. Max. What
are you going to do?”
In their five
years of marriage, it was the first time Alisa had been confronted with a lack
of money. Jeremy felt like he was letting her down, and what made that worse
was knowing he’d screwed up his job all by himself. It’s not like he got laid
off due to budget cuts. He’d been straight-up fired (shit-canned, some of his
buddies said), for crossing the line. A line Alisa had unknowingly pressed him
to cross, to put their oldest child Octavier in a private school because the
public ones had become gang central. And now their youngest wouldn’t even be
able to stay in pre-school.
don’t know. I’ll find something. Every day I’ll look.”
just look every day, Jeremy, you have
to apply for something every day.”
“I don’t see
anything to apply for.”
they’re hiring security guards at the mall. Her son just got a job there.”
Alisa’s coworker’s son was nineteen, fresh out of high school.
to the door, throwing his hooded sweatshirt on.
“I’m going to
do what you said. Apply for a job. But I’m going to pound the pavement, the old
fashioned way, in person. I know some people. That online crap doesn’t work for
“Where are you
going to go? You’re not just going to go out and drink with the boys are you?”
“No. I’m going
to the yacht dealership over at the harbor.”
“The yacht dealership? What do you know about
“I used to
sell cars, remember? So I have vehicle sales experience. Plus, my old high
school buddy John Samson works there. If they do have anything, he’ll hook me
up a bit, nodding. “Yeah, okay. That’s what I’m talking about. Good luck,
dog doesn’t fetch
Draper’s boat,” Matt said. “I sold it to him a couple of years ago.”
without saying anything. “He’s got a ring of keys in there somewhere in the
salon, I need you to go in there and get it for me.”
call of a seagull broke the silence before Matt responded. “What for? You doing
some work for him?”
“Something like that.” His cellular phone lit up and he scrutinized its screen
before putting it back in his pocket without having spoken.
Matt looked at
the boat. Its canvas wheelhouse cover was buttoned down tight like it hadn’t
been used in a while. As usual, the beautiful teak decking was oiled and polished
to a shine. Glancing up at Dallas’ house, though, one over from the one they
were docked at, he could see kids’ toys in the yard and recent gardening
projects in progress.
don’t leave town for the winter. If you need something from Dallas, go ask him
yourself. Not to mention, Sal, this is supposed to be a test drive, not a
chance for you to run err--”
about whatever he was going to say as his mind processed the fact that Sal now
pointed a pistol at his chest.
UPDATE, 5/20/12: Now the first 12 chapters of BLOOD HARBOR are available for preview here: