"What a fantastic collection of short stories. They are slightly off beat and quirky - just my sort of thing. D.K. Cassidy has a great way of showing us a sneak peek through the cracks of some pretty interesting minds. This is a real page turner.
The stories were unsettling and mysterious but I couldn’t put the book down. Some stories are sad like Octopus, for example, and others like, Spilt Milk, resound of justice mixed with dread and pain. I jumped from one story to the other - I am looking forward to the next collection."
A small snippet not to be found for free viewing on Amazon. Arthur must find the sword. The fate of Avalon rests on this. Kiri Ung must find Arthur or risk the existence of his species.
#arthurian #Merlin #Excalibur #Avalon #inhumans
Kiri Ung surveyed the distribution of deactivated wrist bands from his ship view-screen. Forty dead Terrans on the surface—a scene of carnage. He barked out an order to hover.
“Queen’s Mate, we must refuel,” the sky pilot pleaded.
“Hover, mark location and instigate a thermal scan with a five terraclick area.” He sensed the hostility level rising from the crew’s masked thought patterns. This find outranked their hunger. He needed answers. “Proceed to High Fort once you have the data. We will return at first light.”
“Your will, Queen’s Mate.” The pilot turned back to his instruments, his extended claws clicking on the controls.
“Shall I load the carrion, Queen’s Mate?” The navigator’s paws hovered over the scoop collectors.
“What is your name?” Kiri Ung swiveled in his seat to inspect the instigator of an independent thought.
“Na Pan, Queen’s Mate.” The male seemed to be trying to shrivel into his station.
“Not tonight, Na Pan. We dine on juvenile flesh still throbbing with life.” Kiri Ung observed a certain return of confidence. He made a mental note to elevate this male. “The carrion could prove enticing bait.”
Na Pan ran his tongue over his tusk bases. “The quarry?”
“State your logic for this conclusion?” One to mark, indeed.
“Our renegade prey is on foot. They will need riding beasts if any remain alive ... also supplies.” The male paused, looking almost blind for a moment. “Black bands always seem to know the location of carrion.”
“Do you prefer male or female meat?” Kiri Ung set his reward at a value to distance Na Pan from shipmates.
I adore the main character in this short story. Angelica Mason is a strong willed, well-educated woman. She decides to give up a high power position to pursue love. Not many people are brave enough to make such a choice.
The man of her dreams is her high school sweetheart Shawn. Does she get her man? Is Angelica happy with the choices she’s made? I won’t give away what happens. You need to read this delightful romance.
Author Stephany Tullis continues to write wonderful books. This is the third one of hers I’ve read. I can’t wait to see what she comes up with next!
#shortstory #romance #fashionista #5stars
THE TAINTED TRUST
(VOLUME TWO OF THE KING TRILOGY)
“Outstanding, can't wait to read your next book!”
“The deeper I got into the book and the characters, the more I was hooked”
“An excellent job with both plot and character development”
“Wow! I just finished The Tainted Trust and wrote my review on Amazon. LOVED it! I think it was even better than the first”
New York. April 23, 1980.
Louis Visconti was a happy man. Alone at his massive glass topped desk on the fifty-sixth floor of the south tower of The World Trade Center, he stared pensively in the direction of the window, refusing to allow his steely gray eyes to focus on anything. He reflected on his considerable achievements. Thirty-three years of age, ten years out of Harvard Business School, and already a multimillionaire, he figured his income for the year would be between two and three million, his lofty projection based on annualizing outstanding results of the first half of the year.
His personal spending had increased in proportion to his considerable investment successes. With every reason to believe the cash flow would continue forever, there was no need to save. The cost of most anything he wanted was irrelevant. Image and profile were everything. When he threw a party, his only concern was how lavish he could make it. No expense was spared to make certain it was more ostentatious than any he had attended. There were women in his life, but only one of his relationships had ever reached critical mass, the price of love and commitment refusing to allow that threshold to be breached. Money was his real lover, possessions and power his consuming passions.
Finally realizing his dream of becoming one of the most important figures in New York's financial community, his picture had not only appeared in the Wall Street Journal and Barron's, but also in the financial sections of most important newspapers in the industrialized world. His brilliant and phenomenal investment record had become legendary. He was the man, in demand. Movers and shakers stumbled over one another to be and seen in his company. His schedule had become so tight that he was compelled to turn down numerous invitations to speak at luncheons, dinners and conventions in North America, Europe and Asia.
His brief experience with marriage was an unmitigated disaster, fortunately ending before wealth and children. He was strikingly handsome and extremely eligible, the only child of near penniless Italian immigrants who had fled to the United States in late 1946. He frequently boasted about the source of his survival instincts by claiming that both he and his mother had narrowly escaped death when she gave birth to him within minutes of her arrival at Ellis Island.
Blessed with a brilliant mind and fanatical ambition, he had scratched and clawed his way through public and high schools in Queens. Hustling, working and studying hard eventually earned him a near full ticket scholarship at Harvard Business School. His lucky break was to have been offered a full partnership with his two friends and former classmates, Jerry Mara and Allen Griesdorf. Seven years earlier, the three had taken an enormous gamble when they quit the relative security of their jobs as account executives with Green, Waltrum, a large and extremely prestigious Wall Street investment banking firm. With the horsepower of youthful courage and a boatload of borrowed money, they boldly formed their own company.
Mara, Griesdorf and Visconti grew quickly. The partners took a pass on ordinary money. They romanced and managed only wealthy money in a single investment fund. From the very beginning they had set an unrelenting minimum per account of five hundred thousand dollars. By investing the bulk of the fat portfolios in tangible assets during the highly inflationary seventies, they had enriched their clients and achieved personal success beyond their wildest dreams.
As word of the company’s brilliant investment techniques and incredible track record spread, more clients came, anxious to receive the twenty-plus percent annual return others had enjoyed for five consecutive years. Now that the partners were managing over a billion dollars, the fund had become unwieldy. Closing it and refusing further entry was now well within the partners’ contemplation.
Visconti displayed a lecherous smirk as he watched Susan, his secretary, a shapely twenty-eight year old brunette, enter his office.
“I have a call for you on line eight,” she announced with a fetching smile, then placed a black coffee mug on Visconti’s desk.
“Who is it?” Visconti asked, refusing to shift his stare from Susan’s tantalizing breasts.
“Alfred Schnieder. He’s calling again from Caracas...You know him?”
Visconti nodded. “One of the old-time banking farts. Been around since Methuselah was a teen-ager.”
“Want me to tell him you're busy?”
Visconti took a micro sip of his coffee, then shook his head. “Nope. I’ll take it. Thanks for the coffee.” He lifted his receiver, then forced a smile. “Alfred, thanks for calling. What’s shaking?”
“I have clients for you.”
Visconti tightened his lips and rolled his eyes skyward. “Don’t do me any favors. I need more clients like I need another wife.”
“But these are not ordinary clients.”
“What makes them different?”
“Over three hundred million reasons.”
Visconti bolted upright and immediately began to salivate. “How much?” he shouted.
“I believe you heard me the first time.”
“Who are they? You said clients.”
“I had the distinct impression you had no interest.”
"Well suddenly I do. Who are they?”
“The ownership is quite complex. I’m compelled to tell you it’s hot money.”
“If it’s In God We Trust, I don’t give a shit what the temperature is.”
Schnieder chuckled. “Am I to assume you’re interested?”
“That’s a gigantic understatement! Jesus, Alfred, who the hell are these people?”
“Shortly, you will receive a telephone call from a man named Mike King. He will arrange a meeting with you to determine your qualifications to manage that vast sum of money.”
“Is he one of the clients?”
“Yes. His wife was married to the man who accumulated the money. Currently, it’s under my care and control, but the wretched calendar never lies. Soon I will be too old to continue the responsibility. That is the primary reason I have referred you to Mike King. If he approves of you, I will make the necessary arrangements to transfer the responsibility to you.”
“What’s your fee?”
“One percent on the capital, and ten percent of real annual gains in excess of ten percent.”
“Visconti completed a quick mental calculation and salivated more. He wondered however, why Schnieder had chosen him. “Why me, Alfred?” he asked.
“Elementary, my friend. You are the most qualified,” Schnieder conceded, well aware of Visconti's larcenous tendencies.
“Cut the bullshit! What’s in it for you? I know you're not doing this for the good of your health.”
“As perceptive as ever, Louis...I want my retirement to be as comfortable as possible. If King gives you the job, I plan to give you the number of my bank account in Geneva. Then before we complete the transfer of responsibility, I will expect to see the balance increased by five million.”
“I’m sure you will. Maybe you can tell me where the hell I'm going to get five big ones.”
“From the trust, my friend. Your first assignment will be to arrange five million of transitional slippage. Of course it will have to be replaced with first proceeds...Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Exquisite,” Visconti declared, chuckling at the irony of Schnieder’s proposition. Five million dollars would be removed from the trust during the transfer, wired to Schnieder’s Swiss account, then replaced with future income in the trust. Subsequently, the accounting would be cooked to hide the removal. “You need me to help you to steal five million dollars of stolen money.”
“Precisely, my friend. I prefer to think of it as an interest free loan, to be used for the balance of my useful life... I expect King will call you very soon. When he does, you must be prepared to romance him.”
“I’ll be ready. You can bank on it.”
“Good pun...One final word of advice. Beware of interest rates. They are heading north.”
“When and how far north?”
“Soon. Bankers are living in fear of Paul Volcker's intentions. They’re convinced he’s serious about killing inflation. They think he’ll raise Prime to twenty percent, perhaps higher. With twelve percent inflation in the United States, you can draw your own conclusions. Real rates must climb well above historic norms to break inflationary psychology. You know that.”
“Thanks again, Alfred. I’m gonna start liquidating. I’ll talk to you soon.”
THE TAINTED TRUST
#crime #romance #fiction #crudeoil #commodities
After reading it, check out the link underneath; it may be another indie author avenue you haven't explored yet - and happy Tuesday !
""Wood, Talc and Mr. J" is an unusual book both in the humble yet thought-provoking way it explores life, and the beauty of its writing. There are far few books of this quality published at any time. Don't miss this one, by a talented writer named Chris Rose whose work I had never previously explored.
The story is deceptively straight-forward on its surface: Phillip lives life simply, but with passion; he sees his world as a series of binary choices: up, down; yes, no; us,them; black or white. He does his disco ‘thing’ in a club voted ‘The Greatest Disco in the World’ by Time Magazine. But disco is hardly enough, or rather his parody of the life he doesn't live. Living for the weekend is all he has: his workaday week in an industrial town is numbing.
We see his world through his eyes, and suffer quietly with this man embarked upon an empty life full of loss and more loss of everything that makes us human -- not only loved ones, but love of self, self respect, and accomplishment. Strutting in a dance floor is making things worse, not better... And his dreams... his dreams are where the magic of his life hides.
This book reminds me of the best fiction of the 1950s and early sixties, when the meaning of life was the only quest that mattered. In it, you'll see and experience things you never thought about, things you should think about.
Read this book about honesty and compassion and misery and transcendence."
#wigancasino #northernsoul #literature #subculture #subcultureuk #mods #music #motown #politics #romance #comingofage #love #loss #heartbreak #humour #historicalfiction #parody
No, seriously, the chaps at the ship-yard used to use me to push the things into the water.
A little background on Ian Hutson and a sampling of his books.... details of the "more" variety may be found here http://runningduck.com/?page_id=3141
Father was a deep-sea fisherman morphed, incredibly, into one of |Her Majesty's electronic warfare experts for the Cold War, and spent his working days listening in to and frustrating the mainland Chinese and those pesky Russians. Mother was a socialite all-rounder, something scary with braid on her cuffs in the Civil Defence and could make a comfortable home pop out of a packing crate in eight seconds or less.
A childhood spanning the globe from the Isle of Lewis in the Scottish Outer Hebrides to Hong Kong and, fortunately, back again also included a year living IN a family friend's public zoo (I kid you not - home was through the turnstiles, past the monkey house...). Initially spoke only Cantonese as a young brat but now sports a passing knowledge of the English language. Followed pater into the British Civil Service (got thrown out), then worked for several corporations (got thrown out) and then ran several business (went spectacularly bankrupt and ended in County Court smiling at a Judge while the companies were struck off at Companies House). Syphoned all but a teaspoonful of petrol out of his car before the Official Receivers' chaps in warehouse coats came to drive it and all other valuables away to auction... (yes, they do do that).
Hutson the chap now lives by guttering candlelight in a hedgerow in rural Lincolnshire as a happy peacenik vegan hippie drop-out, darning old socks and living on fresh air and a sense of the ridiculous. There is a lot of ridiculous on this planet.
Will soon be moving onto the waterways and backwaters of England in a vessel equipped with torpedo tubes and depth-charge launchers.
Current offerings in the book line are of the #brit #scifi with #laughs genre (yes, there is one such), sporting titles like "NGLND XPX" and "The Cat Wore Electric Goggles". Future offerings during the 2015 season will include "The Dog With The Bakelite Nose" and "More Apocalypse, Vicar?"
Details and books here: http://runningduck.com/?page_id=3141
Tagged - as in the Universal Tagging Program. No one may buy or sell without the new chip implanted beneath the skin.
They own the night. These zombies are a new breed and fast; hair like women; teeth like lions and sharp claws. They hunt in overwhelmingly large packs like a plague of locusts. The government and military are overrun, retreating underground and leaving the populace to fend for themselves.
Lucky for Sven and his Cannabis growing crew they find shelter in a nuclear power plant. The lights keep them at bay - at least for a while. But how long will it last?
In the lawless environment they survive by their own code until the Government and military return to establish a new world order.
Fast, deadly zombies and end times biblical prophecy meet in this compelling new look at the apocalypse.
#fastzombies #infected #t4us #asmsg #iartg #postapocalyptic #Apocalypse #cannabis #weed #horror #Paranormal #gore #scary #dystopia #undead #dark #zombies #wtshtf #kobo #ebook #ibooks #nook #smashwords #Kindle #booklove
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