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                                          KEMOSABE 2
                          THE LONE RANGER RIDES AGAIN

After the horrific events of Bryant’s Gap, the Lone Ranger has forsworn family and, along with his faithful Indian companion Tonto, dedicated himself to bringing the majesty of the law as well as civilized behavior to the West. A murderous bank robber and the deadly Black Star organization, the pillaging of a church, a broken-down gunfighter, and a murder suspect with a perfect alibi challenge the mettle of the Lone Ranger. Come along for adventure as The Lone Ranger Rides Again.

                                      LANYON FOR HIRE
                                             Volume 7


Lanyon, everyone's favorite interplanetary gun-for-hire, is back in three exciting adventures.
Assassinations, kidnapping, and a diabolical plot set off by a former friend. Lanyon will need to be at the top of his game to come out of this alive. 

Lanyon is thrown into the chaos of multiple government assassinations. He must find the killers before the assassins turn their attention toward him.
Reviewed by Long and Short Review:
                           THE STORY OF THE LONE RANGER

The Story of the Lone Ranger begins at the beginning. Six Texas Rangers enter Bryant’s Gap in pursuit of the Butch Cavendish gang. The gang ambushes them, and only one Ranger survives. Read new details of his meeting with Tonto. Learn how he acquired his name, his horse Silver, his silver bullets, and the reason for his mask. The Lone Ranger vows to down the five members of the Cavendish gang who murdered his brother as well as the other four Rangers. As he and Tonto chase down the gang members one by one, they encounter many other adventures. They assist a young man wrongly accused of being a member of the Cavendish gang and come to the aid of a close friend of the Ranger’s, Jim Faraday, saving Jim and his silver mine from two bushwhackers intent on robbery. They deal with an Indian uprising, the kidnapping of a young woman, the lynching of a former slave, and a dishonest banker foreclosing a mortgage, where the Lone Ranger employs a card trick to resolve the situation. The Ranger’s final confrontation with Butch Cavendish has them both returning to Bryant’s Gap where, again, there will be but one survivor.
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A man buried alive; the extinction of a gloried species; the mingling of interstellar races; a mysterious amulet; a fearful child; an animal-loving old hag; the assassination of the Almighty. 21 stories of horror, mystery, fantasy, and science fiction certain to raise the hairs on your neck.

The Brunton Hag
The Amulet
The Small Voice
The Phantom Child
When the Guest Arrives
Only a Shadow
The Crone of Pitcairn Manor
The Burial
To the Rescue
The Best-Laid Plans
Born Again
A Day at the Circus
The Final Bullet
The Dungeon
Tabula Rasa
Henny and Lloyd’s First Case
Murder at the American Club
Belling the Cat




Lanyon For Hire: No job is too tough to solve, no matter how many people get hurt.

They say most murders occur within families. Lanyon finds out how true that is as he steps into three family feuds that turn deadly quickly.




Lanyon awoke in the dark, flat on his back. A wave of panic rippled through him as he gathered his wits and recalled the night before. When his eyes adjusted to the surroundings, the darkness, as well as his alarm, receded, but not by much. A thin shaft of cold, white light leaked under the door of the windowless shack where the Malcosians had left him. Both small moons of Malcosia punctuated the night sky, one full, the other nearly so, and provided the meager illumination.

When he rolled onto his side, his right hip, stung by a burst of energy from a Malcosian pistol, barked in pain. He ran his hand along his belt. His rator was gone. He hoped the Malcosians hadn’t found the other rator hidden in his right boot heel or the pocketmailer in his left book heel. If they’d taken those…

He inhaled deeply to test the tenderness of his side. Annoying, but manageable. He struggled to his knees and then to his feet. After bouncing a few times to test his balance and his hip, Lanyon checked the door. Locked, of course. He felt for the two Argonian weapons—thin, blue tubes which spat hot energy—which he kept in specially designed leather sheaths on the back of his boots. Gone. The rator he hoped was still in his boot heel could not blast through the locked door. Rators affected only living flesh, and not in a good way.

He went to a knee and twisted the heel of his right boot. Relieved, he extracted his rator and set it to low stun—enough energy to render a person unconscious for an hour. Then he groped his way to the back wall of the shack. His right hip throbbed, so he sat and positioned himself to alleviate the ache. With his rator nestled in the palm of his right hand, he needed only to be patient.


Brownie Terwilliger looks at his opportunity to run for mayor of Philadelphia as a chance to right the wrongs of a city. He hopes to oust Milton Streezo, the incumbent, but Streezo does not take kindly to this challenge and concocts a plan to destroy Brownie, even hiring Lunky Ledbetter, famed perpetrator of dirty political tricks. Can Brownie withstand the onslaught? Will he have the opportunity to do some good in the world? Don’t bet on it.


             Brownie’s heart leapt into his throat when his receptionist announced Ivan Puma. He rose from his desk and waited.
When the office door opened, he walked around his desk, hand extended, to offer Ivan a hearty greeting. Ivan stopped his approach with a frigid glare.
          “Sit back down,” Ivan said.
            Brownie had to think back to elementary school to recall being the target of such mind shattering and abrupt dismissal. He went back behind his desk and sat. Ivan moved into a chair facing Brownie.
            “The first rule of politics…politics among allies…is: No Surprises. I see you have a website.”
            “I didn’t put it there. I don’t know who did. I saw it. It was a surprise to me.”
            “When did you see it?”
            “What day is today?”
            “Did this week have a Monday in it?”
            “Why didn’t you use it to let me know what was going on?”
            “Well, well. I…I didn’t know what was going on myself.”
            “There’s a Facebook page, too. You see that?”
            Ivan spread his hands. “Same questions. The mayor knows about the sites. I just came from his office where he tore me a new one. He accused me of betrayal, disloyalty, and god knows what. You heard about Julius Caesar and Brutus in all those college degrees you got?”
            “I have.”
            “So’s the mayor. Which one of those two guys you think he called me?”
            “Brutus probably.”
            “Yeah, probably. I’ve never been talked to like that; never been accused like he accused me.”
            Ivan’s tirade shredded Brownie’s stomach. The pain, the discomfort, the agita, would never go away. Never. The look on Ivan’s face was like a knife going through him. Ivan got out of his chair and paced. Brownie’s eyes followed him back and forth. Ivan stopped abruptly and faced Brownie.
            “You got any other surprises you might want to let me know about?”
            “Uh, well…maybe one.” Brownie described his previous night’s meeting in detail. He concluded, “I think it’s worth the compromise. And they are the right people, aren’t they?”
            Ivan played his part and walked the floor again. Finally, he said, “You really think you can run successfully in ’19 and knock that son-of-a-bitch off?”
            Brownie sensed forgiveness. “I can if I have your help. I’ll need you every step of the way and for the eight years afterward. Right by my side. A seat at the table.”                                   
            “I see.” Ivan paced some more. At last, he sat back down. “You’ll have to do everything I tell you. I don’t want to get into this thing and do it half way. We’re in, we’re all the way in. You know the saying. You can’t wound the king, you gotta kill him. And no more surprises. I gotta know everything.”
            “Absolutely. I promise.”
           Ivan rose and extended his hand across the desk. Brownie jumped up and grasped it.




Henny and Lloyd, age mid-twenties, have completed their online course in private detecting and are now licensed PIs. They’ve found an office on Centre Street in downtown NYC, a rundown apartment each in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and set out to make their dreams of crime-fighting come true. Henny especially loves the noir 1940s crime era and dresses the part. Double-breasted suits, fedora, toothpicks replacing the more lethal cigarettes of the era. Lloyd is equally dedicated, if less flamboyant. Attaining his current situation is especially gratifying to Lloyd since he had little encouragement from his family. When he told his father he planned to become a dick, his father replied that the only way he’d become a dick was if he changed his name to Richard. Lloyd was thankful the comment wasn’t any worse. Enjoy their first six cases as they set out to tackle crime in New York City.

                                              LANYON FOR HIRE VOLUME 5


Lanyon takes on the job of recovering a shipment of rators, weapons imported from Earth, which have gone missing from the spaceport. A not-so-merry chase begins as Lanyon has trouble detecting the true trail to follow from the false. Jophena, his 12-year-old friend from Selenia, tags along and the complications multiply. The Malcosian Over-minister then hires Lanyon to track down his daughter Meihon again, but Tellurians will have something to say about whether Meihon gets back home or not, and Lanyon soon regrets his decision to take on the assignment.



                                ROBERTSON'S RULES OF DOMESTIC ORDER

           A Field Guide for Men Who Need to Know How to Live With Women

     Trevor Robertson has written a breakthrough book, a field guide for men who need to know how to live with women. This book is not a guide to accumulating women. It will not help you bed a woman. It will not help you snare the woman of your dreams. Instead, what you hold in your hands is a survival kit, which will help link your expectations with reality and allow you to better navigate the shoal waters of your relationship with the woman of your choice.
     This book will enable you to survive and perhaps even prosper in the domestic arena in which we men find ourselves thrown. This book will provide hope in your darkest days. It will show you how to succeed in a situation where the balance of power is against you. If you are a man who can’t live without women, this book will show you how to live with them. Most of all, it is important for men to realize: You Are Not Alone.


                            FROM OUT THE SHADOWED NIGHT


How far would you go to achieve revenge? Brian Martin committed an unspeakable crime and managed to escape responsibility for his act. Now, sixteen years later, not only do the effects of his crime rise up out of the past, but something much more deadly begins to haunt him as well.

EXCERPT:  “Alison,” he whispered but caught himself.  He felt the kneeler vibrate as a portly woman knelt beside him.  Brian’s heart pounded.  He could not turn his face away from the beautiful young girl.  More of those damned flowers were clasped in her hands.  Her long brown hair lay neatly against the pink satin pillow.  They’d dressed her in gentle yellow.  Brian studied her face.  Perfect.  As she had been.  A voice, angry and repentant, screamed in his head.  Get up, Alison!  Brian’s breath came in short bursts.  Get up!  I’m sorry.  Don’t be so still.  The kneeler trembled again as an older man replaced the portly woman, and Brian realized he’d been kneeling too long.  He rose.  He’d seen enough.  He’d seen what his selfishness and stupidity had caused.

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                                      PRAYER PREYER        


Fifty years of obstacles have kept Jerry Curtis from locating Father Lockhart. Now, he’s found the priest and is determined to take his revenge for the crime committed against him all those years ago.

EXCERPT:  A tall, bulky man in dark clothing stood at the end of the pedestrian bridge spanning the Roosevelt Boulevard underpass and studied Blessed Sacrament Elementary School on the opposite side of the street. In front of the school stood a large sign bragging about how much money the school saved taxpayers yearly by educating children off the public payroll. The man wondered why the sign didn’t include how much the city got robbed by the loss of real estate taxes from the waste of such a large property. Over five decades ago, when he was little Jerry Curtis, he’d crossed this bridge every weekday on his way to school; crossed it every Sunday on his way to nine-o’clock Mass; crossed it now and then on his way to visit school friends; and crossed it far too many times on his way to visit Father Lockhart. He crossed it of late to circle the block taken up by this parochial stone monster and look for weak points. School; convent behind it; rectory tucked into the grounds on the right—how often he’d been there; and double-decker churches on the far right edge of the property. Lush grass, grand trees, and a spacious schoolyard in back filled out the immense block. The view hadn’t changed much except for the iron rail fence surrounding the entire property. A half century before a welcoming air exuded from the buildings—all of them. Now they needed protection. Or perhaps the outside world received the protection. If the purpose of the fence was to keep the world away, it would fail. Jerry’d found the weak spot he’d sought in a dark area near the schoolyard where a cement block brought the top of the fence three feet nearer. Old as he was, sick as he was, he could scale the fence if the need arose.

            Once back in circulation, he’d located Father Lockhart through Facebook. Blessed Sacrament parish had its own page. Jerry joined the page and took to praising the priest he loathed. He expressed his hope the priest still lived, saying he hoped to visit him and repay him for everything he’d done. Jerry enjoyed using the word “repay.”

            A response from someone named Kaitlin said the priest could be reached at Our Lady of the Angels Home, a New Jersey retirement community for priests. When Jerry called Our Lady of the Angels, the person who answered said she’d never heard of a Father Lockhart. Jerry posted his disappointment on Facebook, and two weeks later a different respondent, Helen C, claimed Father Lockhart had returned to his first parish, Blessed Sacrament in Philadelphia. Searching the church’s website finally brought certainty. Jerry found the roster of priests assigned to conduct Sunday masses. A chill crept up Jerry’s back as he read the schedule. Seven o’clock mass—Father Lockhart.  Jerry attended the service, and there stood Father Lockhart in his priestly robes, easily recognizable even under the mask of fifty-plus years of aging. First thing the next day, Jerry visited a real estate agent, and soon his walks around the property began.

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                         LANYON FOR HIRE: The Complete Series
                                          Four Novels                                                 


Lanyon wore out his welcome on both Hobson’s Planet and Catonia, the first two planets discovered by Earth, after some harrowing adventures. He now travels the second planetary system discovered by Earth, hiring himself out to people in need of his services and special skill-set. His pocketmailer message to the planets: LANYON, FOR HIRE: WITH RATOR.

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                                     A SPIDER STEEPED

                               Volume 4, The Shakespeare Murders

Mark Louis and Kristy King become involved with murder when they visit Erin Blakely, a college friend of Kristy's whom she hasn't seen in half-a-dozen years. During their visit, Erin's husband Pete is murdered just as Jeremy, an old college boyfriend of Erin's, shows up, newly released from prison and claiming he is the father of Erin's daughter Raven. Erin vehemently denies Jeremy's paternity, accusing him of murdering her husband. Erin moves to New York, and Mark invites her to join the AWB Theatre Company. The accusation against Jeremy doesn't stick, and he follows Erin and Raven to New York. Hoping to uncover the truth about Erin's tangled life, Mark and Kristy decide to investigate four men from Erin's past and present-her two college boyfriends, one of whom has fathered her daughter Raven, her late husband Pete, and Bob Collins, a new acquaintance from New York.


Excerpt:    They ordered and dined and chatted until, at eight-thirty, Erin said, “I don’t understand what happened to him.” She poured herself the final half-glass of wine, emptying the second bottle she’d ordered for the table. 
            “Here, call home again,” Kristy said. “He must be someplace.”
            Erin took Kristy’s phone and punched in the number. “Hello, yes. Who is this? I’m Mrs. Blakely. At a nearby restaurant.” She listened and a look of panic leaped into her eyes. “Yes,” she mumbled into the phone, and her hand sank to the tabletop. With a look of dazed disbelief she lifted her eyes to Mark and Kristy.
            “Erin, what is it?” Kristy asked.
            “Some kind of accident. A police officer answered the phone. Pete… Pete’s… I don’t know. We have to go.”    
           Mark paid the bill and hurried to the car. The scene at Erin’s house was unsettling. Two police cars with flashing lights sat in her driveway, and the lights burned inside her house. Two uniformed police officers prowled the sides of the house, flashlights in hand, scouring the ground. They looked up when Erin’s car caught them in its headlights. One of the officers approached.

                                           BARNES AND NOBLE: 

                                     TO PROVE A VILLAIN

                             VOLUME 3, THE SHAKESPEARE MURDERS 

Kristy King, 26-year-old actress and member of New York City’s AWB Theatre Company, barely misses being struck by a hit-and-run driver while on a visit home to Brunton, Pennsylvania.  A week later, her brother is killed by a hit-and-run driver.  She relies on her lover and fellow actor, Mark Louis, to help get her through the terrible loss.  In the process, Mark learns more about Kristy’s past than he ever wanted to know.  An old beau of Kristy’s, Richard Sutor, enters the mix.  Mark begins to suspect that all is not what it seems in Kristy’s hometown.  His off-the-books investigation alienates both Kristy and her mother.  Kristy moves out of his apartment, angered by his insinuations and the intrusion into her family’s private life.  Can Mark convince Kristy that his suspicions are worth following up?  Is he even certain himself that he hasn’t caused a lot of unnecessary turmoil?  The final family secret of all, though, gives Mark a shock he will never forget.  

EXCERPT:   “I don’t know if I can ask her or not. It’s a subject we’ve steered clear of by mutual consent recently.”
            Moriarty slid into sarcasm. “You ain’t got this mutual consent thing with the mother, right? Ask her how quick Richard could get money outta the company if she dropped dead.”
“That will be awkward.”
            “For Christ sake. It’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question, don’t you think? Your lady friend’s right there. Ask her. She’ll forgive you.”
            Mark felt his soul plummet.
            “I know what you’re thinking. She’ll be mad at you. Forbidden topic blah blah. Look, either you find out or, maybe, the next step is I arrest this guy after he murders your girlfriend’s mother or arrest somebody else for murdering him. See how much your girlfriend likes you if you let that happen. Even more awkward, you think? Maybe worth her getting mad at you?” Moriarty said.
            “I see your point.”
            “What’s your schedule today?”
            “We’re going to the theatre around eleven.”
            “Listen, if you can’t ask your lady friend, then you got to get away and talk to her mother. Ain’t no two ways about it.”
            “Jesus, nothing’s easy, is it? I’m glad I only have a small role tonight to worry about.”
            “You gotta a bigger role this afternoon. Star of the show.”
            “Or may I’ll be seeing stars.”
            “You get back to me by six the latest. If I don’t hear from you, I’m coming to the theatre.”
            “I’ll look forward to seeing you.”
            “The hell you will.” Moriarty hung up.

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                                      LANYON FOR HIRE, Volume 4


         What Lanyon hopes will be a simple trip to transport a prisoner who has been giving the Malcosian government trouble ends up in a deadly game of hide-and-seek after his scout cruiser is forced to crash land by the prisoner’s allies.  Help comes from two very unlikely sources, but will their help be enough to get Lanyon out of some of the deepest trouble he has yet encountered?  In the midst of his own problems, the life of Jophena, Lanyon’s 12-year-old Selenian friend, hangs by a thread at the mercy of Tellurians.  Can Lanyon hold his own problems at bay long enough to get Jophena to safe ground? 


     Lanyon muttered a curse. If he could maneuver the other ship behind him, he might be able to win the race, but suddenly, a second ship appeared on the screen. His wide swing to the left had allowed the second ship, coming in a straight line from the direction of Vermenia, to catch up. The first ship would not allow him to swing around in front of it. He had no other option but to make an arc to the right, try to go under the first ship, and hope for the best.

     “You seem confused,” came Turity’s voice. “The ship’s pilots are quite expert at what they do. Marksmen too.”

     Turity’s remarks sank in. Lanyon glanced at the console, and as he did, the time of intersection clicked down to twenty-one minutes. He adjusted the console to gauge the approach of the second ship. Twenty-six minutes. He had not overcome the advantage the approach angle of the two ships gave them. So he rocketed on, his eyes darting from the sky around him to the console gauge.

     Fifteen minutes later, Turity said, “They will soon fire on you. You’ve done pretty well, by my estimation, avoiding them and delaying the inevitable, but they’ll cripple your ship. I hope you’ll be able to land it safely. At that task, I wish you success. I’m going to lie down and hold on.”

     “If you don’t shut up…”

     The ship rocked. The shot had come from the first ship, now within visual range. Lanyon altered direction, looking for a change in any gauge foretelling disaster. He descended but still rocketed ahead. A comet-tail of light slashed across his path. A miss. Lanyon had no destination now, simply escape.

     The ship rocked again. The second ship had come in range and fired. Lanyon tried to ascend, but the cruiser would not respond. His stomach catapulted. He tried again, but the ship remained reluctant. His altitude remained steady, at least. He zigged and zagged.

     The third shot ended it. He could no longer maintain altitude, and a safe landing was his only hope. He needed a patch of open ground free from the outcroppings of rock dotting the plain. There were few, and at his current speed, hitting one of those outcroppings would be lethal. He did all he could to reduce speed, and when the belly of the cruiser struck the ground, the noise of metal being torn apart had him hoping he would survive. The ship began to spin. It flipped over once, and the seat belt slashed into him as it fought the force of the spin. More noise of metal tearing, and as the cruiser continued to slide and break apart, Lanyon glimpsed a cluster of rocks ahead.

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                                                  A DYING FALL

                                  THE SHAKESPEARE MURDERS: VOLUME 2


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    When the AWB Theatre troupe accepts an invitation to perform on the tropical island of Illyria, they get more than they bargained for.  Sudden death.  Mark Louis, company member and amateur detective, suspects murder.  The actors, however, must return home to New York, forcing Mark to conduct his investigation a thousand miles from the crime.       


     A squatter, grimier than most, shuffled along the tree-lined dirt road. A bicycle rolled by him, but he ignored it, staring instead at a woman, another squatter, bucket in each hand, who approached along the road, heading for the nearby spring. He decided she would be the one.

    The woman approached a triangle of golden light filtering through the trees. As she stepped into the light, the man moved to her side of the road. She looked his way and smiled. The smile startled the man, and he paused as the woman passed back into shadow. His surprise had allowed the woman to pass by unharmed, and it angered him. He continued to walk, looking for the next one.

     Another bicycle, this one coming toward him, roiled up the dust of the road, and he averted his face. When he turned back, he saw another woman approaching. She carried nothing, perhaps heading to the marketplace for some early shopping. He kept his eyes averted until she was just steps away. He quickly surveyed the road. They were alone. He pulled out the sharp butcher knife he had brought with him from home and pressed it tightly against his right leg. The woman came even with him, and as she stepped past, he threw his left arm around the shocked woman, pulling her head back and exposing her brown neck. He drew the knife across her flesh. Blood spurted, and the woman crumpled.

     The man looked up and down the empty road. With a swing of his leg, he pushed the woman's body over the edge of the dirt road. It rolled down the hill until it stopped, its legs entangled in undergrowth. He turned and hurried away. It had been easy.

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                               LANYON FOR HIRE, VOLUME 3:  VENGEANCE


           Follow Lanyon as he attacks a planet-wide drug ring; joins up with his twelve-year-old Selenian friend Jophena to rescue a team of scientists from Tellurian marauders; and seeks vengeance on those responsible for the death of Honna, his Malcosian lover.


           “Sit, Lanyon,” Jetsut ordered, and he took the other chair against the wall.  “Didn’t you think I knew an Earthman was looking for me?  Didn’t you think any Earthman who showed up in this part of the city would be suspect?  Not very smart, are you?”
           “Not very.  Where’s Pentry?”
            “Never mind Pentry.  I’m sure he’d like to be here, but he’s busy.  No, wait.  I’ll let him know.”  Jetsut took out his pocketmailer and, eyes darting down at the pocketmailer and then back up at Lanyon, he sent a message.  “I told him I caught you with another Malcosian woman.  You don’t learn, do you?”
            “Are you going to hurt the woman I was with?”
            “Of course not.  She’s earning planetcredits dealing with scum like you.  Your girlfriend, what was her name?  Ah, yes.  Honna.  She chose to associate with you.  Disgusting, don’t you think?  Ah, a reply.”
            Jetsut’s eyes darted up and down again.  He chuckled.
            “Pentry wants me to tell you good-bye.  But only after I remind you how much we enjoyed Honna’s company… ”
            Lanyon sprang from his chair and dove toward the table




    Mayhem and mix-ups follow Bruno Brunotaglia's murder of a hit man sent after him by a rival mob. Panic stricken, Bruno leaves behind a briefcase of money and an important notebook. Two down-and-out friends find the briefcase and notebook, and Bruno needs them back before his father, head of the Philly mob, blows a gasket. Will Richard get to keep the briefcase of money he found with Strangler and the Indian hard on his trail? Can Clarence make hay from the information in the notebook? It's a battle of half-wits in this deadly game of hide and seek.


            “What do you mean you shot somebody and there’s a problem with the money?  What the hell happened out there?”  
            Anthony’s face was as red as Carlo had ever seen it, and he’d witnessed any number of red-faced conversations between father and son.  He slipped his hand into his pocket and clutched his cell, ready to dial 911 for medical help if necessary.
            “I couldn’t help it, Pop.  The guy they sent tried to whack me off.”
            “What?” Bruno screamed.  “Tried to whack you off!  What kinda disgusting perverts The Fat Man got over there?”
            “Yeah, Pop.  He wanted to whack me off, so I had to whack him off first.”
            Anthony leaped up, slammed his palms onto his desk, and stared at his son in wide-eyed horror.  How well did he really know his boy?
            “You whacked him off?”
            Carlo took out his cell phone put his thumb on the 9.
            “What the hell were you two sex-freak nut cases doing in that cemetery trying to whack each other off?  Oh, oh, oh.”  Anthony slapped his right palm to his chest and took deep breaths.
Carlo interrupted.  “Bruno, Bruno.  Look, either he tried to whack you or he tried to off you.  I don’t think you mean he tried to whack you off.”  He made a hand gesture.
            “Huh?  What?  No, of course not.  What you think I am?  He tried to shoot me.  I had to shoot him.  I didn’t shoot him, I wouldn’t be here right now.”
            Carlo gave Anthony a “see-it’s-not-so-bad” look and held out a calming hand.
           Anthony rolled his neck and took deep breaths for a good fifteen seconds as Bruno stared at him.

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                                        OLIVER MUNCING, EXORCIST                                     

    After a catastrophic invasion of elementals from "the other side" kills his grandfather and leaves him crippled, Oliver Muncing vows to follow in his grandfather's footsteps and dedicates his life to investigating other-worldly phenomena.

            So I left the room and took the steps three at a time. I thought of my grandfather successfully dispelling the spirits, but when I reached outside I felt helpless. My grandfather succeeded because he knew what to do. I knew nothing compared to him. My experience, my reading, had not prepared me for anything like this. I began screaming, I know not what, into the night. 
            Suddenly, an enormous peal of thunder followed by another and another crashed about me. One jagged burst of vertical lightning stood in precarious balance atop the old house. Flames shot from the roof as I watched. Dim, shadowy forms silhouetted by the brilliant flames swirled about the house. They were through! The elementals were through!

REVIEW:  Most Helpful Customer Reviews
4.0 out of 5 stars Good Reading October 28, 2013
By LAS Reviewer
Format:Kindle EditionThe problem with piercing the veil and connecting with the spirit world is that ...not all supernatural beings have good intentions, as Oliver is about to find out.

Imagine trying to prevent others from doing something they don't realize is extremely hazardous. Most of the people in Oliver's world don't realize that seeking out the spirit world is fraught with danger until they've invited something into their homes they can't control. Oliver's responses to these emergencies aren't always graceful, but seeing him leap to action to save strangers made me wish his adventures would never end. The first chapter in particular was so intense that I couldn't imagine where the author intended to take the plot once that scene ended. It was rewarding to see how quickly Oliver leaps from one case to the next as well as how he handles the elementals he meets who are not necessarily friendly beings.

This is a fast-paced, plot-centered novel that is far more concerned with how Oliver relates to the elementals than his personal development. While I was able to intuit a thought-provoking explanation for Oliver's sometimes obsessive habits it would have been nice to have my theory clearly confirmed or disproven at some point. Had the author included a few additional scenes to explore and further develop Oliver's idiosyncrasies I would have easily given this tale a Best Book rating.

The foreshadowing, atmosphere, and pacing were absolutely perfect for the sci-fi/fantasy and horror genres. Mr. Paulits knows exactly how to slowly build tension through the addition of small detail that in any other type of story could easily be brushed off as mere coincidence. I had not heard of this author before reading Oliver Muncing, Exorcist, but now that I've been introduced to him I can't wait to read his back list.

If you love supernatural horror I highly recommend checking out Oliver, Muncing, Exorcist. It's spooky atmosphere and diverse cast of otherworldly beings is an excellent tonic for anyone in the mood to be frightened.

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The director of the AWB Theatre Company, Lawrence Mickelman has alienated everyone in sight with his tyrannical manner. When his body is found in the locked theatre, a sword from Hamlet in his chest, the troupe’s owner asks Mark Louis, one of the actors, to dig a little deeper than she thinks the police will. The police investigation points toward Don Lovett, the play’s Hamlet, but Mark’s suspicions turn elsewhere. As the police prepare to arrest Don, Mark must bring the murderer out into the open before the killer strikes again.


    John Paulits has written an engaging story, and I could identify with many of the characters. The story is told from different points of view, which allows Paulits to show more dimensions to his characters. A murder in an acting company is ready-made for all sorts of intrigue, plotting, jealousies, and backstabbing. Mark Louis, the amateur detective, plays the role of Laertes, but in fact he would much rather be writing than acting, and he has just had one of his stories published in Ellery Queen Magazine. He does finally solve the mystery, with a lot of help from his friends, and the story ends well. It is refreshing to read a whodunit without a lot of blood and gore.
    Paulits has written a light-hearted cozy mystery with a nice scattering of Shakespeare, and I found it to be an enjoyable read. I can recommend it to any fans of cozy mysteries.


      Barbara shook her head in continuing disbelief. “We got here around ten and opened up the basement door.” A narrow passage with steps leading from the sidewalk down to the basement door ran alongside the theatre. The dressing rooms, a lower lobby used for intermissions, and a tiny office comprised the basement level.
     “I helped Kevin get some of the props we need for tonight out of the closet.”
     “I noticed a sword was missing,” said Kevin. “A foil, actually. I looked for it while Barbara went upstairs.”         
     Barbara picked up the story. “I started to the box office to see whether we had any messages on our machine. I came out from behind the back curtain and almost fainted. There he was, lying on an old mattress that’s been in the back since we took over the theatre. And…and this sword was sticking up out of him.”

     “She screamed,” Kevin picked up the story, “and I ran upstairs. I thought maybe some derelict got in again. There was enough light from downstairs to see who it was. I hit the stage lights, and God, so much blood. It made stains on the mattress, on him. I never saw anything like it.” 
    “We walked over to the body,” Barbara continued. “He had such a look on his face.”
     “What kind of look?” Mark asked.
     Barbara spread her hands and looked at Kevin.
     “Shock,” he explained. “Surprise. His eyes were open. It was ghastly.”


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Lanyon runs into trouble when he tries to keep a crucial memory disc out of the hands of a ruthless band of blackmailers.  If that isn’t bad enough, Jophena, an eleven-year-old Selenian girl and Lanyon’s traveling companion, turns what Lanyon expects to be a simple chore into an all out war.  Just when he thinks everything might turn out all right, the Vermenian blackmailers return to exact a vicious revenge on Lanyon.


    I found John Paulits’ descriptions of the different life-forms to be intriguing and well-thought out. I especially liked the purple skinned Argonians. The varied worlds were nicely described so that the reader could get a real feel for what they were like. The first chapter draws the reader in nicely and the first adventure is captivating. However, I had trouble staying with the story in the second chapter when Paulits introduced a lot of characters and places all with very different names but without a lot of context. Eventually I caught up and I was hooked again. Nevertheless, the action did seem to drag a bit in several places, but never enough to lose my interest. I just would have liked to have had either more pace or more depth or ideally, both.
    The individual assignments are well-connected with reappearing characters so the plot is certainly a novel rather than just three closely connected stories, and a several of the reappearing characters are well-defined and appealing. Lanyon himself is most engaging and his adventures make for a fun read. When he is landed with a precocious eleven-year-old Selenian girl as a side-kick, the action is both exciting and humorous. And Lanyon may be a gun-for-hire, but most of the villains are captured using long-acting stun weapons, keeping the violence down, which I found refreshing.

I enjoyed this book and would recommend it to any readers who enjoy fun, light, space adventures.


     “Open the door,” said the taller Malcosian.
     Lanyon placed his palm against the identicator and opened the door. The taller Malcosian pushed him up the first few steps.
     What’s this all about? Lanyon asked himself as he opened the door to his room.
“Sit,” the taller Malcosian barked.
     Lanyon sat on the edge of the bed. “Who the hell—?”
     The shorter Malcosian struck Lanyon across the face with the handle of his pistol. Lanyon tried to soften the blow by spinning to his right, but the Malcosian moved too quickly. After striking him, the Malcosian stepped next to the bed and placed the barrel of his pistol against Lanyon’s ear.
     “We’re not going to kill you,” said the taller Malcosian as the shorter one jabbed the pistol barrel sharply against Lanyon’s head. “We want you to know and tell others, especially Predamor and the over-minister, you will not return to Vermenia for any reason. If you do, we will kill you for sure. Julmon has seen enough of you.”
     The shorter Malcosian’s translator beeped three times as he barked what sounded like siksukensin, an untranslatable epithet Lanyon had never heard before, and drew back his arm to pistol whip a stunning blow across Lanyon’s cheek. Lanyon slumped onto his side on the bed.
     “We make ourselves clear, I hope,” the taller man said.
     Lanyon blinked a few times and reminded himself to breath steadily. “You do,” he mumbled and clenched his muscles when he saw the shorter Malcosian adjust his pistol and fire.

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The Buffalo Branch of the Dickens Fellowship reviews THE MYSTERY OF CHARLES DICKENS:  A TALE OF MESMERISM AND MURDER.

After receiving your e-mail I ordered your book through Barnes & Noble. I must say that the review you attached is correct and its enthusiasm well-deserved. I was especially impressed by your portraits of the last days of Dickens and of his friend John Forster. The way you have dovetailed the mesmerism/De La Rue incidents of the 1840s with THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD and Dickens' debilitations in his final months is masterful. The murder mystery plot captured both my wife's and my keen interest. And yes, it's a fine "page turner." I will certainly bring it to the attention of our members in the Buffalo Branch of the Dickens Fellowship. Congratulations on a fine work of fiction.

The Boston Branch of The Dickens Fellowship reviews THE MYSTERY OF CHARLES DICKENS:  A TALE OF MESMERISM AND MURDER

The Mystery of Charles Dickens was a page turner!!!! I was so sorry that it ended. Great character sketches drawn. There is a waiting list in The Dickens Fellowship in Boston to read this story!!! I will just tell them to wait until I get the ok from you to distribute this Dickensian master-plot!!! Su...
ch fine details expressed from the Palaces in Italy to the very wardrobe that Dickens wore. It was as if someone were following Charles and taking notes of all the goings on. A fast read and, of course, I could not put it down. 

     History records that on June 9, 1870, Charles Dickens died of a cerebral hemorrhage.  History, however, is wrong.  June 9, 1870, is the day on which Emile de la Rue murdered Charles Dickens.
     During a stay in Genoa in 1844-45, Charles Dickens, an accomplished mesmerist, used his mesmeric abilities to treat a young Englishwoman, Augusta de la Rue, attempting to cure a years' long malady of hers that included facial spasms and phantom-filled dreams.  
      During her trances she revealed to Dickens a horrible truth she had long suppressed about her husband.  Dickens, at that time, was helpless to act on the devastating admission, but twenty-five years later Emile de la Rue shows up in London, and Dickens finally seeks justice.  De La Rue cannot let this happen and stops at nothing to keep Dickens from revealing his secret.



       Charles Dickens had been unwell for some time.  Neuralgia on the left side of his face punished him with periods of utter misery.  Kidney spasms, a nemesis since childhood, prostrated him on occasion.  His left foot, often swollen and painful, made his daily twelve-mile walks a thing of the past.  His left hand had begun to disobey his commands, and the sight in his left eye caused him concern.  His public readings had caused a deterioration in his health impossible to counter, yet he bore up and continued working  on The Mystery of Edwin Drood.  He approached this book differently from his other books, however.  For one thing, it would have only twelve monthly numbers rather than his usual twenty.  In his contract for the book, he insisted on a clause detailing what monies would be returned to his publishers, Chapman and Hall, in the event he could not finish the book.  He knew completing Drood involved a race against his own mortality.
            June 6, 1870, a Monday.  Dickens rises about seven, maintaining the rigid schedule he needs to give shape and meaning to his day.  His work routine must run like clockwork or he cannot even begin his day’s writing.  It is a lovely morning in Rochester, twenty-five miles southeast of London, as Dickens takes a morning tour of his Gad’s Hill home and grounds to assure himself everything is in its place.  He breakfasts, then walks through the garden to the tunnel he has had constructed under the Rochester High Road.  The tunnel leads to a piece of property he owns, where a Swiss chalet stands.  His family calls his retreat “The Wilderness.”   
            The chalet is a small, two-story structure with an outside stairway given to him in 1864 as a Christmas gift (in fifty-eight boxes!) by Charles Fechter, a French-born actor and regular Sunday visitor to Gad’s Hill, and it is on the chalet’s second floor that Dickens writes in fair weather.  Before settling in, though, he looks over his desk to be certain everything is in its place—the goose quill pens and his blue ink; sheets of blue-gray paper 8 ¾ inches by 7 ¼ inches; the bronze statue of two toads dueling; a small china monkey; a paper knife; a gilt leaf with a rabbit on it.  These are the things his eye rests familiarly upon in moments of contemplation.  His crystal carafe of water sits at his elbow.  He sets to work.     
            Kate, his married daughter, is returning to London and, knowing her father’s distaste for farewells, originally plans to leave without seeing him.  Such a cold good-bye does not feel right on this day, however.  The night before, she had sat up late with her father, and feels uneasy at a remark he made.  In their conversation he said he hoped he would be able to finish his new book.  Hoped.  So, she makes her way through the garden tunnel to the chalet and climbs the staircase.  Instead of his usual brief farewell, her father rises and embraces her.  She leaves and Dickens returns to Edwin Drood. 
            Dickens follows his usual work schedule the next day, Tuesday.  He writes until one then lunches in the main house.  Instead of the accustomed three-hour-long walk he previously took in better days to fill up the time between his writing and dinner, he rides in a carriage to nearby Cobham Wood with his sister-in-law, Georgina Hogarth, and they take a much briefer walk. 
            The next day, the final day on which Dickens would ever write a word, he deviates from his schedule.  He writes until one, but after lunch smokes a cigar in his study, no doubt contemplating where to take the plot of his story.  Then he goes back to the chalet and writes through the afternoon until nearly five.  He throws down his quill just after Datchery, a mysterious character newly introduced to the tale, learns something which pleases him to excess.  Datchery marks a strange chalk tally on his door, orders a meal, and “falls to with an appetite.”  
            Dickens returns to the house, and though he feels ill, he writes two letters.  In one letter he promises to see his correspondent, a Charles Kent, in London the next day at three—no doubt after a morning’s work.  He writes, though, “If I can’t be—why, then I shan’t be.”
            Only he and his sister-in-law, Georgina, dine at Gad's Hill that evening.  When they come to the table, Georgina sees from his expression something is wrong.  She asks whether he is ill.  He says he is and has been for the past hour.  He dismisses her suggestion of sending for Doctor Steele, the local doctor, saying he plans on traveling to London after dinner.  
            Then it happens.
            Georgina watches him struggle with something sweeping over him. He speaks incoherently and indistinctly.  She rises from her chair and goes to help him, saying he should lie down, but he is struggling, wavering, and he is too heavy for her. 
            “Yes,” he says.  “On the ground.”  He collapses. 
            Doctors are summoned, one local, Doctor Steele; one a friend, Dr. Frank Beard, who arrives from London; and one a noted physician also from London, Dr. Russell Reynolds, who arrives the next day.  The prognosis of each is the same.  He cannot live.  Dickens lingers some twenty-four hours lying on a sofa brought into the dining room where he collapsed, his loud, heavy breathing no doubt chilling those who gather at his side hoping to see his eyes open, hoping to detect some movement, anything to indicate his return to them.  
            At six o’clock in the evening on the day after his collapse, Dickens’ breathing quiets.  As the gathered mourners watch, a tear wells up in Dickens’ right eye and rolls gently down his cheek.  He heaves a deep sigh and breathes no more.  
            And so history proclaims that on Thursday, June 9, 1870, England’s greatest novelist died of a cerebral hemorrhage.  History is wrong.  June 9, 1870 is the day on which Emile de la Rue murdered Charles Dickens.


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     This thought provoking sci fi novel demonstrates how someone with natural leadership skills will usually rise to the top in most any scenario. Culp Robinson wins the US presidential election; however, his victory is stolen from him. When he protests, he finds himself thrown into prison. Three years later he is offered an alternative to prison; an 18 month trip to Hobson’s Planet. Once on Hobson's Planet, he wants only to find his ex-wife and daughter  who have preceded him; however, he is headed for a loftier position as the reluctant head of a revolution against an alien race. 
book has everything: frontier life and culture, politics, alien wars and revolutions, sex with an exotic alien female, super ray gun weapons, and people fighting for their political and economic freedom. The story’s pace will yank you through it.


     As Culp gazed from the window, McGarrity’s voice cut in.
     "This planet cannot be left in the hands of Maxwell Andrews. There is no alternative to him other than you."
     "Sean, I gave that all up when I came here. You and I have other responsibilities."
     "Dammit, Culp. Those responsibilities amount to nothing now. We can’t go home. Not until all of this is settled one way
or another. Andrews is going to start an out-and-out war on the planet, if he hasn’t started it already."
     Culp had no answer. He did not want to take the burden of a second planet onto his shoulders.
     "I don’t think you understand—" Culp began.
     McGarrity rose to his feet. "I’ve not known you long, Senator, but, by God, I feel I know you well."
     Culp detected McGarrity’s right hand trembling as he held it at his side.
     "I cannot believe that you, in your heart, don’t want to defend us. All of us. Those of us you know and all the inhabitants of this planet you don’t know. You’ve stood up to Andrews. You’ve stood up to this Bahador Gurkha. The people of Hobson’s know you. If you force them to depend on Andrews, this planet will go up in a horrible blaze of fire. Everything we have, gone. Everything we’ve dreamed about, impossible to get."
     "Sean, I—" Culp was becoming alarmed at McGarrity’s passion. But McGarrity would not allow an interruption.
     "You must do it to save Annie. To save Cindy. To save all of us. It has to be you."
     "Do, do, do what?   
     What is this magic power you think I have. What can I do?"
     "You can lead. People will listen to you. It cannot be Andrews. It must be you. I cannot... I cannot respect you if you do not do this." McGarrity looked right at him, and his words struck Culp like a rator shot.

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                                        BECKONING ETERNITY

     The culture of Guardon, a planet severe in its religious beliefs, faces upheaval due to a corps of rebels, who believe that the planet's religion simply masks the corruption and self-interest of those in power. 


     "You are told Guardonians are a miraculous creation of our God," came the voice of Brisko Lemtig, the Glorbot
speaker. Six of his people had helped gather a crowd and now stood on the crowd’s periphery on watch for the palazi.
     "But where, I ask, is the miracle? If we are creations of this
all-powerful God, who reigns in His heaven and waits eagerly

for our return to lavish heavenly bliss on us, then there is no miracle involved. None at all. We are the products of a
master-magician, who merely flexes His mind and produces an interesting trick. There is nothing miraculous about it at
all. This Almighty Being, supposedly eager for our return, could simply wave His hand and surround Himself with
whatever and whomever He wants. And He could do it whenever He wants without the need for Heavenly Departure
Points. The Camtores would have you believe that the only reason to live is to die—and quickly—but only after amassing
goods and money, which the Camtores claim a share of when you depart for heaven."
     The speaker’s eyes traveled over the fifty-plus Guardonians who had congregated. He rushed on.
     "What is the real miracle you may ask? The real miracle is this.  There is no God." He waited for the usual sputtering that
went through a crowd when he made his blasphemous declaration to subside. He went on. "Somehow in the great darkness of space, forces and elements have come together here and elsewhere to create what we see; to create what we have; to create us. This is the true, inexplicable miracle, and this miracle demands that we spend all of our energy concentrating on this life, loving each other; helping each other; making this life worth living because it is all there is; it is all we have. It is all we will ever have."


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                                        LANYON FOR HIRE


     Three of Lanyon's adventures as an intergalactic gun-for-hire in the 23rd century. Meet Honna, a beautiful Malcosian woman with a long and gorgeous tail; Jophena, an 11-year-old with a spunky attitude; and Predamor, a Malcosian fellow who gets Lanyon into as much trouble as they both can handle.


     The newly released inmates helped drag the bulky Tellurians into an empty cell. Lanyon imprisoned them with the force field and led the group of thirteen to the open entrance of the cellblock.
     They crossed the guard’s office to the door that led up the six flights of stairs.
     Lanyon turned to the group following him. “We’ve got to be silent now,” and he put his index finger to his lips.
     Jophena gasped.
     Lanyon looked at her, puzzled.
     “Do you know what you just did with your finger? You told them all to go…”
     “Jophena!” said Halmar in a violent whisper. “Lanyon, if you wish to tell these prisoners to be quiet, as I presume you do, you should do this.” Halmar took his second and third fingers and thumb and pressed them onto his pursed lips. “What you did… doesn’t mean that. It is an insult.”
     "Oh. Well then…” Lanyon pressed his lips together with his fingers and
thumb, as Jophena giggled. He opened the door and everyone moved silently up the stairs toward the office of the Tellurian in charge of the spaceport.
     Lanyon stunned two guards standing in their way, and when they reached the door to the spaceport director’s office, he paused to let his small army cluster near. He lifted his finger toward his mouth then quickly changed it to a pinch of his lips. He pointed to himself and then toward the door, finishing with his palm toward his listeners, hoping this was not another insult. He saw Jophena nod. She approved. He pointed at her sharply, then pointed straight down. Don’t move.
     She winked.

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    It’s 1964 and Smitty, Mouse, and Kelso are in their last semester of high school. These three fellows manage to get themselves into some ridiculous, bizarre, and hilarious situations—all in their pursuit of one thing. Girls.
     They plot; they plan; they try so hard; they get into such trouble; they meet with so little success.
     Smitty has a knack, though. If anyone manages to find romance, he’ll be the guy. Mouse is the blind squirrel who finds the occasional acorn. Kelso, poor Kelso, borders on hopeless.
     Whether it’s the parish dance, a friend’s funeral, a babysitting opportunity, or a first sexual encounter, these are engaging, entertaining and sometimes ribald slices of life that will strike a chord or two.


     Through some diabolical quirk in scheduling, “In the Still of the Night,” another slow song, filled the hall, but the boys could not take advantage and stood watching other couples move oh so slowly around the floor.
     “This is too much to take,” Mouse said when the record ended.
     “We still have half an hour,” said Kelso, but fast song after fast song played, and by now the boys had lost interest in the gaiety of the Stomp and the Mashed Potatoes.
     “Oh, man, when the next slow one comes on, I’m dancing,” Mouse vowed. “It’s twenty to eleven already.”
     As if in answer to his prayer, Lee Andrews advised them to, “Try the Impossible.”
     “Just grab anything,” Kelso advised and so they did.

     Mouse planted his nose above the girl’s ear and tried to gauge whether she held him out of mere necessity or had he really detected a slight squeeze of his hand a second before. They danced in silence until the music stopped. Mouse glanced at the clock. 10:45
     “What’s your name?” Mouse began safely.
     “Eileen Ewing. What’s yours?”
     “Uh, call me Mouse. Everybody does.”
     Mouse began firing questions at her, trying to keep her attention. When the lights came on, Mouse popped the question. “Can I give you a ride home?”
     Eileen looked at him closely. “I came with my girlfriends…”
     “Oh, don’t worry about your girlfriends,” Mouse blurted, cutting off the ominous beginning of Eileen’s sentence. “They can come along, too. I have two friends. I mean I have more than two friends but only two
are here.”
     “I don’t know. Wait a minute. I’ll ask them.”
     Mouse Grouchoed his eyebrows to Smitty and Kelso.
     Eileen returned and said, “Joyce will come.”

     “Okay. Good. Great. Wait here and I’ll get one of my friends.”
     “We’ll get our coats.”
     “Hey, I need one of you,” Mouse reported. “She has a friend. Joyce.”
     “Which one is the friend?” Kelso asked. Suddenly faced with the possibility he might need to perform, Kelso quailed.
     “Who cares?” Smitty cut in quickly, knowing the girl was his if he wanted her. “I’ll go.”
     “Okay, come on.”
     Soon the four of them settled in Mouse’s car with a whole hour ahead until curfew. Mouse cranked the heat to maximum, a ploy he and Smitty developed to get the girls to doff their winter coats. Smitty knew immediately Mouse’s destination–Little City in Pennypack Park,
an after-dark parking emporium.
     “This isn’t the way home,” Eileen said.
     “Just going for a ride,” Mouse explained. A few minutes later he pulled into the park and found a quiet spot under a tree.       
     He left the motor running, heat blasting in at maximum.
     “Hey! This is Little City,” Joyce exclaimed from the back seat.
     “How do you know?” Smitty smirked.


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