A Haszard Narrative by Kevin E. Hatt

A Haszard Narrative

Crime, Mystery
Date Published: January 2018
 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png
After witnessing what transpired to be the murder of a seemingly innocent man, Haszard be-comes yet more intrigued when he hears of a vicar spontaneously combusting in his own church, locked from within. To add fuel to his intrigue, both men were from the same remote country village.
As Haszard begins looking into the matter, he is bombarded with peculiar tales of people connected to the church, and of strange goings-on. Piecing the facts together, Haszard be-comes convinced that he knows what’s been going on, but there is only one choice of action, which is fraught with danger…
Praise for Author Kevin E. Hatt and his Haszard Narratives:
“The recurring detective and his delightful band of cronies lead a sharp, absorbing mystery.” – Kirkus Reviews
 
“. . . a fun and exciting mystery with just the right amount of dry British humor and ludicrous sensationalism.” – New Apple Literary
 
“This is truly a spellbinding, entertaining mystery that will have you reading non-stop until you have reached the end!” – Rabia Tanveer, Readers’ Favorite
 
“Needless to say, there is never a dull moment in a Haszard Narrative.” – Cheryl E. Rodriguez, Readers’ Favorite
 
“Suspense and twists will keep the reader on the edge of their seat, unable to tear their eyes from the page.” – K.J. Simmill, Readers’ Favorite
Other Books in A Haszard Narrative Series
A LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS
Unfortunate in life and unlucky in love, the mysterious Haszard is intrigued by the death of an acquaintance at the local hospital, in which he works. Suspicious about the circumstances, he begins to look into the matter, meeting the woman of his dreams along the way.
After joining forces a local businessman, he speaks to a number of people, discovering irregularities in the life of the murdered woman. As he makes progress, he realises that the key to the matter lies in the dark and murky world of drug dealers, and has to face the possibility that the killer may well be someone he knows . . .
MAPS, LEGENDS AND MISDEMEANOURS
When asked to frame an old map, Haszard discovers that it’s linked to lost valuables from the past. Intrigued, he begins looking into the legend, discovering there to be cryptic clues on the map that must be deciphered. Unfortunately, though, Haszard isn’t the only person interested in the whereabouts of the missing items, and the other contingent resorts to violent tactics, which leads to a chilling climax . . .
 
PHOENIX FROM THE FLAME
When told by a former colleague that she saw her dead husband walking around a quaint market town, Haszard’s curiosity is engaged. As he begins to look into the matter, he unearths a number of facts that lead him to believe that there’s more to the sighting than merely a dead man walking. Also, there are people who are prepared to kill for something that’s worth a lot of money . . .
 
THE HEIRLOOM REPOSITORY
Haszard is asked to look for a family’s missing inheritance. Guided by words provided by a medium, he goes about the case with his typical fervour. Side-tracked by other matters, and spooked by a mysterious man in the woods, Haszard soon comes to realise that he isn’t alone in his quest, and persons unknown are not afraid to kill . . .
 
RACE FOR THE PRIZE
When on holiday with his friends, Haszard sees a girl who went missing a number of weeks previous. Fuelled with his usual determination, he sets about looking into the matter, although all is not as it appears, and it isn’t long before matters become eventful.
Having befriended a local artist, Haszard moves closer to an answer, yet the odds are stacked heavily against him. In order to win through, he must endure his most arduous and perilous challenge yet . . .
 
NO REASON FOR INSANITY
Intrigued by the bizarre events surrounding the murder of a friend, Haszard is asked by the family to look into the matter. Against the advice of his friends, he begins making enquiries, and is disturbed when he realizes that it may well be someone he knows. As progress is made, further events occur, endangering the life of Haszard and his friends, and he is forced to delve into the deepest recesses of his resourcefulness . . .
FULL CIRCLE
When asked to look into the death of a man in a town known for pagan connections, Haszard quickly makes progress, and it isn’t long before matters become dangerous. With little to work with, Haszard makes progress, yet the task is a daunting one, and not everyone he encounters is friendly.
Collating interesting and significant information from various sources along the way, Haszard has to link factors linked with the past, and as he does so, he realizes that in order to save someone from certain death, he is in a race against time.
The Ambiguity of Guilt
Items discovered in the attic of a new house belonging to a friend of Haszard are intriguing to him, and he sets about looking into the family who lived there previously. His efforts, however, are thwarted by the fact that nobody knew them very well, and he soon discovers that they are nowhere to be found. As he progresses, more discoveries point to the possibility that the family members were master criminals who were diverse in their activities, yet Haszard sees things differently. After speaking to a number of people and encountering persons unknown, who are not afraid to use firearms, he feels convinced that he knows where they are, but is uncertain of the reception he will receive . . .
Excerpt
‘Somewhere just outside Upper Bramsdean, on the Dewton Road.’ I tried opening my door, only it wouldn’t budge. I looked out of the window to see a tree beside me. ‘We’ll have to get out your side. Make sure that you leave the headlights on.’ 
            ‘I’ll make the call first.’ I sat motionless while Sabrina called the emergency services, who as ever wanted her life story before actually sending anyone to help. She placed her phone back in her pocket. ‘Let’s get out.’          
            Gingerly, she opened the door, but due to the angle that we were at, it wouldn’t remain open. In an effort to counteract the problem, she shuffled her legs onto the seat, pushing the door forwards whilst resting her foot on the side of my seat. Struggling against the door she crawled forwards, flopping out onto the muddy ground, cursing as she did so. Finally, she worked herself free, standing and holding the door open for me.     
            Repeating the process that Sabrina had performed, I felt shaky, Sabrina taking my hand and helping me out. ‘Your head’s bleeding,’ she said.     
            ‘I’ll be fine,’ I grumbled, turning away from her. I began making my way up the bank, my feet slipping on the mud that was making it nigh impossible to make progress. Conscious of the fact that Sabrina was in flat-soled shoes, I clung onto a tree in order to help her up, grabbing her hand. The rain, meanwhile, came down in torrents, the sound of the raindrops creating a sinister symphony which reverberated malevolently around us.         
            Little by little, we made our way up the bank, struggling like we’d never struggled before, slipping on the odd occasion, our clothes completely drenched and covered in mud by the time we reached the top of the bank, utterly breathless.         
            We stood in the pouring rain, uncertain of what to do. I looked to the direction the other cars had emerged from, noticing a glow from the other side of the road, fifty or so yards from us. Still confused, I glanced down the bank at Sabrina’s stricken cabriolet. A glow… a glow. I looked back across the road.  
            In the other direction, a couple of hundred yards away, I noticed a set of rear lights. The car was stationary. What was he doing? Had he realised what he’d done and was undecided as to what to do? I moved out further into the road, the car moving away as I approached. I shouted for him to come back, but he just kept going. Typical, I thought, just bloody typical! Cause an accident and run away. It didn’t surprise me because it’s the way the world is. I turned my attention back to the glow I’d seen. 
            ‘Sab, what’s that glow coming from?’          
            ‘I don’t know.’ Looking at Sabrina in the eerie light, I noticed that she was shaking.         
            I placed a reassuring arm around Sabrina, hugging her. ‘We’d better go and see.’  
            We walked towards the source of the glow, the rain somehow becoming heavier. Crossing to the other side of the road, I looked up at the sky, cursing the wretched weather. Nearing the source, I could see that the glow was a light—a car headlight. It just didn’t make sense… I thought back. One set of lights moved across. They must have been forced off the road like us. I began running, glancing back at Sabrina, who was struggling.      
            As I reached the vehicle I could see that it was small—old and small. That model must be over twenty years old, I thought. Being as old as that it wouldn’t have all the safety features that Sabrina’s car had. The front of the car was completely crumpled, having hit a large tree head on. It didn’t look good.     
            There was no bank sloping down on that side of the road, which made reaching it considerably easier. Looking through the window I could see someone slumped forwards. I tried opening the door, but it was locked. I ran around to the other side, only to discover that it too was locked, which left me no choice. I would have to smash a window. I looked around for some kind of rock or stone, moving in front of the headlight as I trawled through the grass and broken twigs that littered the ground, finally finding a fist-sized stone.      
            Sabrina approached me. ‘Haszard, what are you doing?’ That’s my name, by the way. Odd, but not something that you’d forget overnight.         
            ‘Breaking the window. The doors are locked and whoever it is doesn’t look good.’ I moved to the passenger side, drawing my arm back and slinging it forward, releasing the projectile. The window shattered. I put my arm through, searching frantically for the door-lock, which I finally found next to the handle. Why can’t manufacturers decide where the lock should be and put it in the same place on all models? After flicking it I tried the handle, the door opening only a matter of inches. I cursed. The impact had bent the structure of the car. I pulled at it violently, the metal screeching its protest as the door opened another few inches. I pulled again, and again, the door opening a little further each time. After one more gargantuan pull, it opened fully, allowing me access. Without delay I slid alongside the unconscious man… but was he unconscious or dead?           
            ‘Are you all right?’ I said, remembering my life-support training. There was no movement. I didn’t wish to shake him or attempt any painful stimuli to his shoulder in case he had a neck injury, so I tried to ascertain whether he was breathing. I cupped my hand around his nose and mouth, holding it there for several seconds. I could feel breath. Good—that was good. 
            ‘How is he?’ Sabrina said, peering in.           
            ‘Not good, but breathing,’ I said, searching for the interior light, activating it. ‘Oh shit!’   
            ‘What is it?’   
            I moved out of the way, showing Sabrina the state of the driver’s leg. The light wasn’t great, but it was just enough for Sabrina to see the damage. The car had hit the tree with such an impact that the engine must have forced the bulkhead back, crushing the man’s legs, bone protruding through the skin on his left lower leg. ‘He’s got an open fracture. He’s going to need a drip fast, and a fire crew to cut him out of here.’     
            ‘I’ll call the emergency services and tell them to send some cutting equipment, and hurry the ambulance up,’ Sabrina said, shuffling alongside me.          
            Whilst Sabrina made her call, I removed my jacket, placing it over the unconscious man, wondering if there was anything else I could do. I was actually a registered operating theatre practitioner, and Sabrina was a Sister in the orthopaedic clinic of our local hospital; however, without any equipment, we were next to useless!           
            ‘They’re sending a fire crew, and the ambulance should only be a few minutes,’ Sabrina informed me. ‘Oh my God… your head!’   
            ‘What about it?’          
            ‘It’s bleeding.’
            ‘So you said, Miss Jensen. It’s only a bloody scratch!’         
            Sabrina moved my head into the light, examining it circumspectly. ‘It’s more than a scratch! You’re going to need to have it seen to! You’re absolutely covered in blood.’        
            I turned away from her, checking the man’s breathing again. It was still the same, which was a good sign. I felt frustrated at not being able to do anything for him, just sitting there as he potentially ebbed away. He was obviously losing blood, only there was nothing that I could do. Nothing!  
            Sabrina and I said nothing whilst awaiting the arrival of the ambulance. Ordinarily, we never stopped talking, but we were both in a state of shock from our accident and concerned for the wellbeing of the other victim that the lunatic had driven off the road.         
            The moment we saw lights approaching we leaped out of the car, only to discover that it was merely a fellow motorist. Watching them pass, I noticed that the rain had eased off somewhat, not that it was of much use now.         
About the Author

Kevin E. Hatt is a registered anaesthetic and recovery practitioner. He commenced his training in 1984, and rose to the dizzy heights of deputy head. In 2000 he left the medical profession to follow his artistic ideals, but made a complete hash of it and returned to the medical world in 2010.In 2014 he released his first Haszard novel, A Light in the Darkness, which received critical acclaim, and then seven more stand-alone books in the series.He likes cricket, running, fine ales and curry. He has never been to Scunthorpe. Or Ipswich.
Contact Links
Purchase Link
 
RABT Book Tours & PR

 

Supremacy’s Shadow by T. Eric Bakutis

 

Science Fiction / Thriller
Date Published: February 9, 2018
Publisher: SF Productions
 
 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png
For Hayden Cross, a military investigator in the far future, whether his wife faked her death is the question that is probably going to get him killed. Having lost the only job that kept him sane, he has few resources and fewer leads. Oh, and a sadistic crime lord really wants to kill him.
As he fights through an underworld of fanatical rebels, callous bounty hunters, and corrupt cops, each step takes him closer to the truth about his wife’s fate and the oppressive government he once loyally served. On the way he may even liberate a planet and stop a war … but only if he betrays everyone he loves.
Excerpt
Nathan Pierce was very dead, and Hayden hadn’t killed him.
Pierce lay sprawled on a maintenance walkway beside the maglev track: a tunnel that smelled like plastic and wet biocrete. An oozing red line split his very thick neck. The small pool of blood beneath him was expanding, and Hayden didn’t have to touch it to know it was still warm.
Pierce still clutched his submachine gun, highly illegal on the best of days, but its magazine was missing. The basketball-shaped bomb Pierce had carried into this tunnel hadn’t exploded when he died, which was good, but the red light on top of it was blinking fast, which might be bad. Hayden wasn’t a bomb technician, and though he’d called the people who were — those almighty assholes known as the Supremacy — he wasn’t sure if they were still taking his calls. They had sort of fired him.
Blinking red bomb light aside, the decidedly unlive state of Nathan Pierce changed Hayden’s plans for the night. Braving a hail of bullets to stop a bunch of taxpayers from exploding had seemed acceptable when chasing Pierce was his only option, but getting blown up now, with the threat over, seemed rather unnecessary. He had better things to do tonight than die.
He looked down the walkway in both directions for any sign of Pierce’s killer, but found nothing. Embedded LED lamps lit the narrow metal gantry every twenty meters for as far as he could see, but he didn’t see anyone dumb enough to carry a live bomb out of this tunnel. He had just reached down to pick it up when all the lights went out.
Boots hit the walkway behind him as Hayden drew his pistol and aimed in that direction. He didn’t fire, of course, because he couldn’t see, and also, he was out of bullets. Pierce’s body armor hadn’t come cheap.
The lights flipped on to reveal a woman in a black riding suit and combat boots with knife holsters, but no knives. A hoverbike helmet hid her face. She was shorter than he was, athletic, and absolutely Pierce’s killer, given the blood rorshached all over the front of her suit.
“Easy, Hayden.” The woman raised two blood-stained gloves. “I sent you the intel on Pierce.”
Hayden kept his pistol on her anyway, out of principle. “Thanks?” He pointed at the body with his other hand. “I think you got him.”
“Pierce isn’t the reason I called you.”
“Okay.” He’d heard this woman’s voice somewhere before, though he couldn’t place it at the moment. “Is that bomb going to explode?”
“No. I called you, Hayden, because I have a job for you.” The woman pulled off her helmet to reveal short black hair, pale blue eyes, and a light brown face with soft cheekbones. “You’re free now, right?”
Hayden breathed as five minutes of gunfight tension bled out through his toes. “I have hobbies.” He knew exactly who this woman was, now, and he also knew he’d just been played.
Morna Solace was a trusted informant who had passed him information about the Patriots of Ceto for years. A woman who looked a lot like his dead wife. Even with Dani thirteen years gone, that still tugged at him, but that didn’t excuse her prank call.
“You obviously had this handled before I flew all the way out here,” Hayden said, keeping the fact that he’d just been unnecessarily shot at from his voice, “so why the bait-and-switch?”
Morna dangled her helmet in one hand, not guilty, exactly, but not as confident as she’d been a moment ago. “I couldn’t risk the Patriots or the Supremacy learning we’d met. Luring you here with an anonymous tip was the best way I knew how to do that. I can’t trust this to the Spacenet.”
At least Morna was sufficiently paranoid. “You know the Supremacy is on their way here now, right?”
“I do. I’ll be quick. Three weeks ago, Tyler Ryke abducted my daughter.”
“Well,” Hayden said, as he remembered Morna’s ruthless and wealthy ex-husband. “He is a crime lord.”
“Tyler’s beyond that now. He’s gone as sadistic as I’ve ever seen him, torturing for fun and pleasure, and I’m afraid of what he’ll do to Cassie if she tries to escape again. Last time she tried to sneak away, he caught her. Then he made her boyfriend explode.”
Hayden sympathized, he really did, but custody battles were messy even when both parents weren’t trained killers. “You must know dozens of people who could get Cassie back for you.” Dozens of terrorists, anyway.
“None of them know Star’s Landing like you. None have your experience or contacts. Also, I’m willing to trade a message from your wife.”
Hayden’s mind blanked a moment — just a moment — before snapping into focus. He remembered speeding toward his and Dani’s burning home, rushing into the still smoking wreckage. Tripping over Dani’s severed arm. Anger and guilt twisted his gut as the audacity of Morna’s lie made him want to kick that bomb down the tunnel. “My wife’s dead.”
“I thought so too.”
“The Supremacy verified her DNA. I put a bullet in the man who killed her, and I’ve been hunting his Patriots since.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you about something this important,” Morna said, “and I can prove it to you. Danielle said to ask you about Bucky’s cairn.”
Hayden blinked and backed a step.
“That means something to you, doesn’t it?” Morna’s face lit up. “Who is Bucky? A friend from childhood?”
That name conjured a painful memory of a speeding autotruck and his illegal dog, their illegal dog, the crunch and the yelp. Morna shouldn’t know about that. He and Dani were the only ones who knew about that, about Bucky the big dead dog.
Hayden remembered the little rock pyramid Dani piled on Bucky’s grave fifteen years ago. A cairn, she called it. An old word from old Earth.
“I never planned to blackmail you,” Morna said, “but like you said, I don’t have a lot of options.” Her voice gained just the tiniest of trembles. “I can’t lose Cassie. I couldn’t get past it.”
Her eyes held his, wet and fearless and so much like his wife’s, and Hayden recognized her desperation because he’d felt it himself. When he chased down everyone involved in Dani’s murder. When he sent them into orbit or put them in the ground.
Danielle Cross was dead, and she would always be dead, but she had trusted whoever sent Morna this message. Trusted them enough to tell them about the day her illegal dog jumped in front of a truck. Hayden needed to find out what was in this message.
He needed to find whoever sent it.
“Sure.” Hayden forced his nails out of his palms. “I could get Cassie back for you, but Ryke will come after her. He’ll probably try to kill me too, and that gets real annoying.”
Morna knelt and ran a glove along the tunnel wall. “Once you get Cassie out, Ryke won’t be a problem for anyone.” She pressed something, and a maintenance hatch popped open. “She has the image sync to Ryke’s PBA.”
That impressed him. A Personal Brain Assistant, or PBA, was a brain-mounted computer. Ryke’s PBA was where he stored records related to all his illegal deeds, and if Cassie told the Supremacy how to access it, Ryke would be headed to orbit before he finished screaming at his attorney.
The howl of an approaching maglev train rose in the tunnel behind him, and the light on Pierce’s bomb blinked faster. “Say, uh, Morna?”
“Yes?”
“You’re sure that thing isn’t going to explode?”
She tossed him a tiny metal key as the train grew louder. “The blinking light means the detonation key’s missing!” She opened the maintenance hatch. “That’s the detonation key!”
Hayden pocketed the key and shouted over the train noise. “How do I let you know when I have Cassie? Getting shot at isn’t my favorite approach!”
“I’ll know, and I’ll find you!” Morna wriggled into the narrow vent. “Get my daughter back for me, and I’ll help you find your wife!”
The hatch slammed. Hayden dropped beside Pierce’s body as a sound like a jet engine roared up on him. He knew the maglev’s passage wouldn’t suck him off the walkway — physics didn’t work like that — but knowing and believing were very different. The world howled as a bunch of angry air boots pummeled him in a parade.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. Then the train was streaking away, leaving him with a healthy ringing in his ears and a new appreciation for public transit. He rolled onto his back and took one painful breath.
Metal footfalls echoed in the tunnel, and Hayden tilted his head up to squint in their direction. He recognized two Supremacy Vindicators approaching at an awkward jog. Powered armor didn’t sprint.
The Supremacy’s elite soldiers wore suits of black nitinol, armor immune to small arms and marked by golden stripes. Their sealed helmets had reflective plates in front, and the last thing you saw, before they shot you, was your own face staring back.
On the upside, they were still taking his calls.
Hayden hauled himself up on the guardrail and stared at another dead terrorist and another homemade bomb. If Morna hadn’t stopped Pierce, there would be a whole lot of people splattered across this tunnel right now. He’d take the win and the credit if it kept her out of the Supremacy’s sights.
“Sir?” a Vindicator asked. “Is this the Patriot you reported?” His voice sounded flat behind his modulator. “Is that his bomb?”
Lying to the Supremacy about a meeting with a Patriot sympathizer was as good as signing his own death warrant. That wouldn’t stop Hayden from lying, of course. He’d just have to be real sneaky about it.
“This man was a thug working for Tyler Ryke.” Hayden pulled the detonation key from his pocket. “Now he’s a terrorist as well, which means you boys will get a medal or something.” He tossed the key at the Vindicator, and they both watched it bounce off his knee. “Also, you’re welcome.”
Hayden was going to Star’s Landing. He was going to save Cassie Ryke from her brutal father. It didn’t matter if Morna was lying to save her daughter, or if the Supremacy executed him for treason.
Either way, he might still get to see his wife.


About the Author

T. Eric Bakutis is an author and game designer based in Maryland. He is happily married and shares his house with a vicious, predatory cat and a sad-faced, cowardly dog. He’s been working as a professional videogame developer for over eight years. His first fantasy trilogy, Tales of the Five Provinces, is now complete, and his first science fiction novel, Supremacy’s Shadow, is due in February 2018.
In his spare time, Eric hikes with his lovely wife, little girl, and crazy dog, spends time in VRChat exploring the metaverse, and participates in local events like the Baltimore Science Fiction Society Critique Circle. His first novel, Glyphbinder, was a finalist for the 2014 Compton Crook Award, and his short fiction has appeared in several magazines and anthologies.
You can read his free cyberpunk police procedural, Loose Circuit, at www.loosecircuit.com
Contact Links
Purchase Link
 
RABT Book Tours & PR

 

Still Missing Beulah: Stories of Blacks and Jews in Mid-Century Miami

FREE FROM Feb. 12th to the 19th 2018 in honor of black history month.

It’s the 1950s and Miami businessman Tootsie Plotnik counts his Bahamian mistress and his black business associates among his dearest friends. But he also refers to his African American employees using the derogatory Yiddish term, schvartz, and comes within inches of murdering an unarmed black teenager.

Still Missing Beulah uses linked short stories and brief historical accounts to take the reader into the heart and mind of an aging Jewish businessman whose prejudices are challenged by the black people who enter his life. Written in the same vein as The Help, this collection documents the struggles Miami minorities faced during an era when signs prohibiting Jews and blacks in hotels and clubs were as rampant as palm trees and mosquitoes.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

An image posted by the author.

Joan Lipinsky Cochran is a former journalist who now focuses on writing crime-related novels that explore subcultures of American Judaism. Her first book, Still Missing Beulah: Stories of Jews and Blacks in Mid-Century Miami, explores the racism and anti-Semitism that tarnished Miami’s past and informed the relationship between the two minority groups. Three of the short stories in that collection have won literary awards. She is currently working on a novel about a woman whose life is endangered when she discovers her father was a member of the Jewish mafia. It was one of three 2011 Claymore Award finalists and an Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award quarter-finalist. When she’s not working on a novel, Joan is testing recipes and writing food columns and articles, playing classical and Irish violin, sailing, bicycling and reading.

 

Sophie’s Playlist SALE Blitz

Sophie’s Playlist SALE Blitz

 

Fiction Action/Adventure
Date Published: January 2018
 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png
FREE February 10-14
How does Gramble Thyssen, middle-aged and complacent bureaucrat, transform into an brilliant FBI agent? The Gramble Chronicles I: Sophie’s Playlist describes the challenges he faces as he starts living for the present instead of pining for the past as well as the other people along his path that are swept up into his exciting destiny.
The author has assembled a playlist on Deezer that goes along with the book:
Sophie’s Playlist is available on Amazon as a paperback and a Kindle eBook and from Solstice Publishing.
Excerpt
From Sophie’s Playlist:
Chapter 1
“Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board.” — Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937)
~“Begin the Begin” R.E.M. (1986)
i.          Gramble
Gramble Thyssen was looking at the clock wondering when it would strike 5 p.m. so that he could leave. The Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) was, as always, devoid of any “customers” and the silence preoccupied him: the hum of the air-conditioning, the occasional cough several aisles away, the shuffling of papers, or the creak of a chair. He was alone today in his cubicle – again – as Edith was out pregnant and George started showing premature signs of Alzheimer’s and was rummaging in the tomb of his memories.
Funny how these partitions created a fake sense of isolation and looked so desolate with their laminated surfaces, the identical carbon-copy-like telephones on every desk and old greasy-screen monitors and dusty power strips.  The Wi-Fi was relatively unstable (despite being spitting distance between the Lincoln Memorial and the White House in central Washington, DC) and the network cables were all missing that little plastic tab designed to hold the cable in the laptop port. If all four occupants of the cubicle pushed back on their chairs, they would collide without even stretching out their legs. And should two of them need to make a phone call at the same time, well, it was hard to hear oneself think sometimes.
About the Author

Michael Finocchiaro was born in Rhode Island, but grew up in Miami in the 70s before going to University of Florida to get a BS in Mechanical Engineering and enter a career in IT working for some of the world’s largest IT companies (IBM, HP, PTC and Dassault Systèmes). He has lived in Paris, France for over two decades. He had dreams of becoming a writer for years, having always been an avid reader (he is very active on goodreads.com) of fiction and non-fiction. He realized his writing dream by self-publishing, in January 2017, his first book Sophie’s Playlist (The Gramble Chronicles I) via Kindle Direct Publishing. It was subsequently picked up by Solstice Publishing, re-edited and re-published on January 7, 2018. He is currently working on the sequel.
Contact Links
Purchase Links
RABT Book Tours & PR