But hey, that’s fine – the first book was just over 22,000 words.
Yeah, Wake Up, Detroit is the second in the Vigilante Justice Series. The first book was Black Walnut, which I released in December, and the third will be called Black & Tan, which will be out later this spring.
So what’s this novel about? Here’s the blurb on Amazon:
Ernie Tanner has been sweeping streets in Detroit for twenty-seven years. That all changes when a letter arrives in the mail telling him his job and his pension have been cut.
Ernie’s not alone, however, and the motley group of Vietnam vets, frustrated city workers, and social-media-savvy pot dealers that he calls friends quickly make it clear that they’re ready to take the law into their own hands.
It isn’t long before the downtrodden rise up against their oppressors in this dark, dry-humored, and satirical short novel about the Motor City and those that love and hate her.
Yep, these novels are fun, just like you and the guys sitting around on a Saturday evening goofing off, drinking beers, and watching some cheesy 80s action movie that’s a helluva lot funnier than the producers intended.
That’s Wake Up, Detroit in a nutshell.
Don’t believe me? Well, try out this excerpt for size. If you like what you read you can pick up the book on Amazon and Smashwords for just $0.99 and other retailers next week.
Excerpt of Wake Up, Detroit
“I’ve had it thrown at me plenty of times before!” Tommy shouted out with a laugh. “I’ll tell ya, that thing don’t got the bite you all make it sound it does.”
Detective Donny Frank looked over at Tommy and frowned. For the past hour he’d been sitting in the interrogation room with this joker, and it sure the hell had produced nothing. The bastard was loaded on something, that was for sure, and the pecker-head was smart too.
“Well, you’ll find–”
“Where the fuck’s my lawyer?” Tommy said for the umpteenth time, crossing his arms. “I fought for my country in ‘Nam and you’re telling me you don’t even have the decency to afford me my constitutional rights? Oh, wait until I fill out my Tea Party questionnaire, you know, the one sitting right on my nightstand just waiting to go?”
Donny frowned. $21.38 an hour wasn’t enough to deal with this shit. He turned and walked out of the interrogation room, the cackles of the bastard quickly turning to coughs as his pot-coated lungs couldn’t keep up with his good cheer.
“How’s it going?” Detective Joe Trenton asked.
“Fucking how you think it’s going?” Donny said. “That fuck’s crazy!”
“Yeah, well sticking a gun in the mayor’s face on his own porch kind of makes that clear, now doesn’t it?”
Donny frowned at the ranking detective, but held his tongue. Goddamn I need a beer!
“The other bastard’s more talkative, if you like talking to Forrest Gump,” Joe said.
“Yeah, he seemed a little slow.”
Joe nodded. “Says in his file he was hit by a car when he was 7 while riding his bike. Hit his head on the pavement and hasn’t been the same since.”
“So he’s not retarded?” Donny said.
“No,” Joe said, shaking his head, “and he’s not stupid either, just plain spoken.”
“Well he’s an accessory regardless.”
Joe nodded. “We’ve booked ‘em, not much more we can do ‘till morning.”
“Well then let’s get ‘em out of there and into general population.”
Joe nodded and they pulled the two men out of the interrogation rooms and started moving them down the hallway and toward the stairs that’d take them down to the main cells below.
“Hey!” Franklin the desk sergeant called out
They were halfway to the stairs.
“Joe, look!” Donny shouted.
Joe spun around to where Donny was pointing, the TV in the corner of the ceiling, a press conference of some sort with the mayor.
“Hold up,” he said to Donny in front of him, “let’s set these guys down.”
“Turn it up, Franklin!” Donny yelled out as he sat Ernie and Tommy down on a bench and quickly got them handcuffed to it.
Franklin frowned but shifted his considerable bulk from the groaning desk chair and stood to adjust the volume.
“…are these reports true, sir?” a reporter was saying.
“Fucking better not be!” Donny said.
Joe looked over at the younger detective and saw his jaw clenched tightly, murder in his eyes. He turned his gaze back to the TV and Mayor Mort Finicky standing there, a line of microphones being jammed in his face.
“Are you fleeing the city?” a reporter called out.
That stopped the mayor dead in his tracks.
“Listen, my wife is just looking around Arizona for a second vacation home for us, that’s all.”
“Is it true that police, fire fighters, and other first responders will also have their pensions cut?” a reporter asked.
It was like a bag of air had gone from the mayor, he looked so deflated. His posture slackened and he reached up to adjust his tie. The reporters sensed blood and stepped back.
The mayor nodded.
“From the reports I’ve been given this afternoon by Hampton Hayes Financial, yes, it looks as though first responders will see pension cuts as well.”
The mayor held up his hand.
“Alright, alright,” he said, “one at a time, will ya!”
“How many first responders?” someone shouted out before the others.
“All of them.”
“Shit!” Donny said beside Joe.
“When will this take place?” another reporter asked.
The mayor frowned. “As of today.”
“So those letters are going out now?” a reporter shouted.
The mayor nodded. “They’ll be in mailboxes on Monday.”
“Ah, hell!” Donny said. “Well there fucking goes Eddie’s birthday and Irene’s tanning sessions. Fuck sakes, Joe!”
Joe stood staring at the TV, numb, in a daze, as if the life had been knocked out of him.
“Florida,” he said.
“Fucking right, Florida!” Donny said. “Yeah, I’m real sorry Joe, but you can kiss that dream goodbye.” He laughed. “Hell, at least you’re retiring! With this shit I’m gonna be stuck in this job until the day I die!”
He started laughing and shaking his head, wandering around in circles under the absurd weight of it all.
Joe watched him go, looked over at Franklin who was now slumped down even further into his chair than usual, an extra weight now added, then directed his gaze over at the bench the two men were on.
Ernie was sitting there staring back at him,
“It gets better,” he said, frowning. “Dealing with it, I mean. After a couple days the shock kind of wears off.”
Joe nodded as if he’d just heard the most profound piece of wisdom ever uttered by man.
“Yeah, it gets real fucking better, alright!” Tommy laughed from beside his friend. “Try tellin’ that to the fuckin’ repo man when he’s takin’ your ride at 2 AM or the Goddamn landlady when she’s banging on the door callin’ for the rent.” He turned and started gesticulating at the wall. “Bitch, don’ t you know I don’t get that fucking Uncle Sam check until the first of the month, or the closest damn Monday after it! Shit, woman, grow some brains to go with those big flat flabby fucking–”
“Can it!” Joe shouted, his hand held up and his head cocked to one side. “Listen!”
“What the hell is that?” Donny asked as he stopped his pacing.
“Sounds like music, coming from outside,” Joe said.
“That’s fucking Frank Pourcel!” Franklin shouted from across the room.
“Muzak…elevator music?” Joe said with narrowed eyes and quite a bit of distaste.
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me!” Donny shouted out while laughing. “Where’s it coming from?”
“It’s coming from everywhere!” Franklin shouted.
Donny moved up to the windows.
“Oh, fuck!” he said. “Come take a look at this will ya!”
Joe rushed over to the windows while Franklin battled his way up and out of his chair. What they saw caused their eyes to go wide.
There outside, taking up the entire parking lot, much of the front lawn, and blocking the main street outside, were hundreds of people, many with “Go Ernie!” signs in their hands.
“What the fuck is this?” Donny shouted.
Joe sighed. “Our doom.”
Why deprive yourself? Buy Wake Up, Detroit today!