TIPPIN’ HANCOCK’S HAT-Reviews of All Things Pulp by Tommy Hancock

THE CABINET OF CURIOSITIES
By Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child
Grand Central Publishing
2002

Yes, I admit it.  Head hung low, eyes cast down, I have to confess the truth.  Some of you may want to relieve me of my fedora after you hear this.

I only just this past year read a Preston and Child Agent Pendergast book.   To heap horror onto misstep, I didn’t start with the first book.  I actually quite literally started in the middle.

Okay, the hard part and gnashing of teeth aside, let’s get to it.  Preston and Child are well known in the New Pulp world, both for their individual work and their combined novels.  By far, their most popular character is that of Agent Pendergast, an FBI agent with more connections than Tootsie has pops and skills that most definitely put one in mind of past Pulp heroes.  First introduced in a less than lead role in RELIC, Pendergast captured public imagination so strongly that he moved into the first position in following novels, which are now in the double digits as far as how many there are.

Many people recognize the Pulpiness of Pendergast, comparing him to The Shadow in several instances.  Although that similarity is apparent to me, I don’t know that I actually see him as more one archetype than the other when you talk Pulp Heroes.  But regardless if you think he’s walking in Lamont Cranston’s footsteps or not, make no doubt about it.  Pendergast is one of the best representations of a New Pulp hero available to the reading public today.

In CABINET, an archaeological discovery is made in New York City, a discovery that reveals murders done in the name of perverted science over 100 years before.   A museum archaeologist and her newspaper reporter boyfriend, one who apparently has a past history with Pendergast, end up thrown into the middle of this mystery with the elusive, secretive agent.  What mystery?  Well, it’s two fold really-What happened in the late 1800s that caused so many people to be murdered, then hidden away underground?  And who is mimicking those murders all over again to nearly the exactest detail in the modern era?

There’s so much and really just a little to say about this book.  The plot is tight, well paced, enough twists and turns to keep anyone intrigued and at the same time so well handled that no one gets lost.   The characters pop off the page, Pendergast and everyone else.  The dialogue is crisp and reads as if it was being heard.  The reality of the relationships amongst the characters is stark and strong, particularly breathing life into one particular policeman that, when he interacts with Pendergast especially, comes fully alive.

THE CABINET OF CURIOSITIES has no slow points, does not lag, and is replete with three dimensional characters, down to the least used of them all.  No cardboard characterization was used in the making of this manuscript.    The climax, the part of the book where most of this genre fail if they’re going to, is riveting and completely creepy.  

I came late to Agent Pendergast, it’s true.   But now that I’m here, I’m along for the ride from here on out.

FIVE OF FIVE TIPS OF THE HAT-In the top ten of my best reads of 2011.

Once, longer than a while ago, at this time of year, I would make a list of what were, in my opinion, the year’s ten best and ten worst movies. I was writing a column, on movies, for Marvel’s Epic Magazine, and I saw that as part of the job. Not that anybody told me that it was something I had to do, or even should do. But isn’t that a movie critic’s duty? Make these year-end lists? Then, after a year or two, I realized that I was blowing about ten percent of the annual column inches available to me on the year’s worst list and…accomplishing what?

Not much. Nothing, in fact. Unless you count taking easy shots – one liner-type – at other people’s work. Might have made me appear…oh hell, what? Clever? Sophisticated? Maybe witty? Or was it snottiness masquerading as wit?

You may be familiar with Dorothy Parker’s line about Katharine Hepburn: “She runs the gamut of emotions from A to B.” Clever, sophisticated, witty – traits Ms. Parker had solid claim to. But what does it really tell you about Ms. Hepburn, her acting, her rendering of any one role? Are we shedding any light here, friends?

Anyone who’s ever presumed to write or act or sing or dance or tell jokes or do tricks with a yo-yo for others’ entertainment knows that sometimes you miss the mark. Usually it’s not for want to effort. Such failures might merit regret, but not ridicule.

I eighty-sixed the ten worst list, and I doubt that anyone ever missed it. Including me. Including Epic’s editor, Archie Goodwin.

Archie, editor, colleague, friend and the nicest man I ever met, is gone now these…is it really 13 years? I still remember him and sometimes mention him when lecturing. At times of festivity – the holidays; right now – the absence of someone like Archie dims the lights a bit, maybe makes the laughter occasionally forced.

We’ve lost other good and valuable men in 2011, we denizens of the funny book world. Eduardo Barreto. Joe Simon. And Jerry Robinson.

I’ve seen a bit of Jerry these past five years and, always, it was a pleasant experience. But I didn’t realize that he was ill. The other night, Danny Fingeroth, who’d also seen a lot of Jerry recently, told me that Jerry was battling illness for much of that time. Jerry expressed concern when I had a brush with mortality, but said very little about his own problems.

He was gallant, and brave, and in the best sense of the word, a gentleman.

Here, we end our dark-day rumination. It’s Christmas Eve as I write this, fully night, and I’ve had enough of gloom. Pretty soon, Marifran and I will get into her noble Honda Civic and go hither in search of a few groceries – and to see what kind of Christmas decorations our fellow Rocklanders are displaying for our edification.

2012 is waiting in the wings and we welcome it. (Well, okay, we don’t have a lot of choice, but we smile a welcoming smile anyway.)

So ends my catechism.

(Editor’s Note: For those who are not in possession of visual reference, the photo above is of our friend Archie Goodwin.)

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases

It’s the end of the year and everybody’s got their Top 10 list, and since I went to journalism school I’m obligated to list mine. I’m looking at titles that were released in 2011 because cover dates are meaningless. I’m not looking at original graphic novels or reprint projects, even though in dollar volume they constitute the majority of my purchases. Besides, original graphic novels are done to very different standards. Finally, some of these titles are done by friends of mine; I refuse to disqualify them because they just might buy me lunch. Having said all that…

#1 – Life With Archie Magazine (Archie)

Top of my list for the second year straight. Two stories – Archie marries Veronica, Archie marries Betty. Parallel worlds which converge, but that’s not why this book is great. There’s very real character development here, layered on personalities that existed for 70 years without it. We watch them grow, not into adults, but as adults. Better still, the most interesting character in both series is Reggie Mantle! Paul Kupperberg writes this, with art from Norm Breyfogle, Fernando Ruiz, Pat and Tim Kennedy and a host of others.

#2 – Tiny Titans (DC)

If you see this as a kid’s comic, that’s great, particularly if you’re a kid. If you see this as a brilliant loving satire of DC Comics and its convoluted universe, that’s great too, particularly if you’re an “adult.” Art Baltazar and Franco are pushing towards 50 issues here, and there ain’t a clunker in the bunch.

#3 – Elric: The Balance Lost (Boom)

Michael Moorcock’s Eternal Champion has been in the hands of a lot of comics creators and a lot of comics publishers, and the output has been… inconsistent. This latest series is among the very best: all of the various shades of Elric are here, and interweaved through the storyline are very contemporary elements and environs. Good stuff from Chris Roberson and Francesco Biagini.

#4 – Daredevil (Marvel)

Once again, Mark Waid does what he does best: he takes a well-established character that, like all well-established comics characters, has been covered in paint about a dozen too many times and strips it back down to the wall, preserving everything that made the character work while imbuing it with a contemporary environment. On this series, he’s going just that – and he’s doing it better than ever. Penciler Marcos Martin ain’t no slouch, neither. This is a real superhero book.

#5 – Justice League Dark (DC)

This one’s my surprise of the year. While very little of DC’s New 52 answers the question “why bother,” this one takes a bunch of characters of a somewhat mystical nature and thrusts them, Justice League like, into a trauma vastly larger than any one of them… and maybe all of them. Sort of like The Defenders, with all the style and John Constantine’s wit. Peter Milligan’s DC work has been inconsistent for me (I tend to prefer his U.K. work), but I’m glad I checked this one out. Mikel Jann draws the series. Very different… and very good.

#6 – Fly (Zenoscope)

I reviewed Raven Gregory and Eric J’s series about a recreational drug that gives kids the power to fly way back here. I liked it then, I like it now. Of course it’s out in trade paperback, so if you blew me off in August, give it a shot now.

#7 – Red Skull (Marvel)

Retrofitting a backstory onto a well-established character is a gambit that is often ill conceived and, worse, boring. Not this one. Greg Pak and Mirko Colak take us back to the villain’s adolescence where we learn – definitively – where his allegiances truly lie… and why. The fact that it’s got the best covers I’ve seen on a mini-series in a long while doesn’t hurt, either.

#8 – Batgirl (DC)

I don’t have a clue about how this series fits into any continuity, current or past. I’m told it does. What I do know is that this is a series about a young woman who’s trying to reestablish herself as a superhero after enduring traumas that shattered her body and soul. She’s not necessarily great at being a superhero, but she’s giving it all she’s got. This is exactly what I expect out of Gail Simone, and that is a very high standard. Adrian Syaf offers solid and exciting storytelling.

#9 – Action Comics (DC)

I went here because of Rags Morales’ art – I’d buy Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes if Rags drew the box – and I stayed for Grant Morrison’s innovative and engrossing script. This is the all-new young Superman, before he figured out what to wear on the job. It’s set well before the all-new older Superman in his eponymous title. I don’t know how this leads up to that, and I don’t care. This is supposed to hold up on its own, and it does. I’ll get over the slap in history’s face with the numbering (if such lasts); this is the best-produced Superman title in a decade-and-a-half.

#10 – To my friends who didn’t make this list: each of you came in tied for #10. Now go fight it out.

Notice how there aren’t any teevee or movie tie-ins? I never warmed up to that stuff. Not even as a kid. Which means it took me a while to realize Steve Ditko actually drew Hogan’s Heroes.

I have no doubt that within weeks at least two of the above-named will start to suck. Like all commercial media, comic books are subject to the whims of the lords and ladies of irony. But as a professional cynic, these titles and perhaps another half-dozen meet and exceed my bizarrely encrusted standards. Your opinions might differ, and that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re wrong.

Of course not.

Extra: Happy birthday wishes to fellow columnist Marc Alan Fishman, who turns 30 today and, therefore, is old enough to know better. His son turns 0 in about a month.

Extra-Extra: Thanks to Gatekeeper Glenn for saving my life this year.

THURSDAY: Dennis O’Neil

Reposted from www.pulpfest.com

Rest in Peace Rusty Hevelin

It is with heavy heart that we bid adieu to James “Rusty” Hevelin. This pillar of the pulp community passed away on Tuesday, December 27th. Active in science fiction fandom since the 1930s, Rusty was for many years the guiding light behind Pulpcon, the convention that helped to keep the memory of the pulps alive through the closing decades of the twentieth century and on into the 21st.

A veteran of the Second World War, when he served as a marine in the South Pacific, Rusty was a member of science fiction’sFirst Fandom and well known as a huckster, collector, and toastmaster. In 1986, he received the Lamont Award for his longtime service to the pulp community as well as science fiction’s Big Heart Award. He was presented with the Sam Moskowitz Archive Award for excellence in science fiction collecting in 2003.

PulpFest was extremely fortunate to have Rusty attend the 2011 convention when he helped the pulp community celebrate its fortieth annual summer pulp con. At next year’s convention, we will be honoring him with a special tribute during our evening programming.

I am a black man.

Well that’s not really true. I’m a tall and unbelievably handsome black man. I work in television, mainstream books and comics. Most of the works I’ve created in all of those mediums have featured black people in foremost roles.

I create black characters because I’m a black creator and I’d like to see more black people represented in the media and I think it’s my job to…yada, yada, yada…

Over the years I’ve said a zillion times that the reason I create black characters is because I felt we were under represented and I did believe it was my responsibility to create characters so young black kids can feel themselves represented.

But is it really my responsibility to create black characters because I’m a black man now? Have we come far enough in the country and the industry for me to give up the fight?

When I was growing up there were no black superheroes of color except for the Black Panther and Luke Cage, Hero For Hire. So my two black superheroes role models were an African King and an ex-con who was a superhero only when he got paid to be.

As hard as I tried I just could not identify with The Black Panther; he was an African king in his secret identity. “Oh, that’s a wonderful black man to aspire to be like.” I’m sure some of you are thinking.

Really?

I was born in Queens and the last thing I wanted to imagine myself growing up to be was an African king. I’d seen enough Tarzan movies as a kid to know I would not look good with a bone through my nose. I mean… ugh.

What about, Luke Cage Hero For Hire?

Really?

Hero for hire?

Really?

Like I said, I grew up in Queens or to be more precise, the hood in Queens. I could not imagine being a superhero that sold his services, that as they say in the hood is ghetto.

The young Harlem mother and her child were coming home very late one evening. The bus they were on was empty except for the driver and some gang bangers who looked like they wanted to start some trouble.

She was not worried, there was a rule written in stone in the hood among gangs, mothers and kids were off limits.

Written in stone…

The problem was these gang bangers could not read.

 “Yo, (bad word starts with B) what cha lookin at?”

He rose, slowly removing a gun from his jacket.

 “I said (bad word starts with B) what cha lookin at?”

She was frozen in place. She had never seen a real gun before and it was at the moment she knew this was the end of her life. She held her child close to her and said softy, “Close your eyes honey it will be OK.”

The bus stopped. Cage entered the bus. Paid his fare and stared down the thug with the gun. The woman’s face lit up as she realizes she is saved!

 “Oh, thank God! He was about to shoot me! I’m sure of it! He called me a…”

Cage puts his hand up to silence her then says; “I can save you for $500, your kid for another $500 so that’s $1000,00.”

The woman looks at Cage, she can tell by the stern look on his face he is not kidding. “ All I have is $500 to my name!”

 “Then you better tell your kid to keep his eyes closed.”

Really? Hero for Hire? Really?

Neither The Black Panther nor Luge Cage, neither of those black heroes seemed as good as the white heroes I was so in love with. Superman, Batman, Spider-Man and the like.

Superman was an orphan from another planet whose parents were blown the F up and he had a cool ass secret identity. He was Clark Kent, reporter for a great metropolitan newspaper. Batman’s secret identity was equally as badass, another orphan whose parents were shot the F up. His cool ass secret identity was rich ass playboy Bruce Wayne.

Spider-Man was another orphan whose parents were shot the F up AND as a bonus he was responsible for his Uncle Ben being shot the F up. His cool ass secret identity was a high school student and he worked for a great metropolitan newspaper as a photographer.

Why couldn’t I have a black hero whose parents were shot the F up? Why couldn’t I have a black hero who was an orphan? Why couldn’t I have a black hero whose cool ass secret identity was to work for a great metropolitan newspaper and not as a janitor?

No. I got an African king. In my mind, Tarzan (according to the movies my seven year old ass was watching) would soon rescue a white couple from a boiling pot the Black Panther had placed them in while waiting for a visit from The Fantastic Four, and I got a hero who people had to pay to protect them or in other words…

Super Pimp.

Also, Super Pimp didn’t even have a secret identity. Like I said, ghetto.

That’s what I grew up with. That’s what the African American comic book artists of my generation grew up with. It’s no wonder many of us felt it was our responsibly to create black heroes that our black kids could use as real role models, heroes that spoke to them not just in skin color but in experience.

When I was a kid a black GI Joe action figure was just a white GI. Joe painted brown. That made him black to me back then but that was not good enough for my kids when I had them.

Don’t get me wrong; I grew to love Lee and Kirby’s Black Panther. I realized just how cool it was to have an African king be his secret identity. That’s around the time I also realized those Tarzan movies were racist bullshit. Hasbro eventually came out with a black version of GI Joe that was a Black Joe. The lips, nose and even hair were modeled after black features. I still remember when I got my first real Black Joe. It was so damn cool.

As for Luke Cage, Hero for Hire?

That, in my opinion was and will always be ghetto. I mean damn, a Super Pimp? Come on! Really?

I grew up wanting and frankly needing black heroes that I could look up to and that spoke to me.

That was then.

Now, there is still need for more black superheroes as there is a need for many heroes of color but is it the job of people of color to create them?

Or…

Are the characters of any creator as valid as any other creator regardless if the creator is black or white?

In other words, would Blade be even cooler if a white guy did not create him? Would Spawn be even more badass if a black creator had created him?

Can white creators create viable black characters and vice versa? It seems the answer is an easy “yes” if you look at the success of some black characters created by non-black creators. It’s a easy yes in the marketplace to be sure but how about in the industry and the homes of those black kids who grow up wanting to be Blade?

Does it matter that an white guy created Blade? Should it matter? A great white guy and my dear friend Marv Wolfman but a white guy nevertheless.

Should we even care?

Anyone? Bueller? Bueller…?

WEDNESDAY: Mike Gold

I’m having a good case of writer’s block today.

You know how a few weeks ago I talked about what it’s like to be a writer? One thing I didn’t mention was the awfulness of staring at a blank screen – or a blank piece of paper for those who still use a typewriter, and yes, they are out there – without a clue in the universe of what you’re going to write about.

That’s when procrastination sets in.

After a half-hour, or maybe even an hour, of sitting at the computer and absolutely nothing is coming, I suddenly realize that the bathroom really needs to be cleaned. I gather up the Comet Bathroom Cleaner and the SOS and go to it, attacking the bathtub and the toilet, the sink and the floor. I Windex the mirror. Then I decide to rearrange the shelves. Then I realize that I need to put some clean towels out.

Okay, done. Bathroom looks and smells great.

Now I’m ready.

And still nothing comes.

I pick up the pile of comics that’s lying on my rocking chair. DC’s Legion: Secret Origin #2. Superman #3. Star Trek #3 from IDW. A bunch of others. Nothing sparks my interest really. I throw them back down and go into the living room. I slept on the couch last night, falling asleep while trying to stay awake and watch The Best Of The Dr. Who Christmas Specials on BBCAmerica. The blanket and pillow are still lying on the sofa.

I fold up the blanket and put it away, throw the pillow back on my bed. I sit down at the computer again.

Fifteen minutes later I’m back in the living room. I’ve been watching Battlestar Galactica repeats on BBCAmerica and all the commercials have been driving me mad – plus it annoys me that they cut out the “Previously on Battlestar Galactica” and I’m sure they’re cutting other scenes out too. I resolve to pull out my DVDs of BSG, watch an episode or two, and then sit down and do the column. It’s only 2 P.M.; lots of time left. I put Disc One of Season Four into the DVD and sit down to watch.

Three hours later it’s 5:30.

Okay, this is bullshit. Mike is going to kill me, and I’m being really, really unprofessional here.

Back at the computer. Maybe I should write about Christmas Eve.

Drove down to my brother and sister-in-law’s with the parents, Alixandra and Jeff. The plan was to be at my brother’s in time for the start of the Giants-Jets game, which started at 1. Alix and Jeff were supposed to pick me up at 10; they got to my house closer to 11. The radio was turned to NPR and Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me (which is one of my favorite shows on NPR) was on, and surprise! surprise! – Neil Gaiman was the guest. Haven’t seen Neil in too many years to count, so it was fun to listen to him play “Not My Job” and answer questions about Will and Kate – he nailed them, and so won Karl Cassel’s voice for some guy from Chicago’s voicemail; no, it wasn’t you, Mike.

Settle down at my brother’s to watch the game. First half – well, let’s not talk about that – except for Victor Cruz!!! What a runback! What a catch! Then the second half – Gaints come alive. And then it’s deep in the fourth quarter, it’s a long game, it’s 4:18 – New York is leading by 6 – the score is 20-14 – and FOX switches to the Eagles-Dallas game because of “NFL rules.” Chaos reigns! I throw a hissy fit, I yell at my brother, “I told you should have gotten the NFL Network!” while he cursed and ran for a radio. Jeff, always a calm in the center of my storms, suggests streaming it on the computer. I think, “what a great idea!,” so I run to my sister-in-law’s computer and hook into ESPN.com. No visual, just real-time audio, so I might as well go back and listen to the radio with the rest of the family. But I stay long enough to hear the Gaints make a safety. And between the time I left the computer and got back to the rest of the family, there was an interception, a touchdown – and I still don’t know who made it – and Tynes hit a field goal. 29 – 14. And Corey Webster intercepted to end the game.

Go Giants!!!!

Still don’t know what the hell to write about.

Oh, I know.

Gave my eleven year-old niece Isabel the original Amethyst, Princess of Gemworld maxi-series by Dan Mishkin, Gary Cohn and Ernie Colon along with the Amethyst mini-series by Keith Giffen and the late Esteban Maroto… oh, yeah, and me! She was delighted and wanted to sit down and start reading right away – but her mom (rightly so) said no, not now. This could get me writing about the continual ignorance of the comic book business when it comes to attracting young female readers; I mean, Amethyst was back in the 80’s, and the honchos are still trying to figure it out? Some things, as the saying goes, never change.

I could tell you about how we all stuffed ourselves on an introductory course of smoked salmon, white fish, and smoked trout on various breads and crackers served with bloody mary’s, followed by a dinner of tender romaine hearts with baby cherry tomatoes in a vinaigrette dressing, braised beef tenderloin in a garlic and horseradish sauce, roasted cauliflower with parmesan, latkes (potato pancakes, as I mentioned last week) and fresh grilled squash with red onions sprinkled with honey; followed by an upside down orange polenta cake served alongside a Carvel “Frosty the Snowman” ice cream cake.

What else could I write about? Don’t feel like saying anything about politics this week. Well, I could talk about the House Republicans trying to block the extension of the payroll tax cut and how they had to cave and how the “orange man” sounded like a fool when he tried to make it a Republican victory, but, nah, just not in the mood.

I give up.

Sometimes the block wins.

TUESDAY: Michael Davis

I always loved Christmas or, perhaps more accurately, I always loved the anticipation of Christmas. I loved the possibilities of Christmas. What would I get? Would others like what I gave? As a boy, my family had an Advent calendar that we used every year; each day you would open another closed window, revealing a picture or text, leading to Christmas Eve. With the one we loved best, the window would open onto another sentence of the Christmas story and that helped build the rising sense of anticipation.

My Mom created a Christmas ritual every Christmas Eve. We would have our own Christmas parade from the top of the stairs, singing a carol, bringing the Baby Jesus figurine to the Nativity scene under the tree. We got more resistant to the cheesiness of it as we got older but Mom was right and we were wrong. We would read The Night Before Christmas out loud, each taking different stanzas. My Dad would read aloud the Cratchit family scene out of the Ghost of Christmas Present sequence in Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. In later grade school, my brother and I were off to Midnight Mass because we sang in the boy’s choir.

The day itself would then come with all its attendant hysteria and afterwards – it was done. The thing is, Christmas Day never matched up to the anticipation I felt for it. I don’t think it could have. What I loved most was the idea of Christmas, its possibility rather than its reality.

So here we are, years later, and things have very much changed. I’ve become an agnostic and I’ll tell you what I mean by that. I’m used to others telling me what I mean by that and it’s never quite right. I’m uncertain that God exists although I won’t tell you that a Supreme Being doesn’t or cannot exist. I’ve seen atheists who are every bit as evangelical in their disbelief as born-again Baptists are in their faith; not only does god not exist for them but they have decided you can’t believe in one either. I simply say, “I don’t know and its beyond my knowing.” If God exists for you, great. I do miss he certainty I had as a boy. Sometimes my heart yearns for what my mind can no longer accept.

What I don’t believe in is Institutional God especially the Christian one. There is no one Christian god in any case; different churches and sects get into versions of “my Jesus can beat up your Jesus.” The gospels differ and contradict themselves and the institutional churches ignore any gospel except the four official ones. There is, in fact, no “gospel truth.” Not to me.

So – what am I doing with Christmas? What am I supposed to be celebrating, Doubting Ostrander that I am.

I’m celebrating the idea of Christmas, which I have always loved most in any case. I love story and I love this story – that God so loved humanity that a part of him, his “Son,” came to Earth and became one of us, even as a newborn baby, defenseless and vulnerable.

I love the idea of that, I love that story. Story doesn’t have to be factually real to be true. If our minds have created god, then I love the idea that our minds created a loving god, one who could know what it feels like to be us. I don’t know that a god created us in his or her likeness but I believe that we have created a god – an idea or image of god – in our likeness. In this case, it’s bound up with love and kindness. I feel as Scrooge does at the moment of his transformation: “I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year.”

Honour Christmas in your heart and in your own way and may you have joy of it, today and every day.

MONDAY: Mindy Newell

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About Deadly Games!

They played the most dangerous game of all and death was only the beginning…

Six years ago, Police Detective John Bartlett and journalist Benjamin West were instrumental in the capture of notorious master criminal Darrin Morehouse. Their story played out in the media, rocketing both Bartlett and West into local celebrity status.

Today, Morehouse, still a master game player and manipulator, commits suicide while in prison. His death initiates one final game of survival for the people Morehouse felt wronged him the most. At that top of the list are Bartlett and West, who must set aside their differences to save the lives of Morehouse’s other victims and solve one last game before a dead man’s hired killers catch them and his other enemies.

Deadly Games! is a fast-paced action/thriller featuring action, suspense, murder, and the occasional gunfire from Author Bobby Nash, the writer of Evil Ways, Domino Lady, Lance Star: Sky Ranger, and more.

Visit BEN Books at http://ben-books.blogspot.com/.
Visit Deadly Games! author Bobby Nash at http://www.bobbynash.com/.