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6 x 9 Paperback cream |
ISBN: 9781432735951 |
$17.95 |
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Genre: |
FICTION / General |
Publication: |
May 22, 2009 |
Pages: |
247 |
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Mitchell King is a Houston private investigator. He’s highly intelligent and educated, but also has a conflicted self-image and is beset with aching doubt and insecurity, and these failings can lead him to obsessive behavior. Mitch is moody and quick to overreact, misjudging both people and events around him. Mitch is hired to protect a sexy murder witness but he soon becomes romantically involved with her, and that muddies his judgment. Blind to his own failings, Mitch embarks upon a narrowly focused pursuit that brings him to near ruin. His reputation and honor are challenged as his fixation upon the woman affects his every move. Mitch must also help a female astronaut who lives under the microscope of government and public scrutiny. She can’t properly prepare for an upcoming mission because she’s being stalked by an emotionally disturbed admirer. Mitch is asked to dissuade the stalker from further harrassing behavior. The dangers the astronaut faces in her everyday life are a far cry from the hazards of being in orbit, and her reliance upon Mitch’s professional judgment may be a mistake that can cost her far more than a career. These two investigations take Mitch from the refined engineering of space exploration to the squalor of biker bars and heroin shooting galleries. The best and worst of Houston often sit side by side. Mitch struggles with his client cases and at the same time, fights to conquer the personal demons that plague his life. The two critical cases divide his energy and focus, and the strain may easily prove too great. If Mitch self-destructs, will that harm his friends and clients as well? Full Circle is the first in the Mitch King mystery series. It’s a realistic novel with authentic glimpses of people and places throughout the Texas Gulf Coast region. The novel contains mature depiction of crime violence, with adult situations and language. Dialogue is brisk and lively, the narrative literate.
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Excerpt from Full Circle
Lieutenant Joe Duggan was sitting in his office, feet propped on his desk. At least it may have once been a desk. Papers were stacked in foothigh mounds and foam coffee cups were nested in shaky stained columns, leaving none of the original furniture visible. Even the computer on a sidebar table was draped with paperwork. Breeze from Joe’s window air conditioner ruffled through the debris like a casual browser at a book sale.
Anthropologists could reconstruct a chronology of Houston crime by carefully excavating each stratum of Joe Duggan’s desk. I imagined a grid of tightly stretched strings hanging over the site, and a bearded graduate student carefully bagging a moldy halfeaten sandwich, marking the artifact “Sector G-5.”
A call-director phone, all its lights blinking furiously, sat precariously on one very lopsided pile of papers. I fought the urge to answer one of the lines and instead loitered before the alleged desk to watch Homicide Lieutenant Joseph Duggan at work.
Duggan was a ringer for Ned Beatty. Muscular but a bit pudgy, usually wearing a crooked grin, Joe was often mistaken for the actor. He would bear this with kind amusement until he was asked to “squeal like a pig,” a request that was always met with an icy stare. Those piercing grey eyes of Joe’s were a glimpse into his sharp, incisive cop brain. He had a reputation for intelligence and patience, toughness tempered by decency and right mindedness.
Besides looking like Ned Beatty, Joe Duggan also resembled his desk. Unkempt. His sparse brown haircut frizzed in every direction. His slacks were wrinkled, his thick forearms jutted from untidy shirtsleeves. A tie, once red and blue, now patterned with an indefinite brown ripple, hung askew. The knot was so low that Joe could pull it over his head at night instead of untying it, which he probably did. The only tidy accessory to his wardrobe was his composite Shooting Systems shoulder rig and the big Les Baer Concept Five .45 auto filling it. This was tastefully coordinated by his Kevlar vest hanging across an adjacent chair.
Joe was studying a folder and making notes in the margins. He continued to read, not investing so much as a flicker of acknowledgment in my existence, though he could have described precisely what I was wearing down to the color of my socks and compared
that with what I’d worn six weeks earlier.
I stood there a while longer, then decided I didn’t have all day. “Ahem.”
Duggan sighed. “People don’t say ‘ahem’ except in books.” He made another note and turned the page. He still hadn’t looked up.
“In books, homicide dicks haul the shamus down to the basement of the cop shop in cuffs to work him over. I show up voluntarily and this is all the attention I get?”
Duggan peered at me over the top of his half-height wire rims. He wearily dropped his feet to the floor, reached back to his belt, and came up with a pair of handcuffs. He tossed them across the desk. “Put ’em on if it’ll make you feel better.”
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About Sam Waas
Sam Waas is a longtime fan of private detective fiction. His favorite mystery writers are Bill Pronzini, Robert B. Parker, and Robert Crais. Sam also enjoys reading James Joyce and Cormac McCarthy.
Sam is a trained baritone and has performed in a number of operas and chorales. He attends grand opera, blues, and classic rock concerts.
Hobbies include pocket billiards and pistol shooting, especially .45 autos.
Sam makes his home in Houston.
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