I have exciting news to share today that I’ve been waiting so long to tell you. My dad and I wrote a crime novel together! After a year of researching, writing, tweaking and editing, it’s finally finished and ready to be sent out into the world. We’re just beginning the process of sending it around to publishers, so while it’s a long time in the making, it’s still a long way from publication. Even so, it is finished and my dad and I both feel it’s ready for a little sneak peek.
I’ve mentioned before that my dad, Gerry Boyle, is a crime novelist. He has published eleven books in two different series (you can find them all on Amazon), and he just signed a new deal for another book in each series last week! This is the first book in what we hope will become a series about an American travel blogger getting mixed up with some dangerous people abroad. It’s also the first time we’ve ever written together, and I’m so proud of the result. The crime novel is called Samaritan and I’m thrilled to share a little piece of it with you today.
Samaritan Preview: Sean Deery is American, fresh out of college. He rejects his dad’s push for a business job, takes a $25,000 inheritance and sets out to write for a travel blog. Sean is looking for the unexpected but gets more than he bargained for. In this very early scene he makes the acquaintance of Manny, an African newspaper seller one night in a very rough section of Dublin. They’re accosted by masked guys in a back alley. It unfolds like this:
The four were close now, the lead man halfway across the courtyard, the others trailing so they formed a wedge and he was the point. They turned as they approached and the wedge became a circle. Choreographed, like a marching band.
The first guy approached. Smiled maybe. A movement around his mouth under the mask.
“You lads got a cig, do ya?” he said, like it was normal, chatting with a guy in a mask.
Sean said, “Don’t smoke.” Manny flipped the phone shut, put it away. Stared.
The guy was five feet away, hands in his sweatshirt pockets. Bigger than Sean, slimmer than Manny. Shuffling in his Nike trainers, like a boxer waiting for the bell. The other three moved up, the noose tightening. Two were short and thick, one round-faced, one thin, black eyes close set. The third was slimmer, mouth that hung open in the mask hole like he was surprised.
“You’re a smart one, not smoking,” the leader said. “Filthy fucking habit.”
They were inching closer, the leader still talking, the voice muffled.
“Started when I was eleven, me da leaving ’em all around the flat. I’d go out on the street, thinking I was a tough guy, butt in me mouth.”
He looked to Manny, eyes like shiny wet spots in the fabric. The mask twitched. A grin. Like this was normal, talking to a guy in a mask.
“Got any reefer? You Africans, you like the ganja, right? Makes you feel like you’re back in the jungle playing the bongos, huh? Or maybe not the jungle. Maybe the slums of Nairobi. Must be in bleedin’ heaven, in Ballyer. Got da running water, mahn. Got da electric lights. Don’t have to shit in da gutter wid da pigs.”
The other three smiled, lips spreading in the mask holes. The leader looked to Sean, shook his head.
“Country going down the shitter. Immigrants, you know. Bad for the tourism. Americans come all the way to the old sod, they don’t want to be seeing bloody Africans.’”
Sean said, “I’m American,” as in, what would the IRA want with me?
“Oh, brilliant. The dude’s a Yank, lads. Makes him special.”
A snort from the others. A nod to Sean’s back.
“You got a laptop in there? I need to check my e-mail.”
Snorts all around now, wet mouths in the wooly holes.
“Can’t help you,” Sean said.
“Then I’ll help myself, like the Lord says. There now. Be a good Yank and hand it this way, and we’ll all have a nice night.”
“Let him be,” Manny said.
“Wait your turn, Nelson Mandela,” the guy said. “We’ll be getting to you.”
Sean took a step back along the wall, two of the guys moving past him, turning, cutting him off. He tensed. Felt it coming—
And away we go. Manny intervenes and gets the worst of it. Sean is thrust into a world blogs don’t explore: murders, beatings, beggars, and an Ireland that doesn’t make Lonely Planet’s lists – or From China Village on any given day!
I’ll keep you updated on its progress and will hopefully let you know when you can find it in book shops near you!