"Follow the Money" is a collection of ten interconnected short stories. Raunchy, gritty and unpredictable.
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Follow The Money
From one of America's most unknown authors comes a book so humorous, so vile, so inane . . . it could only be a cry for help.
If you're searching for a refreshing style that's a tad demented, with characters that burrow deep into your mind and never leave, you've found the right book.
"Follow the Money" is a collection of ten interconnected short stories that will grab you, wrestle you to the ground and squeeze you until your funny bone snaps in two.
A botched kidnapping, a money scam, a not-so-average convenience store holdup ... each story flows (with the money) through a series of interesting, and sometimes bizarre, plots. Layered and interweaved with seamless complexity, recurring characters and everyday motifs bind the ten stories into a single universal plot.
Ingenious in its conception, flawless in its execution, "Follow the Money" is a hilarious, detailed study on the many facets of the human condition. Greed, Pride, Lust . . . the seven deadly sins have never been so entertaining.
Prepare yourself for a raunchy, gritty ride you'll never want to end.
From "The Drop," story 1 of "Follow The Money" ...
THE GIRL WAS in the back room, asleep. Clint and Waylon sat in the kitchen, drinking beers at the little table Clint picked up at Goodwill last year for five bucks.
"Where we doin' it?" Waylon asked.
"I don't know yet." Clint scraped at the label from his Budweiser. He heard somewhere it gave you luck if you got it all the way off without tearing it. There had to be a trick to it. He'd figure it out, pull it off in one piece.
"I thought you had it all planned out."
"I do, just not all the little details."
"Little details? Where we do it is like one of the big details, ain't it?" Waylon turned up his beer, taking three big swigs one right after another.
"Hey!" came a muffled voice from the back room.
Clint took a drink from his beer. He looked at the label, half off now and not a tear yet, thinking that was a good sign.
"Hey!" The girl screamed again through the closed door. Waylon glanced at his younger brother, waiting for him to do something. Clint sat there in his chair, leaning back studying the label on his beer bottle like it was a winning lottery ticket and he just had to scratch the right boxes to win. The girl yelled again for somebody to come there.
"You gonna see what she wants?" Waylon finally said, fidgeting in his chair like a two year old that's got to go to the bathroom. Do number one.
Clint shrugged, keeping his eyes on his beer bottle. It was sweating pretty good now, making it easier to peel the label off but also making it just as easy to tear. "You go see what she wants."
. . .