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Airship 27 Productions and Cornerstone Book Publishers are thrilled to present the all new adventures of one of pulpdom’s most cherished two-fisted action heroes, Jim Anthony – Super Detective. Half Irish, half Comanche and all American, Jim Anthony is the near perfect human being in both physical strength and mental intellect. He’s a scientific genius with degrees in all the major fields. Operating from his penthouse suite, which also houses his private research laboratory, he ventures forth into the world at large as a champion of justice, a modern knight righting wrongs and defending the helpless.
Now, Jim Anthony and his trusted associates are back in three original action packed tales. Here are flying ace Tom Gentry, Anthony’s right hand man; Mephito, his Comanche medicine man grandfather, Dawkins, the prim and proper butler and the lovely Dolores Colquitt, as tough as she is beautiful. Writers Erwin K.Roberts, Andrew Salmon and B.C. Bell have produced a trio of suspenseful stories guaranteed to recapture the thrills and spills of those great, original pulp adventures. This, the first volume in the series, also features an introductory article on Jim Anthony’s history, contributed by pulp historian, Norman Hamilton.
Edited by Ron Fortier and designed by Rob Davis, the book contains eleven illustrations by Pedro Cruz and a stunning cover by Chad Hardin, done in the style of the original Jim Anthony magazine. This is one pulp book fans do not want to miss. All brought to you by Airship 27 Productions; Pulp Fiction for a New Generation!
Three of America's best neo-pulp authors breathe new life into a character who was part Doc Savage, part Tarzan, part Flash Gordon with a little Jim Thorpe All-American thrown in. The biggest difference, Jim loves the ladies. Matter of fact my tale is written in the form of the "Spicy" pulps that were kept under the counter at the newstand. But it's really fun for the entire action oriented family.
From a penthouse high atop the Waldorf-Anthony Hotel Jim and his crew tackle mad industrialists, a Mayan god, and villains too evil to contemplate on the eve of a world at war.
In all honesty I think we've brought this character to a whole new level he was never allowed to reach in his heyday. Action, mystery, crime, guns, gadgets and girls!
Rise of the Jaguar
Eduardo Valenzuela had the blood of kings in his veins and never even knew it. For seven generations his family had lived and worked on the Yucatan Peninsula, some fishing, some farming, some hunting. Eduardo himself had been a farmer when the white men came down from the North. Some generations back, explorers had discovered an ancient civilization in the rain forest. Never mind that Eduardo’s family had known it was there all along.
So now, years later, Eduardo had gone to work for the archeologists, doing the real work. Everyday he would dig, all day long, beneath the unforgiving Central American sun, tunneling deep into the earth while the white men would sit and sometimes brush at one stone for hours. Then they would suddenly become enthralled as a picture of a snake or a bird was revealed. Eduardo didn’t mind; the deeper he dug, the cooler the earth was. And usually when one of his employers discovered a new carving, Eduardo would get to take a break, and he would tell them everything he knew about the stories carved in the rock—stories about the plumed-snake, and the lizard-god, the javelina and the jaguar. There were lots of stories about the jaguar.
The panther of the rain forest was the deadliest hunter in all of the Yucatan, sometimes sitting camouflaged in the low limbs of the trees for hours, before pouncing on its unsuspecting victim on the trail below. Men from the North always died this way, until they learned to bring dogs with them. A man without a dog, the jaguar didn’t even have to pounce on him. The jaguar, she merely waited, and as the man rode under, she would swat him with her claws. The man’s horse would run, and the man was usually already dead. If not, well, at least the most terrifying part of his life would be brief.
Eduardo’s family had hunted down the big cats for as long as they had been there, using only a spear and the dogs. But Eduardo was no fool. Digging holes for the archeologists was much safer, and it paid more than farming. Much more.
However, in many cases it was easier for him to plant the food than it was to go to town and buy it. So Eduardo had never stopped farming. His wife and children had done a good deal of the work while he had been digging, but as always, harvest time had come and he had been forced to take a few days off to work the farm. Now he was headed back to the site of the dig so he could work some more. He could not bring his dogs to the site, because they would rile the hounds of the archeologists. So he walked through the jungle-like fauna of the rainforest, and as he made his way down to the old Mayan plaza, he read the stories that the trail told him with its every bent leaf and broken branch. Every piece of bark and every twig was an encyclopedia of information to Eduardo.
Eduardo kept his ears open as he headed down the trail, listening for the things his eyes could not see. The call of the birds, the cry of a monkey, the slap of the iguana’s feet upon the ground, all these things could warn one of the coming of a forest predator. Everything seemed safe as he headed up the hill to the site of the dig. The sound of men screaming and gunfire echoed through the valley. And then, everything was still. The entire rain-forest seemed silent except for the slapping sound of the big lizards running away, unseen, through the foliage.
Eduardo crawled behind some brush at the edge of the clearing near the ancient pyramid that the northerners called the Castillo. None of the dogs that were normally kept tied up at the edge of the plaza were visible. Nor were they barking. As silently as possible, Eduardo began to circle the great temple, making sure to keep to the edge of the forest so that he wouldn’t be seen. A pack of dogs lay slaughtered off to the west, still leashed to the corner of the structure, teeth exposed, eyes staring at the sun, the blood drying beneath them. Everything lay hushed, dead silent. The archeologists were nowhere to be seen. Slowly, Eduardo edged as far as he could to the north. When the lack of foliage forced him to stop, he could feel the shadow of death hanging over the Castillo.
Eduardo had felt death here many times before and had always written it off as mere superstition. Maybe it was some scrap of genetic memory. Maybe it was a trace of his unknown ancestors that had witnessed death in this place long before. Or maybe it was simply the fact that he was one with this land. But something, something sent a chill down Eduardo’s spine, and told him to stay hidden.
A man emerged from the top of the ancient pyramid. He stood atop the altar, gazing around the plaza as if it were his. Shirtless, he wore tan jodhpurs and brown boots. There was blood on his bare, white chest. He was one of the men from the North, but he wore a wide, golden belt that resembled armor. And instead of the pith helmets and caps that seemed uniform among these explorers, he wore a native headdress. It was tall and red, decorated with rows of feathers, and under its many adornments stood the crown of a king.
Eduardo shivered as the stranger turned slowly toward him. The poor dirt farmer and laborer, a man whose relatives had once ruled this place, sank as far back in the bush as he could without rustling the leaves. He didn’t know why, for surely he could not be seen. And yet the man seemed to looking directly at him.
The strange foreigner slowly turned to face directly north. He raised both arms in the air as if in victory, like he was looking down at the masses that once filled this plaza. And as he did so, a gigantic black panther hopped out of the doorway at the top of the altar behind him, and gracefully sauntered up to the man’s side. At the edge of the shadowy entrance, another panther came into to view. It sat down, chewing on a large piece of meat. The strange man from the North finally kneeled on his haunches and put one arm around the neck of the jaguar as if it were his pet. Or as if he were merely another jaguar. Then he stood again, turning back and forth and raising his arms to the imaginary crowd. Eduardo noticed something in one of his hands he hadn’t seen before. The man in the red crown held a human head up, his hands clenched around the hair.
He held it up for the panther to smell. The black devil licked at it, trying to reach the blood of the severed neck. Then the stranger held the head in both hands, as if looking into the corpses eyes. And dropkicked it.
The head plopped off the steps almost halfway down, and from there popped and wobbled as it bounced down the remainder of the seventy-eight foot pyramid. The panther bounded back and forth, chasing the flopping head from one direction to the next. There were ninety-one steps on each side of the temple. The jaguar had the head in its jaws before it hit the ninetieth.
An hour later Eduardo ran into the house out of breath and excited. He grabbed his wife Dorina, and pulled her away from the pots on the wood burning stove. He held both her shoulders so she couldn’t turn away and looked her directly in the eyes before he told her what they had to do.
“Dorina, hurry, you must gather all the children. Gather blankets, and pack. We have to go to town. We cannot stay.”
“But Eduardo, what is it?”
“La Jaguar Roja!”