Amazon Mike Dennis, noir fiction author Amazon Barnes & Noble Category:  Crime Publisher: Mike Dennis ISBN-10:  0615478727 Type: Fiction Pages: 274 Copyright: May 11, 2011 ISBN-13: 9780615478722 A novel from the shadows of Key West  "Dennis writes true noir." -- Vicki Hendricks, author of Cruel Poetry   "Fans of Elmore Leonard should find Mike Dennis an author worth watching - and worth reading." -- BooksAndPals.com   Key West, 1991. Don Roy Doyle is back in town. Tough and quick-witted, he's fresh out of prison, where he served three years for a diamond swindle. Now he's back to collect his share of the proceeds, about $200,000, but the money has vanished.   A local family dynasty which has controlled the island's politics for generations, a cop with a grudge, the FBI, and the Russian mob all have a stake in the action. They're convinced Cuba is on the verge of "opening up", and they all want Doyle gone.    In this tightly-knit town, who can be trusted? And how long can Doyle stay alive?    Setup On Front Street takes you inside the world of Key West noir, a world tucked way back in the shadows, where the tourists never go.   Excerpt March, 1991 I got back to Key West on the day Aldo Ray died. This kid sitting next to me on the bus had one of those old transistor radios, and the news came crackling out of it somewhere south of Miami. The big C got him, it said. Ray was one of my favorite Hollywood tough guys. Like myself, he was powerfully built, with a harsh, scratchy voice, cutting a bearish figure on the big screen. But he had a well-hidden, squishy-soft center, which usually meant big trouble for the characters he portrayed. As the Greyhound made its way down the Keys that morning, I gazed out at the hot, lazy island hamlets, thinking about Ray, and about what I had to do. And there could be no room for squishiness. *** We lumbered into the downtown Key West terminal. I stepped off the air-cooled bus into the steamy embrace of the thick humidity I remembered from long ago. I started sweating right away. As I took a full stretch, my bones creaked and cracked, and I frowned. Three days on a bus gives you the creaky bones. Three years in the joint gives you the frown. The passengers stood around: an odds-and-ends collection of smelly backpackers, Jap tourists here on the cheap, plus a couple of scowling Miami jigs—low-grade street types draped in gold, probably down here to make a dope drop. As soon as the driver pulled the bags out of the bus's belly, I snatched mine and headed across the small parking lot for a little rooming house nearby on Angela Street. It wasn't even a two-minute walk, but by the time I got there, splotches of sweat had stained the front and back of my guayabera. Welcome home, pal. Inside, I signed the register, then paid the deposit. I paused for just a moment, looking at my signature. "Don Roy Doyle", it read. That was the first time in a long time that I'd written my name for anything other than prison shit. I felt my frown trying to go away at this liberating thought, but then I remembered what got me sent up in the first place. The clerk pushed me the key. I headed upstairs with more than a little snap in my step. Slipping the key into the lock, I gave it a turn. Then I stepped back just a shade. The door opened a couple of inches, but I didn't push it all the way open. Instead, I closed it again, then reopened it. Opening my own door. With my own key. How long had it been. The room was boiling. I flipped the AC on high, then peeled off my clothes. With nobody around. By normal standards, I'm sure it was just an average-sized room, but compared to my Nevada cell, it seemed gigantic. It was a lot more space and a far better view than I'd been used to, and it was all mine. Smiling, I turned the light on and off a few times, watching the bulb react to my switch-clicking. Then I moved to the center of the room where I stretched my arms out as far as they would go. I turned a couple of complete three-sixties without touching anything. With those luxuries under my belt, I checked out the rack. It was huge, compared to the little slab I'd slept on for years. I hadn't had my feet up in three days and sweet sleep was calling me. I didn't even pull back the covers. *** It was twilight by the time I woke up. The humming AC had cooled the room to perfection. I felt rested for the first time since I left Nevada. I took a long, warm shower in wonderful solitude, without worrying about anyone trying to fuck with me. Afterward, I pulled a fresh guayabera and a clean pair of cotton pants out of my bag. I could wear what I wanted now, so I took my own sweet time getting dressed. With my brushed-back hair still wet, I headed down the stairs, out into the warm night. Man, I felt great. And now, it was showtime.

Vicki Hendricks, author of CRUEL POETRY
Dennis writes true noir.

BooksAndPals.com
Fans of Elmore Leonard should find Mike Dennis an author worth watching - and worth reading.

Jessica Argyle
I think we are witnessing Mike Dennis come into his own as a noir writer - but with a signature style that distinguishes his work from the many others writing in this genre. Stylish and dark, I am beginning to truly know this voice. This is a must read.