It's 1958 in Miami - South Beach. An ex-cop with some serious character issues is trying to survive in a world where drugs are king and the value on life gets smaller everyday. His struggles, and the need for money put him on a dangerous path where the ending is almost inevitable - and its not a good one. Retired gangsters, a Russian hit-man and some very bad characters are on a mission, and unknowingly he is swept up in their undercurrent of crime. An undercurrent where the body count grows daily.
Excerpt
Ahron Goldman stumbled down the dark stairs and pushed open the large wooden door that provided entrance to his basement. Four of his Italian friends were gathered around a small card table playing poker, drinking and laughing loudly – thick cigar smoke rushed out of the room past his face, leaving him almost breathless.
“Please fellows,” he shouted through the open doorway. “Freida and I can’t sleep with all the noise. Can you guys turn it down a notch or two?”
The four men turned toward the unwelcome disturbance.
Aldo Duchi thumped his cigar ashes toward Ahron, snarled at the intrusion and yelled. “Go back to bed old man, we pay to use this place, so we’ll make all the damn noise we want.”
Paulie Donato put his hand on Aldo’s shoulder and laughed. “He’s right Aldo. We’re making a lot of unnecessary noise, and you’re making most of it because you’re losing! Give him and his wife a break – they gotta’ work tomorrow. You know…taking care of the store and running his business. All you gotta’ do is find a warm piece of sand on your little island to plant your fat ass.”
“Fuck him and his store,” he continued to yell. “We pay the rent on this dump and don’t need some Jewish prick telling us what to do.”
“Please fellows,” Ahron interrupted. “I don’t mean to cause any trouble. Just…just try to keep it down a little…if you can.”
Tony Provensano stood, smiled and walked over to where Ahron was standing. “It’s okay Ahron, the game is over anyway. Aldo’s just upset ‘cause the cheap bastard lost the ten bucks he brought to the game. Go back to bed and kiss Freida goodnight for us. We’ll lock up when we leave.”
“You’re damn right it’s over.” Joey Giovanni tossed his cards onto the table. “These old bastards cheat and I’ve had enough. I’ll have one of my guys carve out their eyeballs tomorrow and see how they like playing poker with empty eye sockets!”
Tony patted Ahron on the shoulder. “Go on back to bed. We’ll see you tomorrow and share some of Freida’s delicious chicken soup with matzo balls. The whiskey will have worn off by then and everybody will be in a better mood.”
Ahron closed the door and wandered back up the stairs. Things didn’t use to be this way. When he first met these fellows they were just old tired gangsters who came to Florida to retire and die in the sunshine. They rented the basement under his apartment and adjoining deli to have a place to get away from their wives, relive old times and share memories. Ahron was happy to have the company and friendship – and the extra money was always welcome.
But lately something had changed, and it wasn’t just the excessive noise or drinking. There were other things bothering these guys. Arguments were more frequent, and the friendship between them seemed to be getting more distant. He sensed trouble in the air.
Ahron wondered what that trouble might be, but also knew that he really didn’t want to know.
In the waning days of World War II, a man lies injured in a London hospital, shrouded in mystery and confusion. He is an American serviceman, stripped of his identity and memories, save for the name John, and plagued by vivid visions of battles that
Goldie's daughter Chili Pepper leaves the Flirting With Food TV show & moves to Portland Oregon as Executive Chef at a new restaurant. But there is a rash of murders, all in the Pettygrove mansion where she lives with roommates.
