Disc jockey Carter "The Cart-Man" Jackson has been climbing the stairway to heaven- keeping his life as simple as possible by living from one song to the next. He had the world by the tail, coming from a family of power, prestige, and politics... until he let it all go.
Killer Queen is burning up the highway to hell- terrorizing a town in her crimson-red stilettos, by holding random men at gunpoint. She had nothing, except a dad who abused her... and now she has nothing to lose.
K-I-L-L FM 100 is the visual soundtrack of two opposing lives colliding head-on at a destined radio station.
A full-throttle storyline, injected with one of the most unique twists ever unleashed, K-I-L-L FM 100 is the thriller that reads like a soundtrack.
Disc jockey Carter "The Cart-Man" Jackson has been climbing the stairway to heaven- keeping his life as simple as possible by living from one song to the next. He had the world by the tail, coming from a family of power, prestige, and politics... until he let it all go.
Killer Queen is burning up the highway to hell- terrorizing a town in her crimson-red stilettos, by holding random men at gunpoint. She had nothing, except a dad who abused her... and now she has nothing to lose.
K-I-L-L FM 100 is the visual soundtrack of two opposing lives colliding head-on at a destined radio station. As Killer Queen puts the DJ under the gun during his night shift, she begins to question who the real hostage is as she confronts the demons of her past. And as the DJ shines his light into her darkened world, a few shadows of his own begin to loom from his closet. When the lane narrows on this solitary stretch of highway, both captor and captive realize that something's got to give. Someone's got to go. Closing in fast on this dead-end drive, two souls discover that their lives are not so different; each has lived under a mask, and each is in dire need of genuine love.
A full-throttle storyline, injected with one of the most unique twists ever unleashed, K-I-L-L FM 100 is the thriller that reads like a soundtrack.
There's a time for everything under heaven. Killer Queen knows there's a time to kill.
Excerpt
It was only a moment ago that he was riding high on cloud nine, playing air-guitar like a madman. Carter’s euphoric-state was halted abruptly, however, when poked from behind by an uninvited guest. For a split-second, he went airborne, launching as a rocket into orbit from his “Captain’s” chair. His headphones returned to earth first, recoiling after their cord reached maximum altitude. As the elasticized wire snapped back into the stratosphere, the headset was instantly snatched from his cranium. Shortly thereafter, Cart rediscovered gravity and plopped, haphazardly, back into his chair.
It was startling enough having an unannounced visitor sneak up behind you. But it was more than his circuitry was wired for when Cart took on the brunt of a piercing yell, while enduring a gun’s barrel poked through his occipital bone. The DJ seized up like a crippled spider after meeting the velocity from a rolled-up newspaper.
The volume was loud, and the command was clear, “PUT THE NEXT SONG ON THE AIR, NOW!!!”
Carter did as he was told, trying his hardest to regain control of his spastic muscles. The studio’s control room spun, and the DJ felt as if he was undergoing some type of out-of-body experience. He clamored for The Beatles’ release and placed it on the turntable, where it continued to grace the ears of his faithful few, even in this moment. It took all the energy he could muster, staying collected when announcing the forthcoming “double-shot.” After the initial shock of surprise wore off, the DJ’s coherency caught up with his current state. Now under the gun, he was sweating profusely in his “Captain’s” chair… although now it felt more like a hot-seat.
“Now what do you want me to do?” The question was tossed out cautiously.
“Turn around in your seat, slowly!” wafted the soft and sultry female voice.
Carter did as he was told, and the barrel poking into the back of his head disappeared. Her patent-red, stiletto heels clicked on the tile floor as she calmly inched her way backward from the DJ. She must have been all of thirty years old, thirty-two at the most, Carter reasoned. He was shaking, slightly, still not fully recovered from having someone sneak up behind him- and with that gun, no less!
With saucer-wide eyes, he tried to absorb this femme fatale in front of him. She was every bit the paradox: Slender build, approximately five-feet-eight-inches tall, dark-brown tresses extending in waves just past her shoulders, not too heavy on the makeup… perhaps just a touch too much eyeliner for his taste. Complexion was smooth and creamy-white. Her top was of a silky, red-and-black material that hugged her body and didn’t quite meet her short, black skirt at the midriff. Sheer, thigh-high nylons adorned her legs, followed by the patent-red stilettos.
But Cart paid no attention to the accoutrements this vixen possessed. What really grabbed his attention was the handgun clutched in her grip, pointed directly at him.
Her sculpted brows were arched as she studied him- coldly taking him in for a moment as well. “Do you know who I am?” The words slipped between her dew-kissed lips and floated on the air toward him.
“Ummm, yes, I think so.”
“Tell me, who am I then!” the vixen unfurled, more in a manner that seemed like a command as opposed to a question.
“Are, are you the one they call Killer Queen?” Carter meekly inquired.
“You would be correct,” aired the stoic response wrapped in perfumed breath.
“Tell me your name.”
“Uhh, Carter.”
“Carter?”
“Y- Yes, ma’am, C- Carter.”
“Very well, Mr. Carter, first thing’s first: That cell phone on your desk,” she flicked the handgun in its direction for emphasis, “toss it to me.”
The DJ carefully complied. She retrieved the light toss, turned the phone off, and placed it inside a nearby crate that stored albums.
“Now, Mr. Carter, I want you to do me another favor. Can you help me out, Mr. Carter?”
“Umm, y- yes, ma’am.”
“Good, Mr. Carter. Very good! I want you to put your hands behind your back.”
“P- Please don’t kill me, ma’am,” Carter bravely requested, with only a slight tremor in his voice. “I mean you no harm.”
“I know, Mr. Carter, and that’s fine. But maybe I mean to harm you just a little. Now PUT your HANDS be-HIND your BACK!” The emphatic edge in her voice almost made the Cart-Man pee in his pants.
Click! The beautiful monster stood about twenty feet away from him, now with arm fully extended and the hammer pulled back on the handgun.
Oh crap, crap, crap! Carter’s inner voice sounded like a skipping record of all things. She means business!
Carter did his best to stay calm, and he let out a slow breath, trying to keep his poise. Reluctantly, he placed his hands behind his back.
“Good, good, Mr. Carter. Now I want you to remember one thing: If you move, I will BLOW YOUR HEAD OFF! Do you understand?”
“Y- Yes, ma’am,” the Cart-Man sheepishly replied.
Carter watched, as Killer Queen carefully placed the handgun on a nearby desk, hammer still cocked and barrel still aimed at him. The slender vixen then placed her shiny, red fingertips on the back of the desk’s chair and methodically pulled it toward her. Eyeing Carter the entire time, she slowly lifted her leg and positioned her right foot on the seat.
Placing her fingertips at the top of her thigh-high stocking, she painstakingly slid the sheer nylon down her leg, worked the material over her knee, and allowed the stocking to rest just under her calf. Carter heard the distinct, smooth scrape of nylon as his captor released her foot from the stiletto. The vixen then slinked the sheer material off and rested her bare foot on the seat of the chair. As if popping a bullwhip, Killer Queen fluffed the stocking in the air, releasing the temporary wrinkles in the material. Switching the stocking into her left hand, she retrieved the pistol with her right. She then worked her toes back into the stiletto and proceeded slowly, but assuredly, in Carter’s direction.
Her heels were pronounced as they clicked against the tile. With her every step, the DJ was reminded of who now controlled this radio station. As she neared his chair, Killer Queen took extra measures to give herself a little breathing room between herself and her captive until she rounded to the back of him.
“Mr. Carter, do you know what is about to transpire here?”
“Y- Yes, ma’am. You are about to tie me up?”
“Yes, Mr. Carter, that is precisely what I am going to do. I am going to set this gun down, right beside me on the desk, and tie you up. Am I going to have any problems here?”
“No, ma’am. Are, are you going to shoot me then?”
“That all depends on you, Mr. Carter. I haven’t quite decided what I’m going to do with you, yet. I may need to save a toy for later just in case I get bored.”
The vixen eyed him under a sharp, steady gaze, allotting ample time for her words to sink in. The DJ’s hairline grew moist with beaded sweat, and his windpipe began to constrict. Cart’s Adam’s apple felt as though, indeed, a whole “Granny Smith” was lodged in his throat.
“For now, I want you to remain silent, sit still, and continue looking straight ahead.”
The Cart-Man didn’t respond, but merely did as he was told. He heard Killer Queen gingerly place the handgun on the desk. And then he felt some of the softest material to ever grace his skin slide across, and over, and around his wrists. And just as a record revolves around a turntable, the process was repeated with the nylon stocking again, and again, and again, until suddenly, a quick cinch was placed on the material, and his wrists were bound tightly together. The sudden cinch-down caused the Cart-Man to jerk in his chair, but his captor paid no attention to the slight breach of contract.
Carter received a generous whiff of gentle perfume, and he suddenly realized that Killer Queen had bent down and placed her face beside his, just above his right shoulder. The vixen spoke, and her hot breath brought to mind the distinct smell of recently-chewed spearmint gum.
“You did a good job, Mr. Carter, a very good job. So tell me, do you have any idea why I use a stocking to tie up my victims?”
“N- No, ma’am, I’m not sure why.”
“Because..."
Professional Reviews
Unique Thriller to Rock Your Soul
Disillusioned with hypocritical politicians and religious leaders who are far from practicing what they preach, D.J. Carter "the Cart-Man" Jackson lives for two things: listening to the still, small voice of God and uplifting the souls of his listeners through classic rock n' roll at his radio station K-I-L-L FM 100. Through these, he's made peace with his past, or at least thinks he has, until his graveyard shift at the station looks to become just a bit too literal one night. Because Killer Queen has stepped out of the music and into his D.J.'s booth, and the alleged murderess in red stilettos terrorizing his town seems to have chosen him as a victim who must pay the piper.
A terrifically original story, written in an almost poetical prose which could be the lyrics to this rock song of a tale, K-I-L-L FM 100 is, at the same time, a high-octane thriller and a quietly spiritual novella that shows how being open to the mysterious workings of God allows us to open our hearts and minds to both the human pain and the human beauty in others. Author Teric Darken doesn't preach this important idea to the reader, so much as invite him or her in to listen to the record, to see if it might become the listener's favorite too. Exciting and suspenseful, yet thoughtful and moving, I'd highly recommend this impressive work to anyone looking for a rock n' roll thrill ride with just that little bit more.
-Krisi Keley, author, "On the Soul of a Vampire"
A Thriller with Heart, Soul, and Rock-n-Roll!
DJ Carter "The Cart-Man" Jackson is a guy we can all relate to. He has a past that he's made a tenuous peace with, good and faithful friends working with him, and he's blessed to have a job he loves. Things go awry when a psychopathic killer breaks into the booth during his all-night shift. Now it is up to the DJ and the Killer Queen to survive the night--and survive the revealing of their individual murky and uncomfortable pasts.
The spiritual elements of the book touched me to the core. Rarely have I seen such excellent writing and rock-steady theology presented in a suspense thriller. In K - I - L - L FM 100: Music to Die For, there's a distinct and welcome absence of tired religiosity and pious "churchianity." Darken has melded the elements seamlessly into a terrific story that covers the deepest parts of man's (and woman's) heart.
Author Teric Darken weaves a thriller with heart and soul, mixed with the music I grew up with. Every minute in this tightly woven tale was entertaining and I know I'll read it again and again. Please write some more Mr. Darken!
Ellen C. Maze
Author of Curiously Spiritual Vampire Tales
Another Fiver
All right. Really? Five stars all the way through? You betcha!
This is a great book. Fast, easy to read, filled with humor and wit as well as a few tears. I'd have to say my personal favorite is the whole picture of Cart-Man playing the air guitar. "It was only a moment ago that he was riding high on cloud nine, playing air guitar like a madman..." yes. I can see Mr. Darken actually doing this.
I think my favorite character would have to be Killer Queen. Anyone that has been dealt the blows she has will appreciate what she's going through as she comes to a cross-roads in her path of self-destruction.
Bravo, Mr. Darken. You did an excellent job, and I will be reading your other books.
Amanda Stephan, author of The Price of Trust
Set in 2022, new novel features a successful Baltimore attorney who attempts a run at the state senatorial seat. But she is suddenly faced with obstacles she didn’t know existed and decisions she never dreamed she would have to make…
