What if the homeless men going through your recycling bins know more about your life than you do? Like who is going to die.
ne of the recyclers, Dave, wearing disguises he keeps under a bridge, memorizes the information in people's bins. He, like many others, idolizes the Rescuers, a supposedly neutral, unarmed humanitarian aid group in a Balkanized country, as the possibility of WWIII looms.
The Nevermind Agents lie on the evening news to garner support for proxy wars. They say the Rescuers are unarmed, neutral, and giving humanitarian aid to a Balkanized country. Their movie about them is a blockbuster. Rescuer costumes are the bit hit for Halloween.
But it's time to unmask them. And that requires a plan so ingenious, even the planner can't know how it's done.
Living not far away from Dave's bridge, Becky donates generously to the Rescuers, making her finances even more insecure. She doesn't know what to think when she finds things in her apartment moved slightly. The toothbrush is wet. There's a stain on the ironing board. The cat food is nearly gone. Is it her imagination? Is someone messing with her mind?
Could it be Stan, breaking in because he loves her? He certainly loves putting her body into mysterious BDSM contortions for their videos. But what's that muffled moan she hears in the background when she calls him on the phone?
Becky hires her friend to spy on Stan. The woman has gone underground since escaping from the Nevermind; she wears a wig, and a mask meant for burn victims. She has traveled across the country to befriend Becky, taking a chance on an anonymous message recommending she do so, though she doesn't yet know the reason.
Thrills for thinkers.
Mature subject matter, some rough language, creepy images, and a rousing, upbeat ending that will make you feel great.
If you like conspiracy fiction, or Mary Higgins Clark, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Mr. Robot, Girl on the Train, Shutter Island, Memento, Eyes Wide Shut, The Magus, The Manchurian Candidate, El Internado, or The Fifth Assassin, read it.
Excerpt
Sunday
Nancy’s shoulder pressed against the window, steaming it up, as she leaned back against the thick plank. She put her feet up on the footstool, her boots clunking against it, her toes tingling from cold. The smoke from the wood stove in the living room sucked back in through the space in her doorway, tickling her nose. The woman she rented the closed-in porch from was gone, in the city with her boyfriend. Nancy could leave off her medical burn-mask and curly straw-blond wig for the night.
Her face was unscarred, other than for the tiniest slices from a quick nose job to hide her appearance from facial recognition software. Her naturally strawberry blond hair was dyed dark brown and rough-cut extremely short. Her skin wasn’t as pristine and translucently glowing as it had been before she escaped the Nevermind.
The house was far enough from the road that she didn’t worry about her naked face being spotted in the candlelit evening, especially considering the low hedge and the fog.
An owl hooted in the thick trees. One of Nancy’s piano students, who lived the next house down, was practicing the Mozart assignment. The tinkly optimistic piano refrain of the tiny ice cream truck trudged up the hill. Nancy chuckled. It finished out its inevitably, surreal cyclical broadcast: a middle-aged woman’s voice scolding, “HeLLO!” with a stereotypical New York Jewish meets Valley Girl sarcasm. As in, “Are you stupid or something, why are you not here buying ice cream cones, get with the program!” And after that, a bizarre “haw haw” laugh that was so creepy it was funny. She’d never seen any brand on the van.
She had never heard children running out to stop the truck and clamor for treats in the many months she’d lived there. She imagined laughing about the ice cream “truck,” a van actually, with a friend, any friend, sharing the wordless joke. Well, other than the woman she rented from, her only friend was Becky, a young woman down in the city. Nancy’s place was too high up in the hills, with steps, even, for Becky to handle visiting it.
A shocking BANG right beside her head. At first the window held tight, glass cracking like a spider web around the point of impact, the white spot quickly disrupting the center. The window shattered against her, nicking her eyelid, and glass crunched under her when she leaped away, grabbing the mace like a master as she rolled under the desk. She hunkered and remained motionless, breathing quietly. Only the piano trill of the ice cream van broke the silence outside, receding slowly.
She crouched low, moving toward the window, holding up the footstool as a shield, as she reached up for her mask and wig. She put them on haphazardly, and raised her head slowly to peer out the window, kneeling in the shards, bleeding through her jeans. The strong wind gusted against her forehead and she ducked. She lifted to peer again. Nothing unusual. She caught a whiff of a subtle smell from the outhouse. A crow lifted off the tree branches, its wings flapping in front of the moon.
She stood on the footstool but couldn’t see past the shrubbery to tell if anything -- or anyone -- was down there. The twigs brushed back and forth against the wood. Her wig almost blew off, and she grabbed it, peering into the distance. She went outside her door, down the narrow steps, and leapt toward trees, rolling into their shadows, and grabbing them to peer from behind.
She turned her back on the yard finally to look inside the bushes beneath her window. She put on thin gloves from her pocket, pulled the branches back, and reached down into it, feeling around. Something rounded. Cold. Wet. Why wet? There was no ice, or snow outside.
She bent her face to the ground and reached in between the dense trunks. Her hand closed around it. She pulled it out. A snow ball.
It was a huge ball, densely packed, looked to have been melted a bit and refrozen so it became icier, sharper on one side. And too heavy. She set it down in a pan in the sink. She pressed the button on the cooler of water her landlady drove up from the city, running a trickle onto the snow ball, but she didn’t want to waste too much. The water was for dishwashing and cleaning up the kitchen, as well as drinking and bathing with. It would melt soon enough.
She tried to laugh in thanks for the extra water, dirty as it was, but her mouth went sideways under the rubbery, thin medical mask. Had someone figured out who she was?
She moved it to the top of the wood stove. She wadded up the newspaper. The crumpled headline announced FIGHTING TERRORISM. Bits of text were visible: “to both the U.S. State and Defense departments . . . president signed a new order to deliver unlimited arms and support . . . waives any arms export control restrictions on providing military aid to any and all ‘foreign forces,’ extremist . . . as well as thousands of U.S.-trained and equipped moderate opposition waiting in camp.” Moderate, my ass. Moderate mercenary Terrorists. She forcefully threw the paper wads into the oven. Moderate Terrorists? Working hand-in-hand with the acknowledged terrorists -- which we’re also supporting. She made a tent of twigs and pieces of bark, and sticks, and struck a match against the rusty iron stove. Good riddance to media lies. May they burn in peace.
The icy ball dripped a hefty puddle into the shallow pan, and Nancy smelled chocolate. Cherries. Bananas. Inside the outer ring was ice cream. It was the ice cream woman. Ice cream man. Whatever it was.
True, she was hungry. It looked tasty and she was tempted to eat it, but she didn’t relish the possibility of poison. Chocking on a cherry bomb. She stayed back.
The pink and brown, yellow and white whirled their liquid colors together. Beneath the soft colors emerged vivid crimson and indigo, shining paint in an emerald green that overlapped the others here and there, and then she saw it: a smooth stone painstakingly painted with a translucent wash, liquid showing it off at its most beautiful.
She grabbed it with a serving spoon and washed it off, then set it down on the cutting board. She rolled it over and saw the image: two women gazing at each other. One thin, buff tomboy, the other with long dark hair. Behind them, a giant monster mouth, looking as if it would swallow them both whole. Behind the open vaguely shark-like mouth peered eyes, glistening, intense, white space around the irises. It made her heart beat faster.
Why the hell would the ice cream seller do that? She’d heard the truck go by often since she’d moved there from across states.
She felt herself begin to break into action. She’d started hitchhiking some nights when she just couldn’t take the restlessness, throwing herself upon the whiskey city. Waking, forgetting from so much intensity. She could feel a hitch down the mountain coming on that night. A chance for adventure, where anything could happen. Some knowledge was growing in her, and she didn’t know why, or what it was. But whatever it was meant business.
She looked around in the woman’s shed beside the house. Mice scampered off, and a rat waddled away. She found a tarp and heavy tape, and held them against the wind bursts; the crinkling of the material bothered her ears, sensitized by the bang.
The other woman painted on the rock made her think of Becky. She felt testosterone pumping. She wanted to protect her friend from the monster. Being close to Becky had become a mysterious mission for Nancy. That’s why she’d moved across states to begin with. She’d been still recuperating from her nose surgery when she’d been sent the anonymous tip: Nancy: Befriend Becky Lowensly Bronvonowich.
She’d looked up the name. Only one in the country. She’d tracked her down. She’d managed to “happened to meet” her at the health food store.
She felt that feeling again that had grown familiar since she’d met Becky: a sense of urgency bubbling up underneath her perception. All she knew was that someone was playing window ball for no discernible purpose, with a very strange artifact. And she wasn’t sticking around any longer that night.
Professional Reviews
US Review of Books RECOMMENDED STATUS
Remember to Recycle: Psychological Suspense (The Agents of the Nevermind, Volume 2)
by Tantra Bensko
Insubordinate Books
Reviewed by Anita Lock
"Am I having a Kundalini experience? If so, why is everything murky?"
In book two of The Agents of the Nevermind series, as WWIII seems imminent, especially with the rise of attacks on civilians in some Balkanized country, Nancy has escaped the bizarre Nevermind intelligence agency and is now in disguise. Unfortunately, she thinks she has been identified. Her artist friend Becky, who has phobia issues, becomes paranoid when she finds strange clues that appear to indicate that her lover Stan may be having an affair with another woman. And then there is the multiple personality Recycler who seems to be more aware of what’s happening in people’s lives (“Like who is going to die.”) than garbage picking. Becky asks Nancy to spy on Stan. What Nancy and Becky learn is far more sinister than they could ever imagine.
Bensko shines a light on present day political upheavals amid a twisted tale in her recent psychological suspense thriller. Of course, Nancy, the series’ heroine, is back. While Glossolalia centers on Nancy’s bizarre connection with Nevermind, Remember to Recycle is just plain surreal. Bensko floods her plot with a carefully crafted cast brimming with crazed characters that exhibit equally crazed traits (i.e., phobias, multiple personalities, alternate personas, dreamers)—a real mark of a psychological thriller.
It's difficult at times to distinguish from good and bad (or even from corrupt and downright evil) characters. Bensko magnifies this confusion by keeping to third person point of view for much of her storyline, except for the Recycler ironically set to first person narrative. Amid alternating bizarre character scenes punctuated with sex, Bensko weaves in the disconcerting tenor of the times—both in the U.S. and internationally. Heavily laced throughout are themes of propaganda, fake news, regime change schemes, fascist puppets, and all things about intelligence. This book is a winner among psychological thriller enthusiasts.
RECOMMENDED by the US Review
Best Thrillers
Remember to Recycle, a Whip-Smart Psychological Thriller by Tantra Bensko
By Best Thrillers Staff on June 18, 2017 in Conspiracy Thriller Books, New Book Releases, Psychological Thriller Books, Thriller Book Reviews, Thriller Reviews
The Bottom Line: A whip-smart conspiracy thriller that manages to be disturbing, insightful and absurd all at once.
Virtually every character in Tantra Bensko’s cleverly crafted Remember to Recycle defies snap judgment. Nancy, an occasionally homeless woman who moved across states to befriend a mysterious woman named Becky, is a wealth of insider information. She’s also the ultimate unreliable narrator.
Dave is dependent on community recycling for basic survival, and that’s core to his spiritual purpose in life. Like some speculative investigative journalist reading every homework assignment, prescription and diary, he has become an expert on the personal and professional lives of the families in his neighborhood. He even claims to know who is going to live and who is going to die.
At the core of the book are the the Rescuers, a humanitarian aid group. Meanwhile, World War III is threatening to break out. Or is it? Remember to Recycle is filled with layer upon layer of disguises (literal and figurative), bold concepts and red herrings. While the book’s plot is deliberately intricate, it can also be challenging. Thriller fans looking for a summer beach read should look elsewhere, as you’ll constantly be second-guessing the motives and perceptions of Bensko’s characters while the plot reveals itself.
But is it ultimately thrilling? Absolutely. And given how rich Bensko’s story is with character and geopolitics, it’s a powerful mirror for society. We can’t think of a more topic-rich novel for your book club.
Publishers Daily Reviews
Publishers Daily Reviews
Mystery and conspiracy lovers rejoice! Standout author Tantra Bensko is back with another incredible mystery/adventure featuring Nancy and the nefarious forces of the Nevermind.
In this delightfully offbeat novel, Nancy is the friend of a troubled tenant who wonders if she is being visited by a creepy stalker. Best case scenario, it’s her kinky boyfriend, Stan, because he loves her so much he can’t get enough of her. But asking him directly about that, and about a sound she hears during a phone call with him, might jeopardize the forthcoming marriage proposal. She asks Nancy to investigate, plunging Nancy into dastardly complexities of intrigue.
Meanwhile, the tenant — Nancy’s friend, Becky – bewildered by the seemingly clandestine visits inside her flat, is a little disturbed that her cat can apparently climb to the top shelf on her own and eat a portion of dry food, then close the bag again. And what’s up with the strange lipstick smear on her coffee cup? Not even her color. But never mind.
The main thing is to make sure the Rescuers — the brave men and women who risk their lives on TV each day to pull dying children from the rubble of ruined buildings right on cue in a faraway bombed-out land — the main thing is to make sure she donates regularly to help make it happen. God is smiling on her, she’s sure.
But wait. Isn’t that the same child who was rescued last week? And the week before that? And why do his clothes look so fresh and clean? Could it be a colossal hoax? Another devious deception devised by government handlers keen to keep certain dictators in power?
The Recycler — that guy, wearing disposable gloves and hairnet, who noisily cruises your neighborhood before dawn, sifting through your recyclables, collecting salable stuff – no one pays any attention to what he’s doing. He might as well be invisible. But he knows you. He’s read your receipts. Your love letters. Your dreams. Your future.
In this latest installment of the brilliant Nevermind series, Nancy once again delivers an impeccable performance as a person who is persecuted persistently by people more problematic than she is. But it’s all right. She’s got Phobia Night with Becky to exorcise her conspiracy demons.
In an engaging, free-flowing fictional style, the author takes us deep into Nancy’s mind, where she is trying to pull together the scattered skein that links people close to her, corrupt politicians and illegal schemes. It’s not easy, and every step she takes toward solving the mystery puts her life more at risk.
The book glitters with theatrical disguises. Nancy takes off her usual mask and adopts an outrageous femme fatale disguise to out a crooked official, leading to a surprise of surprises about a wicked secret plot to steal far more than money.
Now Nancy must figure out a way to foil the sadistic scheme — and stave off an imminent third world war into the bargain.
This is a twist-a-minute narrative that switches adeptly between three points-of-view: Nancy, Becky, and, most creepily, the Recycler, Dave, who dresses in wildly varying costumes. He even adopts the persona of a gypsy fortuneteller, relying on information he’s gleaned from the trash to deliver deep insights about the past, present and future – to reveal exactly who is going to die very soon.
How can he prove this startling statement? It’s a complex, intricately woven plotline that culminates in an ending that’s as dark and outre as anything Stephen King ever wrote. Seriously, this book ties itself up with a dénouement so sinister, you’ll be stunned.
Along the way, U.S. foreign policy in faraway Baltic regions is called repeatedly into question and, in fact, figures heavily into how the action unfolds. But we can’t reveal more about that, or we’ll have to kill you, as they say.
To sum up, this five-star sequel to the author’s acclaimed debut novel, Glossolalia, will leave you breathless and wanting more. What’s next for the Agents of the Nevermind? We can’t wait.
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Reviews for "Remember to Recycle: Psychological Suspense"
Reviewed by Brittany Dalton
6/9/2018
When I first started reading this book I asked myself why this book. Then the more I read it I got more into it.The characters were well written and took me on an adventure threw out the book. For me it was a quick read.
When I first began reading, I started asking myself why did you select this book, as it was a genre I normally wouldn't select. I picked it though and I had promised a review, so I continued to read. I am so glad I did! I thoroughly enjoyed "Remember to Recycle" by Tantra Bensko. It had twists and turns and was completely thought provoking. I was very entertained by the entire book. It touched on numerous matters, such as chemical weapons (sarin gas), CIA covert ops, organ harvesting, human trafficking, just to name a few. You never knew where the author was going to take you or the characters. All the characters were well-described with traits provided in great detail. I had my own personal favorite but I will leave it to you to decide yours. It was well-written and in the end all story-lines were brought together. The author said it best..."the public was gullible enough to never grasp it." Let me end by saying this...'Nevermind',................... {read the book).
Book eight in my Belinda Lawrence Classic Mysteries. Mysteries confront amateur sleuths, Belinda Lawrence and Hazel Whitby in the Somerset village of Milford.
Among the eccentrics is the shadowy Madam Malefic.
