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Philly Style And Philly Profile
Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: Smashwords
ISBN-10: 145246930X
Type: Fiction
Copyright: April 9, 2011
ISBN-13: 9781452469300
Price: $2.99 (eBook)
Philly in the 70`s. Part 2 of Julius Thompson`s Andy Pilgrim trilogy.
This is the second of the Andy Pilgrim trilogy.While the title does not try to explain the book,that was the author`s intent.The title refers to something special specific to the city of Philadelphia only. You have to read the book very carefully to understand what Julius is trying to say. He is being pervasive on purpose. This second book leads into the final of the trilogy, "Ghost of Atlanta"
"Philly Style, Philly Profile" takes place in the 70's.Andy, a black man, works for the Philly Bulletin.He is immediately confronted by one of the many problems that black men had to deal with then and now...RACISM.That`s just one central issue. Added, we find out that he is slated to cover high school sports and we are immediately introduced to 2 more very dangerous threats...DRUGS and GANGS.
Andy gets caught up deeply in this mix when he befriends Carl, an up and coming basketball player whose getting ready to go off to college in just a few days. I won`t spoil the story for you but I will say that it`s extremely fast paced and relevant for the times. Of course all cities big and small sadly still face these same issues.
You will read this and, once you do, you`ll want to continue the saga in "Ghost of Atlanta".I would be remiss if I did not take a moment and mention the fantastic editing in this super story. I read this, looking for mistakes and I found very few. My hat`s off to Julius' editor, Moneysaver Editing. Keep writing Julius, great job! Look for this title now out in e-book format. I edited the kindle version.
Edited and reviewed by Dennis . Moneysaver Editing
This book is in e format at Smashwords. It is also in Amazon in trade paper.
Excerpt
Walter Chandler’s legs pumped like automobile-engine pistons as he dodged the occasional newspaper stand with the owner holding out the late afternoon copy of The Philadelphia Bulletin. This was one of the obstacles Walter faced as he sprinted the length of the 69th Street elevated subway station. He skirted past this obstruction like he did when he won the Championship of America hurdles race at the Penn Relays track and field carnival.
He squinted in the glare of the late-afternoon sun that streamed through the spaces between the iron beams, supporting the platform. Walter dodged groups of people getting on and off regular scheduled El trains coming from Center City, the heart of downtown, Philadelphia.
Walter reached the stairs to the concourse and then the long corridor that led to the platform of the high-speed line that carried commuters to Norristown, a small town on the western side of Philadelphia. Norristown was situated in the direction of the state capitol of Harrisburg.
Walter evaded two old ladies who were not watching what was going on around them. He peered down the passageway, saw the 4:09 train and picked up speed. His thoughts raced faster than his feet. ‘If I don’t hustle, I won’t reach the train. I can’t be late.’
His forearm knocked open one of the swinging doors; he put on a burst of speed that would make Olympian Carl Lewis blush with envy. Walter smiled as he stepped through the train doors and sat down on the black plastic seat. Breathing hard, he closed his eyes for a few moments. He opened them and saw every seat taken except for a few near the front of the car.
He heard the conductor yell through he window,” Pull outta here.” The high-speed line car jerked forward, eased out of the 69th Street terminal and headed to Norristown.
Walter endured the 30-minute commute, knowing that when he stepped off the train, a phase of his life would end. When he got the telephone message, he was suspicious, but he knew he had to go to Norristown or he wouldn’t find any inner-peace.
He got off the train and walked the three blocks to the First Pennsylvania Bank on McArthur Road. Inside the bank, he headed for the safe deposit boxes. Walter put the letter in the box, closed it, locked it, and smiled at the bank teller who gave him the lock-box key. He walked away from the vault area of the bank toward the front entrance.
Walter had a few minutes before the meeting. When it was over he’d sprint to catch the high-speed line train for the return trip to the 69th Street Market elevated station.
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