Pigeon-Blood Red is a fast-paced and
suspenseful crime thriller by Ed Duncan. It was released in
March 2016, published by Zharmae and is available for sale on Amazon.
Duncan says, “It’s always been said that you
should write what you know. I am a lawyer - as is a pivotal character in the
novel who is being pursued by a hit man - and I'm excited to be able to use my
legal training creatively as well as professionally.”
Synopsis
For underworld
enforcer Richard "Rico" Sanders, it seemed like an ordinary job.
Retrieve his gangster boss's priceless pigeon-blood red ruby necklace and teach
the double-dealing cheat who stole it a lesson. A job like a hundred before it.
But the chase quickly goes sideways and takes Rico from the mean streets of
Chicago to sunny Honolulu, where the hardened hit man finds himself in
uncharted territory when a couple of innocent bystanders are accidentally
embroiled in the crime.
As Rico pursues his new targets, the hunter and
his prey develop an unlikely respect for one another and Rico is faced with a
momentous decision: follow his orders to kill the couple whose courage and
character have won his admiration, or refuse and endanger the life of the woman
he loves?
Praise for Pigeon-Blood Red
“Fast-paced and full of surprises. Will keep you
on the edge of your seat!” – Amazon Customer
“Pigeon Blood Red
has a dramatic and satisfying conclusion, leaving the reader nodding his head
with approval." - Readers'
Favorite
“In a novel with as
much action as love, it is sure to be a story that will
fulfill the desires of readers of all ages, genders, and areas of interest.” – Red City
Review
Excerpt
from Chapter 1
When Rico knocked
on Jean’s door he was happy to hear the sound of footsteps. At least she was
there. Maybe it was a good omen. Jean, a stunning redhead with a figure that
made the heart leap, looked through the peephole, opened the door, and greeted
him wrapped in a towel. She was even more tantalizing than she’d been in the
car earlier that day. She wasn’t completely dry, and here and there tiny
droplets of water glistened on her arms and shoulders. Rico inhaled the subtle
fragrance of her shower gel, but before it could distract him, a voice in his
head reminded him, “Point one percent.”
“I wasn’t expecting
you back so soon,” she began, a playful, sultry smile on her face.
From the doorway
Rico scanned the living room and saw nothing amiss. He walked in and closed the
door behind him. Too bad. He only knew how to do this one way. “Jean, how long
have you known me?” he asked stoically.
She was baffled.
“You know as well as I do. What kind of a question is that?”
“I never tried to
hide from you how I make my living, true?” They stood face to face, inches
apart, before she took a few halting steps backward. “So you know what happens
to people who don’t tell me what I want to know, don’t you?”
“Rico,” she
stammered, her voice trembling, “you aren’t making any sense. What’s this all
about? I don’t know what you’re accusing me of, but I haven’t done anything, I
swear.”
He took a straight
razor from his coat pocket and opened it. As he walked toward her, she covered
her face with her hands. He stepped behind her, thrust his left arm through the
triangle formed by her hands pressing against her face, and grabbed her right
shoulder. With his right hand he held the blunt side of the open razor against
her right cheek.
“Where is it?”
“Please, Rico,” she
sobbed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pressed harder and
tightened his grip on her shoulder. “Please, please!”
“I don’t believe
you.” He turned the sharp side to her cheek.
“Rico, not my face,
please! I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her tears puddled
where the razor met her skin.
“Sorry, baby.”
As Jean cried out
he let the razor fall from his hand and, in one uninterrupted motion, expertly
muzzled her scream with the same hand before the razor hit the floor. She
fainted.
When she came to,
she was lying on the couch where Rico had carried her. He stood with his back
to her, talking to Jerry on the phone. Jerry hadn’t been able to get past lobby
security in Robert’s building.
“He palmed it,
right?” Jerry asked.
Rico glanced over
his shoulder at Jean. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He hung up. “I had to
be sure,” he said unapologetically.
She shivered in her
towel and glared at him, anger roiling in her eyes. He went to the bedroom and
returned with a blanket, which she allowed him to drape around her shoulders.
“Sorry, baby. It
was just business.”
Still too furious
to speak, she defiantly turned her back to him and silently dared him to say
anything about it. A small victory but it was something. Ignoring the gesture,
Rico walked out and closed the door softly behind him.
She was enraged, as
much at herself as at him, because she knew that the next time he called she
would answer. She tried to justify her emotions by telling herself that he’d
stopped short of actually harming her and that he never would have. But who was
she kidding? She could hope but she could never know for sure.
When the cab pulled
up in front of Robert’s building, Jerry was standing outside smoking a
cigarette. It was an expensive high rise on the city’s Gold Coast along Lake
Michigan’s north shore, with a security guard on duty twenty- four hours a day.
There was no way around it; if they wanted to get into Robert’s apartment, one
way or another they’d have to deal with him. This was admittedly a minor
detail, more of an annoyance than anything else.
Jerry knew Rico
hated cigarette smoke. An icy stare from him whenever Jerry lit up was as
effective a deterrent as a punch in the gut, so he put the fag out as Rico left
the cab. Rico kept his body rock solid by lifting weights at a neighborhood
gym, jogging regularly, and minimizing his intake of junk food. He didn’t like
the idea of second-hand smoke undoing any of his hard work.
“So what happened?”
Jerry asked.
“She didn’t have
it.”
“I could’ve told
you that. She’s good people.”
“Don’t start with
me.”
“But—”
“But nothing.
Anybody can cross the line.”
“Including me?”
Jerry hoped Rico might exempt him
but didn’t expect
it.
“Yeah, including
you.” The two men stared at each
other for a long
moment before Rico smiled. “No, not including you.” The smile vanished as
quickly as it had appeared and his eyes narrowed. “You know better.”
The comment stung
and Jerry hung his head a little, but it was true and he knew it. It wasn’t
easy to get close to Rico and not many people did. He was loyal to a fault, yet
distant and brooding. Deadly as a cobra but with a dry, sometimes biting sense
of humor. Brutally honest, he lacked guile. Hated hypocrisy. Loathed arrogance.
If you were in a fight for your life against hopeless odds and could pick just
one person to help even them out, he would be your choice every time. But if
you needed a shoulder to cry on or even a pat on the back, you’d have to think
long and hard before you settled on Rico.
“Now, about this
guy...” Rico said, ignoring Jerry’s reaction.
Jerry snapped out
of it. “You have to tell the security guard who you want to see. He rings the
apartment. If the person answers, the guard buzzes you in.”
“High-class joint.”
“No wonder he’s
always out of money.”
“How much traffic
in and out?”
“Not too bad so
far.”
Taking in as many
details as his eyes could process in one sweep of the area, Rico slowly turned
in a circle, looking for anything out of the ordinary, anything that counseled
against getting on with the business at hand. Outside, there were pedestrians
and cars passing everywhere, but it was a busy street, so there was nothing
unusual about that. Inside, the foyer was empty except for the security guard.
Nothing looked menacing. Nothing looked out of place. He nodded. “Okay?” Jerry
nodded back. “Let’s go and talk to the man.”
They walked briskly
to the entrance, donning sunglasses almost in unison, then glanced behind them
one last time before opening the door. Rico nodded to a spot inside. Jerry
planted himself there. Without slowing, Rico continued toward an oak-paneled
counter facing the door, behind which sat an unarmed security guard casually
reading a newspaper. He was about forty, with a gaunt face and stringy hair
reaching below his collar. He was the kind of guy who went through life trying
to keep from stepping on anyone’s toes and hoping everyone would try to avoid
stepping on his. He looked up in time to see Rico, advancing quickly in his
direction, throw open his coat and jerk a .45 out of a powder-blue shoulder
holster. He leaped to his feet and raised his hands above his head. Rico
slammed the gun on the counter.
“Put ’em down,” Rico said. Eyes bulging and hands shaking, the guard
complied and his face took on the look of a condemned man who had just received
word of a reprieve. “That’s right. Relax,” Rico said. “Now buzz Robert
McDuffie’s apartment.” There was no answer. “Try again.” Still no answer. “Get
the key and take me up there,” he ordered, then nodded in the direction of the
.45 resting on the counter under his hand. “This’ll be pointed at the back of
your head on the way. Any questions?” The guard shook his head. “Then let’s
go.”
About Ed Duncan
Ed Duncan is a
graduate of Oberlin College and Northwestern University Law School. He was a
partner at a national law firm in Cleveland, Ohio for many years. He currently
lives outside of Cleveland, OH and is at work on the second installment in the Pigeon-Blood Red trilogy. To learn more,
go to http://eduncan.net/
