Sacrifice Book Tour

Sacrifice is here!

When Mexican drug cartels fight for control along the border, Juarez becomes the murder capital of the world. In El Paso, Texas it's drug business as usual: a grifter sets out to buy her freedom, a car salesman runs drugs to make his fortune, a gang leader battles to rise among the ranks of the cartel, and a detective and his wife are ripped apart by a family secret. Everyone's fate lies in the hands of an old woman. Will she let the past die with her or take revenge the only way she knows how?

"Frankie entered the strip mall. Alicia had picked a bakery that served a casual dinner--sandwiches and soup for a casual dinner. When she waved him over, he saw his usual sitting on a plate across from her. At least he wouldn't have to wait for service. Frankie glanced up and blinked rapidly. A young man with a Mohawk had just done an about-face behind Alicia.

He passed right by Alicia's table and heard her ask, "Frankie?" His eyes locked on the white T-shirt in front of him. It can't be him. Manuel Ortega aka Rooster glanced over his shoulder in Frankie's direction.

How could he know they had Luis? As soon as he thought it, Rooster took off at a run. Frankie felt a tug on his arm. "Frankie, what's going on?"

He shrugged off Alicia and barked, "Stay here!" Frankie ran after the disappearing white T-shirt and  tried to dodge people in the strip mall, but a young woman stepped in front of him. Frankie sent them both skidding across the tiled floor.

"What the hell?" the young woman yelled at Frankie as she sat up.

Frankie held up his badge. "Police!" Scrambled to his feet and took off. He skidded to a stop at the intersection in front of him. A distant bang to his right caught his attention. He saw a tan, metal door swinging shut with a bright-red EXIT sign above it. Frankie sprinted down the short hallway, slammed through the door and found himself on the sidewalk outside the strip mall facing a large parking lot. He swung himself right and left, trying to determine which way Rooster had fled.

Movement on his left. He glimpsed a Mohawk disappearing into the night. Frankie ran after him, confident he could gain enough ground before Rooster got into his car. A figure slid over the top of a two-door sedan with a slight thud. The figure crouched on the driver's side.

Frankie drew his gun, holding it out in front. "Police! Rooster, stop right there." He almost reached the car when the door cracked open, allowing Frankie to see Rooster climb into the car. The car door slammed shut. "Rooster! Stop!" Frankie came running up to the passenger-side door as the car roared to life.

Rooster rolled down the passenger-side window, leaned over and yelled, "Fuck you, pendejo!"

Frankie didn't hesitate. He dove through the open window as the car backed out of the parking spot. He braced his hands on the inside of the door, trying to bring his gun up. The window tightened around his waist, pinning him.

"Rooster, stop, or I'll shoot!"

A grin slid over Rooster's face as he finished backing out and accelerated forward.

Frankie's feet skipped along the pavement as the car sped up. Losing his balance, he saw Rooster lean forward to reach behind his back. Screams flowed past as people dodged out of the way of the oncoming car. Frankie braced his right arm with the gun against the dash to right himself in the window while the tips of shoes dragged behind him.

When Frankie looked back, Rooster had a gun leveled at him. Time slowed as Frankie watched Rooster cock the gun. There was no way Frankie could swing his gun around in time.

The car hit something large with a heavy thunk, and it hurtled upward as both guns went off. When the car landed, the air from Frankie's lungs left him in a whoosh, but he kept pulling the trigger in the general direction of the driver's seat.

Frankie was thrown forward as the car veered to the right and crashed into several more parked cars, nearly pinning him between them. Click, click, click. Wet, gurgling noises were coming from the driver's side. Frankie's body strained for air.

He slammed his palm down on the window button. Lights did a jig in front of his eyes.  Frankie slumped to the ground and took two, long lungfuls of air before he could stand. Using the car for support, he made his way around and yanked the driver's side door open.

Rooster's eyes were wide, and his breath was coming in fast, shallow gasps. Blood was blossoming out from several places on his white shirt. Rooster's right hand swept along the car seat next to him. His gun was just out of reach.

Frankie pushed it to the passenger-side floorboard, grabbed Rooster by the front of his shirt until he was only a breath away from his face and said, "Don't you die on me, you son of a bitch!"

Coral Russell runs the blog Alchemy of Scrawl where she reviews Indie books/authors. She says, "By the end of 2013, I will have read close to 300 Indie titles. I can vouch that the quality and diversity of Indie authors is worth investing in." She also spearheads a radio show for authors and other creative people.

Ms. Russell won the 2003 McCaleb Peace Initiative which produced the non-fiction articles Peace on the Peninsula.


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