A first look at Manistique

If you follow me on social media, or here at the 'hoo (which is a name I just made up), you know there's a new Luke Fischer coming. And man, it's been a long wait. I'm very excited to share this new book, like a kid on Xmas Eve excited... because lately, it seems that readers are starting to get this Luke Fischer guy.

A recent review said this:
There’s plenty of humour, many opinions on coffee, beer and breakfast options as well as some absolutely kicking fight scenes.
...Through numerous confrontations and some truly memorable characters, Luke more than earns his keep. Not a detective perhaps, but he’s useful with his fists, fast thinking and partial to a cold beer or two.

And to this I say, yep, yep, and yep. Nailed it.

The new book is called Manistique - as you may have seen from the teaser look at the end of Surf City Acid Drop. Though, that was the beginning of the novel many moons ago, and it has since went through a lot of changes.

This time, Luke meets up with his detective friend Franko, who we last saw on the streets of Santa Fe in Surf City. Franko is in need of some help, and he sees the chance meeting with Luke as providential - or maybe he just needs help kicking ass. Over a few Pacificos, they rekindle their friendship, and Franko lays out the case he's been working on.

I will be announcing a publication date soon (just got my edits back from my wonderful editor, who also worked on my novel Fall in One Day.) As well, the opening graphic is a small reveal of the cover to come... all will be revealed.

But for now, here is a taste of Luke and Franko in the opening of Manistique. 

I ran into Franko Toledo three weeks ago while searching for a delinquent husband in Santa Fe. Truth was, his last name wasn't Toledo. That’s just where he came from: Toledo, Spain. I started calling him that when we first met a year ago. I had been chasing a pair of art thieves across the southwest and getting my ass handed to me on a regular basis. Now, Franko was an actual detective, for hire and everything, unlike me. I didn't like the sound of "private eye," since it made me think of Mannix, and I was a far shade from him. I did whatever work landed on my lap, mostly from Benno, my somewhat shady benefactor. Really, Benno was shady as hell, but he kept me out of the darker stuff and had me do errands, the odd knocking of heads.

I never got Franko’s real last name until I saw it on his hospital bracelet. When I first met Franko, I knew he was the kind of a guy I’d run into again. When I stumbled across the bar where Franko and I had shared a bowl of pozole, I decided to stop in. The soup was as good as I'd remembered, a healthy dose of heat and flavor through the roof. When I was on the road, I took whatever beer I could get—except for Bud. I'd drink anything, even water, before that lizard piss. And then I remembered the other thing about this place: they stocked Pacificos.

I was finishing my first bowl and my second beer when Franko strolled in, same bolo tie, a new set of caramel-colored shades. He'd switched his pale lemon shirt for a honeydew melon number. He stood out against the deep brown walls, like he'd planned his wardrobe to match the bar.

"Ah, we are creatures of habit. I thought our paths would cross again, my friend." His eyes smiled at the recognition.

Franko ordered a couple of shots of bourbon. Like everything here, the whiskey was warm, lingering, and perfect. Over the next couple of hours we swapped stories and traded rounds.

I told him of my search for the hubby on the run.

"You have found him? Or learned what happened?" 

"Turns out he wasn't missing to anyone but those who wanted his money."

"How so?"

"His numbers finally hit, and he picked up a significant chunk of change. That’s when his relatives, including a few he didn't know he had, came out of every nook and cranny. Each with a sad story and both hands out. He lit out in the middle of the night, didn't even leave his wife a note."

"It was the wife that asked you to find him?"

"They both had friends in Mexico, and she thought her husband might head to PV. Their friends knew my friends, including a guy named Benno who I work for—long story short, she asked for my help."

"And you cannot turn down someone in need, especially a woman. I know this about you, my friend." Franko smiled and tinked my beer bottle with his. "But I am thinking she isn't beautiful."

"Why do you say that?"

"The husband leaves in the middle of the night. If she was beautiful he would wake her, ask her to join him."

"That's what I was thinking," I said. "She would have been a traffic-stopper back in the day. Even now she'd turn heads in the produce aisle, but there was something about her."

I took a long swallow. 

"She travelled all the miles to Puerto Vallarta to hire your services?"

"Yep. Bought me a nice dinner, too."

"She must have been very sure about her husband," Franko said.

"She'd been making trips to PV for years, but different times than her husband. They had one of those open marriages."

"I don't know that one," Franko said.

"Open to screw around on each other—no questions, no problems."

"In my experience there are always problems in that situation."

>>>

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