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Tuesday, April 9, 2019

13 - A #1 BESTSELLER on Amazon!

13 
My new book about FOUR events that happened to me in 1977! 
Already a #1 BESTSELLER in #SwissTravel on Amazon 


13 - The 70's - A True Story

Chapter One 

Teacher’s Pet
It was a typical Sunday morning as I sat on the leather three-seater sofa which was pressed against the main wall in the living room. I casually thumbed my way through the pages of a tabloid newspaper, The News of the World to be precise, the occasional article catching my eye; ‘Suicide bomber kills twelve in Iraq’, ‘Superwoman Nicola Horlick splits from husband’, ‘Goldman secretary gets seven years in jail.’ In a world such as it was in 2004, there was nothing hugely out of the ordinary, not until I turned page five and in one heart-stopping moment, came face to face with something that brought my whole world to a complete standstill, rendering me completely motionless.
The faint whistle of a kettle coming to the boil in the adjacent kitchen was the only sound penetrating the otherwise silent room, but the Sunday morning tranquillity had already been shattered by the thundering in my head as I stared in disbelief at the page in front of me, while the pages of my past were torn apart by the revelations it contained.
It was the main headline on page seven, normally a lucky number for me.
Not just the headline though, it was the accompanying image, of a man with guilt engraved on his face, that lured me in. The face of a man who had lured in many, apparently. A face that was instantly recognisable to me. A face from my past. A face I thought I’d forgotten.
“Fuck.” I whispered to myself, as my body sank deep into the worn leather. I tried to swallow the silence, as the words I’d just read took a moment to sink in.
An array of multiple four-letter expletives exploded from inside me, as the story in front of me catapulted me back to 1977 and brought blurred fragments of my past into sharp focus.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I repeated out loud, thumping my bare right foot against the wooden floorboards in unison with my curses.
“Baby, what is it?” An anxious voice came from the narrow modern fitted kitchen where Kate, my girlfriend of six months, had been preparing coffee and buttering croissants for a very late breakfast. As she stepped out into the equally narrow hallway and walked towards me, I noticed out of the corner of my eye, her shoulder length blonde hair flicking from one side to the other across her makeup- less face. She wore a pink track suit, but my eyes were transfixed by what I was reading in black and white in front of me. I was vaguely aware of the aroma of the freshly painted magnolia walls which seemed, at that moment, to be closing in on me. I suddenly felt as though I was suffocating as I continued to stare in disbelief at the letters, words, sentences and paragraphs before me.
“Baby, what is it, what’s happened?” Her troubled voice spread through me like a knife slicing butter, but so disturbed was I by what I was reading, I didn’t answer, I couldn’t reply.
No words would come, I was still trying to absorb what I’d just read.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Kate’s concern escalated to another level as she tried to grab my attention, sitting next to me on the sofa and taking my right hand in both of hers. But again, nothing from me in return.
I released my hand from hers, spitting the word “Shit!” into my palms, as I covered my eyes with both hands and pulled them back hard over my shaved head.
“Baby. Baby,” she repeated. “Answer me, please. Please answer me, what is it?”
I said nothing. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t, even though my mouth was ajar, nothing escaped, apart from the words ‘fuck’ and ‘shit.’

“Please what is it?” She tried again to prise a response from me. But I couldn’t reply. It wasn’t that I was being rude or that I didn’t want to respond, I was quite simply struck dumb with the shock of what I’d read. Face down. Hands on my head. Elbows on my knees. I couldn’t move. Staring at what was before me. It felt like I was paralysed from the neck up, with ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ being the only four-letter words that intermittently spewed from my mouth.
“Baby, are you okay, please answer me, please.” Kate’s tone became sterner, but with more concern in her voice than anger.
Terror spread through me as the words I’d read sank in and brought back memories which had been lost to me, events which I’d forgotten, or had tried to forget. A period of my life, twenty-seven years earlier, flashed in front of me, replayed in a new and extremely disturbing light, and it was terrifying.
At that moment I was completely overwhelmed by fear. Fear of what had been and in light of what I’d just read, terror at what could have been.
Kate, ten years younger than me, and a lookalike for actress Alicia Silverston, friends and strangers alike were constantly telling her so, was startled by the sound of skin to leather as I punched the sofa’s green fabric several times with my right fist, leaving an indentation in the cushion and a red smear across my knuckles. It was the beginning of summer. June 5th.
The sun beamed its way across the slightly overgrown garden and through the open patio doors. The temperature was now a notch or two higher inside the two-bedroom, mid-terrace property I’d been renting for the past month in Exeter, Devon. The quaint little house situated in a cul-de-sac, was among several similar properties on a new development, established approximately fifteen months before.
It was the second house I’d rented since I’d moved out, thirteen months before, from the family home in a small village, three miles away. Divorce had been on the cards for several years. I’d stayed because of the children, my three beautiful children, but the relationship with my wife had been at boiling point and I didn’t want the frosty atmosphere to spill over to the children. I’d stayed in the area, so I could still see the kids, my business was there too and that’s how I’d met Kate. She lived on the road in which my office was situated, close to a large park, on the corner of a residential tree-lined road, but adjacent to a busy roundabout called the Clock Tower.
I’d moved there three months previously, from a smaller office that was within a period building, on an attractive cobbled alleyway, a little further up in the centre of Exeter. Kate had to walk past my new spacious, double-aspect windowed premises every day, as she went to work in the city at the Royal Clarence Hotel, overlooking the cathedral and the green. So, every morning at around nine fifteen and each evening at around five forty-five, like clockwork, I would relocate from my own office at the back, into the front area, to sit at one of the window desks. I would act like I was busy, you know, trying not to be too desperate, and we would glance at each other, have a little more eye contact, together with a little more of a smile, a little conversation outside and then inside the office, and so began a little friendship, which soon blossomed in to a relationship.
“Sorry baby. I'm so sorry, it’s just, just that I'm reading something, and I can’t believe what I’m reading,” I replied to her eventually, still in shock. She was happy for that, and I continued, shaking my head with disbelief. “And I c-can’t, can’t believe it and c-can’t believe that its him, or c-can I? I don’t know.” I continued with a slight stutter. A stutter that I’d grown up with after hitting my teenage years. A speech impediment I thought I’d left behind decades ago, but at that very moment it was another thing that came back to haunt me.
“Reading what and who, what do you mean, him? Who are you talking about baby, what are you talking about?” Kate quizzed, waiting for an answer from me, but carrying on before I could reply. “Look at you, you’ve gone as white as a sheet, like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”
I took a deep breath and blew out my cheeks, exasperated.
“It definitely feels like my past has come back to haunt me.” I murmured as I turned to look into her crystal blue eyes.
Since we’d been together most of our Sunday mornings had followed the ritual of waking up later than usual, especially after a night out, which to be honest happened most Saturday nights, grab a few kisses and cuddles, and eventually stumble out of bed at around eleven.
Once up, we would usually spend an hour or two reading the papers, purchased from the local newsagent a stroll away on the corner of the road. We’d have breakfast and then wander alongside the canal, pop into one of the many inviting pubs for a drink and maybe for a spot of lunch and sit outside if the weather was kind. The weather was kind today, but this particular Sunday turned out to be anything but kind, or usual.
“What do you mean, your past? What about your past? Please tell me baby.” She insisted with a puzzled expression on her face.
“My past from when I was at school.” I answered, clenching my fists, with the right fist still displaying a red glow across the knuckles.
“Reading what, tell me, tell me, what. What is it?” Her voice now also contained some anger, but I couldn’t really blame her, all she wanted was an explanation.
“Hold on. Hold on. I’ve just got to read it again.”
As I read the article for the second or third time, shaking as I did, still not believing what I was reading, small droplets of sweat trickled from my brow and splattered onto the paper that was spread out on the carved oak coffee table. Kate went back into the kitchen and returned with two mugs of coffee and a plate of croissants that we’d bought earlier, along with the Sunday newspapers.
Totally oblivious to what was hiding inside them.
By now I had completely lost my appetite.
Taking a sip of much needed coffee, Kate tenderly massaged the top of my hand and then interlocked her left hand within my right, holding it tightly.
“Is this what you’re reading baby, this?” She said looking at the police mugshot of a man in his late sixties.
“Yes. Yes, I am.” I replied with an additional nod of the head, still trembling all over.
She noticed.
“God, you’re shaking all over baby.” She turned to look at me.
“Do you know him?”
I took a deep breath,
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
There was a pause for a moment or two as Kate read the story in silence, in the biggest selling Sunday newspaper in the UK. As she read, her facial expressions registered and reflected every word, every sentence and every paragraph.
“Fuck! Baby!” was her first reaction.
“I know. Fuck indeed.”
“How do you know this bastard?”
“Well.” I swallowed and paused again for a second, “He was my music teacher.”
“What!” She squealed as she let go of my hand and turned to look at me again.
“Like I said, he was my music teacher. At school. From the age of around eleven till I left at sixteen, well fifteen and a half actually, where I grew up, in Edgware.”
“Your music teacher?”
“Yes baby, my music teacher.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
She clasped her hand back into mine.
“Shit. And he did this?”
“Well, I guess so, it’s there in black and white, his name, the name of the school and everything.” I replied, nodding towards the paper. His pasty, wide-eyed face stared back at me with a look that made my skin crawl.
"But it says that he was popular, well respected and everyone liked him, did you?"
"I liked him as my teacher. I respected him for his music. I mean, he was on tour with an opera company. He was highly thought of in his field, and he did take me under his wing, so to speak."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, he always wanted me to sit next to him at his desk in the class during the lessons, or by his side when he was playing the piano in the music room."
"What, like a teacher’s pet?"
"I guess so."
Removing my hand from hers, I smothered my face with both of mine, at the same time closing my eyes, to try and erase this moment, pressing into the sockets with the tips of my fingers, not quite believing what I’d just read. I pressed harder, clenching my eyes tighter, pushing them deeper within my skull, until darkness took over, and a second or two later, a black and white light show dazzled me. I became dizzy and unaware of my surroundings, but then I felt Kate's manicured hand comforting my naked thigh. Her touch made me tingle. I needed her comfort at that precise moment. She huddled closer to me on the sofa. I sensed her morning breath, with a hint of coffee seducing the side of my face, and as she turned to me, she whispered.
“Baby are you okay?”
Removing my hands away from my face, my eyes still closed, mesmerised by the diminishing light show before me, I nodded.

But I was far from okay.
“Did anything, you know, did anything happen to you. Did he touch you or something?” Kate questioned.
Taking another deep breath and releasing my eyes, with the remains of the light show fading before me, I tried to focus through blurred vision on the photo of this pathetic, but once extremely well-respected teacher and pianist. His wide, shallow, glazed eyes, hollow and riddled with guilt, no longer hiding his secret. Looking deep into his pupils as they gaped at me in return, I reflected on my time at school, in his office, in his lessons and most of all, the school trip to Switzerland.
“Baby talk to me, please. I'm here for you, you know that, don’t you?”
Of course, I knew she was, she had been for the past few months, but it was impossible to know how to respond to her in this situation and I didn’t answer, I couldn’t. She didn’t know what had happened. I hadn’t told her.
In fact, I hadn’t told anyone.
Buy 13

The Titans of Ardana by J.S. Frankel


The Titans of Ardana 
by J.S. Frankel 


The Titans of Ardana


"Hold nothing back. Give everything." That's the catchphrase of Martin Calder, a teenager obsessed with the hit television show, The Metas. 

On a mission to get an autograph from the star of the show, Dana—no last name given—he comes face to face with reality. 

Dana and her twin brother, Van, the co-star of the show, aren’t exactly from around here.

Leftovers: A mix of six unrelated short stories by Joe Congel

Leftovers: A mix of six unrelated short stories 
by Joe Congel 

Leftovers: A mix of six unrelated short stories

Leftovers is a collection of short stories that are totally unrelated to each other. A couple are short-shorts while others are just merely short.

Enjoy a little bit of everything – murder, blackmail, embezzlement, excitement, action, betrayal, and of course, love.

So lose yourself for a while in a fun, quick, easy to read assortment of stories that will make you forget your troubles … at least for a little while.

The Razzman Chronicles: A Trio of Tony Razzolito PI Short Stories (A Razzman Files Extra) by Joe Congel


The Razzman Chronicles: 
A Trio of Tony Razzolito PI Short Stories (A Razzman Files Extra) 
by Joe Congel 


The Razzman Chronicles: A Trio of Tony Razzolito PI Short Stories (A Razzman Files Extra)

Tony "Razzman" Razzolito has settled into his new profession as a Private Investigator. He likes helping people solve the puzzles that complicate their lives--and he's pretty good at it--even if it gets in the way of his own personal life... Which seems to be the norm for him. And with the help of no nonsense, sexy Police Captain Rita O'Connor, Tony tries to successfully balance life, love, and the pursuit of the bad guy.

* In Film at Eleven, Tony helps solve a crime of murder and passion when the co-worker of a pretty TV newscaster becomes obsessed with her, and feels threatened by the other men in her life.
Downtime finds Tony trying to make heads or tails out of a mob related disappearance, all while trying to keep his promise of a romantic get-away with his girlfriend.
The Judge pushes Tony's detecting skills to the limit, as he pieces together clues as to why a sitting Judge is kidnapped right before the biggest case of his career.

Come along for the ride while Tony Razzolito, PI sorts through the evidence as he attempts to solve these three cases full of Murder, Sex, Kidnapping, Travel, and of course... Fun!

DEADLY PASSION: A Tony Razzolito PI Story (The Razzman Files Book 2) by Joe Congel



DEADLY PASSION: 
A Tony Razzolito PI Story (The Razzman Files Book 2) 
by Joe Congel 


DEADLY PASSION: A Tony Razzolito PI Story (The Razzman Files Book 2)

PI Tony Razzolito pieces together long forgotten clues as he tries to solve the twenty-year-old murder of a young high school grad, that is somehow linked to a recent brutal killing.
                                                          
But as he works through the list of suspects, he finds himself battling the seasoned homicide detective who couldn't solve the murder the first time around.
 
Can the two forge a partnership long enough to solve both murders, or will their egos prevent a killer from being caught?

DEAD IS FOREVER: A Tony Razzolito PI Story (The Razzman Files Book 1) by Joe Congel

DEAD IS FOREVER: A Tony Razzolito PI Story (The Razzman Files Book 1) 
by Joe Congel 




DEAD IS FOREVER: A Tony Razzolito PI Story (The Razzman Files Book 1)

Tony Razzolito, AKA the Razzman, is tired of dead-end sales jobs and refuses to get another, despite a huge blowout with his wife. Instead, he decides to pursue his dream of becoming a PI. He just has to figure out how to get started.

Just hours later, Tony receives a phone call from his friend, Detective Joe Humphrey - his wife has been murdered. The devastating news sends Tony’s emotions on a roller coaster ride he didn’t expect. Yes, their marriage had issues, what marriage doesn't? But now... now he would never have the opportunity to work things out, to make amends, or to say he's sorry.

Shocked, pissed off and emotionally overwhelmed, he is determined to find the killer and insists on helping Joe with the investigation. When clues to another woman's death tie the two crimes together, Tony may discover that some secrets about his wife are better left hidden.

Thursday, April 4, 2019

Press Release for Author Mr. Ben Chi

PRESS RELEASE-

Mr. Ben

Author Mr. Ben Chi was born Nigeria now lives in Lagos. He studied Science and Laboratory Technology and Mechanical Engineering in university. He has been writing since 2006 and has authored several books.

He has won numerous writing contests and competitions. He also does voice-overs.

He is a poet and writes thought-provoking books on Christianity, Marriage and other topics. It is his goal to bring humanity to a stance of practical understanding of appreciating the entirety of existence by recognizing subtle, demystified and easy-to-relate-with philosophies (the true light of mankind) that transcend ‘threshold’ notions about living using the
mechanism of creativity writing.

His hobbies include playing and watching football, listening to quality music genres, talking sensibly, reading and writing, traveling, communicating, watching epic, classical and action-packed modern movies.

Maya Initiate 39: The Long Walk to Destiny
By Mr. Ben

Maya: Initiate 39 is an adult work-piece that explores the ordeals of Maya Isaacs. An overprotected single child, a victim of a broken home, Maya was raised single-handedly by a man whom she knew as her father, Samuel. He had divorced his wife, Cynthia, years ago on
grounds of infidelity before Maya turned three years old. Growing up in Durban was a heady
mixture of good, bad and ugly for Maya.

Through the influence of wrong peers, Maya went into the underworld endeavors of stealing,
drug trafficking and prostitution, under the cover of a very perverse juvenile assembly, called the Alternative Lifestyle Club (The ALC). She joined the club in the pursuit of what she called her
"destiny" and became popular among many top-notch Southern Africans.

After several disappointments, Maya thought she could use her connections to bite the fingers
that fed her, by carrying out the assignments given her own way - a way of letting the
organization know that she was no push-over. But that was not the case! Consequently, Craig
and Ms. Diana, the active players of the club, led this juvenile to her doom. They set her up and
the police did the rest. The long arm of the law landed her in prison in Johannesburg. It was
while she was in the prison that she realized that changing for the better would be the only way
to save herself.

Through a favor from Van Brussels, a rich gold merchant, school owner and chairperson of the
Louisville Shipping Company, against whom she had committed a crime in the past, Maya was
released from prison before the stipulated sentence was up. 
She was sent to the United States
for secretarial studies, worked for Van Brussels' company for a couple of years, and then
returned to her native Durban home in South Africa with her husband, Daniel Young, to find her
father, whom she had left years before.

It is available on Amazon and Penitpublications.com
For more information, contact Penit Publications at penitpublications@yahoo.com