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    Reckless Death Persuasion
    Reckless Death Persuasion
    Reckless Death Persuasion
    Ebook52 pages47 minutes

    Reckless Death Persuasion

    By John Pirillo

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Henry's got this terrible problem. America is run by demons. It's hard enough for the average guy to make a living without worrying about someone biting their head off...literally. Magic and science exist side by side and magic is winning.

    The rules have been rewritten and only those with the ability to deal with the devil can rise to the top.

    Henry's a Private Eye faced with battling demons and bills at the same time. How much can one man take?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJohn Pirillo
    Release dateOct 30, 2015
    ISBN9781311240835
    Reckless Death Persuasion
    Author

    John Pirillo

    The author was born in Washington, Pennsylvannia. He loves animals and birds. Has two pet cockatiels that keep him company while he writes. He has a lovely daughter and a rascally grandson. He is rich in friends that matter and well adjusted to a life of challenges. He writes and draws every day. He loves anything science fiction, fantasy or extremely well written. Same goes for movies and TV. Not married currently, but has an eye and ear open to possibilities. :)

    Read more from John Pirillo

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      Book preview

      Reckless Death Persuasion - John Pirillo

      Reckless Death Persuasion

      A Private Eye Cross Tale

      John Pirillo

      A Smashwords Production

      Copyright 2015

      Chapter One: Reckless Persuasion Death.

      ***

      Call me Crossbones. Everyone else does. Seems like every time I show up somewhere, there's heads rolling, legs torn off, chests burst open and general mayhem and death and dying. Pretty sad situation for a guy who just wants to make a living, even if it is a lousy one. Being made the symbol for everything that's not sugar and nice is just downright frustrating to say the least.

      My real name is Cross. Henry Cross. I was born somewhere in California. I forget where because my father moved us around so much as a child I never stuck there long enough to remember any names. Friends were like cold showers. They woke you up, but were gladly forgotten. Most of my friends hated me because I was so honest. If they asked what I thought of their toy. I explained in no uncertain terms exactly what I thought. Parents were afraid to let me into their houses because I would answer and ask questions they didn't want to even consider...like how many heads can dance on the head of a pin, why aren't marshmallows put in the mouths of victims of cannibals, and why do vampires only have two teeth. You know the ordinary kind of questions a young kid asks who's dumber than an outhouse.

      Yesterday I hit a new low, or high depending on which end of the pain spectrum you live. I was helping out Mother Darling. She lives about two blocks down the street. I always wave at her when I return from my office at night. She's usually seated on her front porch smoking a torch. That's what I call cigarettes because they scar your mouth, teeth, tongue, throat and lungs...not to mention those ugly stains on the fingers that hold them. Hey Mom! I greeted her.

      She shook her torch at me. That was her best day with me. Usually she said something like, Get the hell outta here before I call the cops on you!

      I would answer back. But I am a cop!

      Shit you are! She'd laugh, and then toss her torch at me.

      I'd duck it, then head on up the street.

      If you get the idea that I live in a tough neighborhood, you wouldn't be wrong. But what makes it worse is that it's not all...you know...like her.

      Once past her I had to dodge the alley Troll, he's a bum that lives in the alley next to my block. If you're not quick enough he grabs you and shakes you down for all your cash and if you're not carrying and he's hungry...well then...tough luck. I hadn't been bitten yet, but I had my butt kicked once. Literally. The Troll. His name was Angst, because that's what he gave everyone who had to cross his alley. Angst was in a good mood and when he snatched me on a Good Friday. I had actually made two bucks helping an old lady cross the street. She'd tipped me. He shook me down and instead of biting me he had laughed and just kicked me in the butt. Man that hurt!

      But I'm not your average kind of P.I. That's Private Investigator to all you not know-it's out there. But the ones in the know also knew that P.I. stood for Paranormal Investigator too. Yeah. I shone on both sides of the grave. And made about as much money. Nada. Zilch. Zero and Kaput. How do I make a living then? Well every once in a great while I stumble into a case that pays off. Literally. The person or thing or being that hires me pays me off. Not to help them but to stay out of their

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