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The Rainforest Messiah

Overview

Tumbleweeds skitter across the desert at random, like dust motes caught in a shaft of light. Zack swallows as he drives, but the air is so dry his tongue is coated with dust. The huge Texas sky hangs down on all sides of him like the flaps of a tent. When he was little, he felt tucked up and secure in tents, but this one is too vast, too relentless. His eyes hurt when he looks up. He bears down on the gas. The Pontiac shudders, then shoots forward. Past uneven fence posts linked by barbed wire. Past an abandoned oil derrick rising out of the brush. He tries to shake it off, this unease, but it has already penetrated, like water seeping through a leaky roof.

Author Information

Libby Fischer Hellmann

Libby Fischer Hellmann is the award-winning author of the Ellie Foreman and Georgia Davis mystery series, and Nice Girl Does Noir, a two volume short story collection. She also edited the highly praised crime fiction anthology, Chicago Blues. She has lived in the Chicago area over thirty years. Set the Night on Fire is her first stand-alone novel.

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Product Details

  • Published by

    TeknoBooks

  • Publish Date

    June 14, 2007 

  • eBook ISBN

    9781435510524

  • Imprint

    TeknoBooks

  • Filesize

    120.97 KB

  • Number of Print Pages*

    N/A

* Number of eBook pages may differ. Click here for more information.

Excerpt from The Rainforest Messiah by Libby Fischer Hellmann

Zack steps up to the bar. "I'll have a beer."
The woman fishes a longneck Corona out of a cooler and holds up five fingers. Zack digs out a five. He knows he's being ripped off. She stuffs the bill inside her shirt. He tips his head back for a long swig, hoping to rinse the grit from his throat and glances at the man. The man stubs out a cigarette. Zack takes that as a sign of greeting and nods.
"Long ride?" The man asks.
"Long enough." Zack walks over and pulls out a rickety chair. "Why here?" He waves the Corona in the air.
"It is what it is."
Zack sits down. It doesn't really matter where the meet is. Or the cross-over. He'll be well out of it by then.
The man thumps a pack of Camels on the table. "So I put out feelers and one name comes back to me. Just one. Zack Mueller. Special Agent, FBI."
Zack shifts in his chair. The man has a flat Midwestern accent, but he affects a twang, as if he wants Zack to think he's a Bubba.
The man slips a fresh Camel between his lips. "How does an upstanding federal law enforcement agent turn into a gun runner?"
"Hard work and initiative."
The man's eyes narrow. "How do I know you're not fixin' to set me up?"
Zack shrugs. It has taken time and effort to get this far. But he is prepared. He keeps his mouth shut. The man, perhaps sensing a stalemate, lights his cigarette.