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Rain Dogs

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Overview

It was one hell of an inheritance for former Chicago reporter Tom Coleman: a broken-down pickup truck, ramshackle campground, a canoe livery-and one pot-smoking, barely working employee he doesn't need, doesn't want, and can't afford. But the truth is, after losing a child and a marriage, Tom doesn't really care. And life is nice and quiet in the middle of nowhere. Until a drug lab blows up near his property-putting Tom in contact with the woman he once loved, a small-town cop with a chip on his shoulder, and a powerful local who doesn't want him poking his nose where it doesn't belong. Tom doesn't want to get involved in the first place. But in the hardscrabble Nebraska Sandhills, storms gather suddenly and bad blood runs deep. Now a quiet summer on the river is turning into a dangerous season of grudges, betrayal, and violent reckoning-and it's already too late to find shelter...

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Author Information

Bio of Sean Doolittle

Sean Doolittle is the author of Burn, winner of the gold medal in the mystery category of ForeWord Magazine's 2003 Book of the Year Award, and Dirt, an Amazon.com Top 100 Editor's Pick for 2001. The author lives with his family in Omaha, Nebraska

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Additional Info

Imprint

Dell

Filesize

824.32 KB

Number of Pages

352

eBook ISBN

9780440335948

Excerpt from: Rain Dogs by Sean Doolittle

His first year at the paper, the best lead Tom wrote went like this:

If Warren Giles had taken his coffee black on the morning of November 12, the .45-caliber ricochet that killed him might have ruined the Starbucks sugar counter instead of his aorta.

The best editor he'd ever had sent that story back after rewriting the first sentence this way:
If Tom Coleman hadn't dreamed of writing sappy features, he might have made an okay cop reporter.
Translation: The story is what happened. Not what might have happened if.

In explaining a thing or two about good writing to a newsman from the cold type days, Tom had managed to argue his way out of his first byline. It hadn't seemed fair at the time.

Joyce Coleman hit the Coleman's Landing like a Pine Sol tornado the first week in May.

Tom walked down the hill to meet his folks when he heard their car roll in. At the foot of the cedar chip path, his mother doffed her carryall, pulled him down by the neck, and squeezed the breath out of him.

"Hi, Mom."

"My son the river rat."

He stood there, bent. "You're crushing my windpipe."

She pushed back to arm's length. "Let me see you."

Tom nodded to his dad, who brought up the rear a few steps behind. His mother touched a warm palm to his stubble.

"You should shave," she said.