Sample my new heist novel

Here's the opening of my crime novel LOST VEGAS:

>>Tony Zinn's attention wandered during the heist.

This was supposed to be the big payoff -- quick-cut scenes of the robbers in action, their plan coming together right before the audience's eyes -- but Tony thought the movie was bullshit. Another improbable thriller in which nobody gets hurt, the crooks have hearts of gold and the crime somehow settles an old score.

In real robbery, there's one motivation: Desire. Somebody has something and somebody else wants it. Wants it so bad, he's willing to take it by force. He pulls a gun and the item changes hands. Simple. Quick. All the clockwork complications with computers and nightscopes and grappling hooks? That's show business.

The bullshit factor was even higher in the theater next door. It was Memorial Day, which meant opening weekend for the annual special-effects blockbuster starring BadgerMan. Damned movie had been so loud, Tony heard the explosions and car crashes through the wall. Huge turnout for BadgerMan, lots of people willing to hand over their hard-earned money for two hours of superhero fantasy.

Only a handful watched the heist movie, which ended predictably with the handsome robbers standing around the loot, showing off their cleft chins and golden hearts as they shipped the money to charity or some damned thing. As the credits rolled, Tony tucked his chin into his leather jacket and sank lower in his chair, trying to be an inkblot of black clothes and dark curly hair.

The sparse audience hustled out and the house lights came up, but Tony watched the credits, wondering for the hundredth time what a "gaffer" was, or a "best boy."

He stayed in his seat until the music stopped and the movie reached the copyright date at the end. Then he stood and stretched and looked at his wristwatch. Nearly midnight. Last late show finally over, the theater would now close for the night.

He ambled over to the fire door, where a green EXIT sign glowed. A taste of cool night air as he swung open the door, then Tony stepped aside to let three men enter. Two were wiry guys of average height – five-nine, five-ten, a few inches shorter than Tony – but the third was a beefy three-hundred-pounder who had to duck to keep from hitting his head on the doorway. All three wore red motorcycle helmets with black face shields, gray coveralls and white rubber gloves. One of the men carried an extra helmet. As he handed it to Tony, Ross Cooper said, "How was the movie?"

"Same as always," Tony said. "The good guys won."

"Aw, you always give away the ending."

Tony slipped the helmet onto his head, the black visor dimming his view like sunglasses.

The other three produced stubby revolvers from the pockets of their coveralls. Tony pulled a fearsome old Browning Hi-Power 9mm from inside his biker jacket. He thumbed off the safety, and said, "Let's do it."<<

Only $2.99 via Kindle and Smashwords.