In this area you can purchase/download Meat Cove – Chapters 12 through 26.
Meat Cove will be serialized, weekly. Think Charles Dickens meets the Digital domain. You can download a sample free chapter of Meat Cove here. Then for only $0.99 per chapter, via PayPal, download a new chapter in the Gandhi MacKinnon adventure every Monday, Wednesday and Friday from September 24 concluding December, 2012, when the final chapters will be posted.
4 additional chapters will also be made available for free during the release of Meat Cove.
Meat Cove is now also available as a single download for $19.99.
Meat Cove will also be available in MP3 Audio Book format for $0.99 per chapter very soon.
If ordering from within Canada applicable tax will be added when you complete your purchase on PayPal.
Sweet little craft, Gandhi thought, as she touched down. The RCMP Pilatus PC-12/45 turboprop taxied to a stop at the Charlottetown airport. Nimble. Fast. Newest of the fleet.
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Gandhi trusted first impressions. He took an immediate liking to Constable Bruno Lemieux. A little heavy-footed, perhaps. People drove differently here in Quebec. Faster. More agile. Part of that Montreal/Europe, formula one/Grand Pre mentality no doubt.
“So. Lemieux. Tell me everything I need to know about you in one hundred words or less.”
“Ha! Nice try Sergeant. I am a very complicated man, me.”
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The interrogation room in the Trois-Rivières detachment measured eight by ten feet. One windowless steel door opened inward from a short corridor. Blank beige walls. No Law and Order type two-way mirror.
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Jason woke from a dream into a nightmare. He knew from the background rumble he was in a big city. Not Bethany’s house in Meadowbank. Not with mom and dad in Breadalbane.
Not home.
Not safe.
He opened his eyes.
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Sleep was impossible. Bethany knew she needed real rest, to be in top form for whatever awaited her.
She remembered a particular episode of what she and Jason’s called those creepy ‘animals-eating-other-animals’ shows on TV.
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Jason passed through the beaded curtain to a musky space behind the stage at Le Bar Tattoo. Horacio followed close. Jason could hear him breathe.
Jason adjusted to the dark. His attention was drawn to furtive movement in a dark corner. A handsome dark-skinned Spanish boy, no more than seventeen, received the oral attentions of the fluffer. It didn’t take much.
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Gandhi gave the corpulent judge with the right-wing reputation the ‘RCMP once-over’. Stylish glasses below a high forehead and mane of meticulously maintained white hair countered the impression that a barely tamed alpha-beast, more at home on a neolithic savannah than in the halls of contemporary Canadian jurisprudence, had entered the room.
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Gandhi kept an uneasy eye on the speedometer. He knew he was a first-rate driver. He also knew he made a lousy passenger. He’d seen too many broken bodies in too many crumpled cars to relax when not in control.
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Jason crossed a parking lot, uncertain if he was running or flying. He surfed a wave of pure energy, elated with speed until an arc of white light sliced his vision. Then a flare. Hot. Blue, like a welder’s torch.
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Hilliard Jenkins arrived from Charlottetown at Trudeau International on the six o’clock flight. He rented a nondescript car, in the trunk of which he’d stowed his single piece of battered luggage, over-stuffed with his nondescript personal effects. He wouldn’t need a hotel tonight.
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Esther wanted to kill Dougie. She steeled herself as the man she once loved and now despised appeared. The gut urge to do harm was so deep rooted and headstrong it terrified her.
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Bethany was transfixed by the pile of hair at her feet. She’d heard all the dumb blond jokes and learned to take them in stride. It hadn’t been easy. Hair had been her distinguishing feature, a blessing and a burden, for as long as she could remember.
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Superintendent Vlasic ‘Val’ Schwartz was as good as his word. Joint Forces Operation Lariat was up and running at ‘C’ Division HQ by the time Gandhi arrived.
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Jason had come back to consciousness with a clear head. He remembered the parking lot. Horacio dead at his feet. In memory, the pooling blood around Horatio’s head was black.
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The paramedic indicated the side bench.
“I’m Griffin… Griff Saleh.”
“Gandhi MacKinnon. RCMP.”
“Gandhi? Whatever. Take a seat and hang on.”
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