Featured Author: Giacomo Giammatteo

Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours brings Giacomo Giammatteo here today to talk about his mystery/suspense novel, Murder Has Consequences, published by Inferno Publishing Company.

About the book:

For a select few people, friendship lasts forever. Nicky Fusco and Frankie Donovan were friends like that, but that was years ago. Now Frankie’s a detective in Brooklyn’s Homicide department, and Nicky is a reformed hit man. But when Frankie gets in trouble—and the law can’t help him—he turns to Nicky.

The problem is that Nicky promised his family, and God, that he’d go straight. 

Book Trailer

Interview with Giacomo Giammatteo

Giacomo, how did you come up with the title Murder Has Consequences?

Murder Takes Time is the first in the Friendship and Honor series. In MTT, there is a set of six rules for murder. Murder Has Consequences is rule number two. All of the books will follow a rule of murder, so the next one out is Murder Takes Patience which is rule number three.

Excellent. Do you have another job outside of writing?

I’m a headhunter in the biotech and medical device industry. I’ve been doing this for thirty years.

How did you create the plot for this book?

All my plots are created in the same basic way. I have a concept or theme that I follow for each series. This is the Friendship and Honor series, so the theme revolves around the problems/conflicts that might arise out of a pact or oath of F&H. All I have to do is imagine a scenario that would create conflict and go with it. I always have an ending before I start, and then I work backwards. I despise a novel where the ending seems fabricated, so I swore I’d never do that.

What’s your favorite line from a book?

I’m a huge fan of the old noir films/books. Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett...and I have to say my favorite lines from all time are from the scene with Sydney Greenstreet and Humphrey Bogart in The Maltese Falcon. Some of my other favorites are from Casablanca.

Tell us a book you’re an evangelist for.

The Count of Monte Cristo. My favorite book of all time.

How do you get to know your characters?

They’re real. I base them on real people, or on combinations of real people. I’m a huge believer in knowing my characters and not just the main ones. I think it is just as important, if not more so, to know your secondary characters as it is to know the primary ones. And when I say know them, I mean down to the core. Know what they’d do in a given situation, how they’d react if someone challenges them, if someone kisses them, if someone betrays them. That, in my opinion, is how great characters are created.

Which character did you most enjoy writing?
Nicky Fusco.

You say your characters are based by real people. Who?

Most of them. Can’t say.

Understandable. Tell us about your favorite scene in the book.

The scene where Nicky goes to see Millie in the bar. It seems like such a simple, nothing scene, but it isn’t. That scene allowed me to show so many things about Nicky, about the way things have changed in the neighborhood, and about the kind of conflict and respect Nicky had for people. I loved it.

Who are your favorite authors?


Alexandre Dumas, John Sandford, Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, Frank Herbert, Donna Leon, and when I need to laugh out loud, Luciano De Crescenzo.

How long is your to-be-read pile?

Far too long, unfortunately. And since I’ve been published it’s grown considerably. I’ve met so many wonderful authors, and they have books I want to read. My iPad is stocked with a lot of titles.

You get to decide who would read your audiobook. Who would you choose?

Me. If I find time, I’m going to try it myself.

What book are you currently reading and in what format?

I’m reading an ebook, Sleep Not My Child, by Christopher Bartley. He’s a gifted author, and I love his work.

Where and when do you prefer to do your writing?

I write mostly in the kitchen, and I start about 10:00 at night. If I have blog posts to write, I usually do those earlier, and if I have editing or proofreading to do, that comes before writing. My writing I like to do late.

Where’s home for you?

I live in Texas, outside of Houston, but I grew up in Wilmington, Delaware.

Your last meal would be…

Veal Marsala with good bread, and a good wine.

You won the lottery. What’s the first thing you would buy?

A lot of land for my animals.

If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?

Italy.

What are you working on now?

This is a loaded question. I always have a lot going on.
Mystery: A Bullet From Dominic, Blood Flows South book II
        Necessary Decisions, first book in new series, Redemption
        A novella about one of the characters in Necessary Decisions
        Murder Takes Patience, Friendship and Honor book III
        Old Wounds, a Redemption Novel

Non-fiction: No Mistakes Interviews, book II of the No Mistakes Career series
       No Mistakes Guide to Misused Words

Fantasy: Vengeance is Mine, Book IV of the Rules of Vengeance series

I realize this seems like an awful lot to be working on, but it’s how I work. I actively write on a non-fiction and a fiction (or 2) at the same time, depending on the mood I’m in, and I actively plot and write scenes as they come to me for the others.

I'm the same way. Good luck with all of your projects, and come back anytime!

Other books by Giacomo:

Murder Takes Time | A Bullet For Carlos | Finding Family | No Mistakes Resumes

Excerpt from Murder Has Consequences

Actions have consequences. I learned that long ago.

• I learned it when I was five years old and got caught stealing cigarettes.
• I learned it when Mikey “The Face” Fagullo beat our asses for not giving him a cut of the smokes we stole from a boxcar.
• I learned it when Father Tom caught us playing cards instead of attending mass.
• Mostly I learned it when I shot Freddy Campisi. That lesson cost me ten years in prison.

Different actions yield different consequences. Do something wrong—-get sent to prison. That’s one kind of consequence. But that’s the easy one. If you go to prison, you do your time and get out. It’s over. Done with.

But there is another, far worse, consequence-—the one you have to live with day in and day out. The kind of consequence you beat yourself up over. The kind that won’t go away. I did my time for killing Freddy Campisi. The other things I’ve done I have to live with. Those are between me and God. They are my cross on earth.

Nicky Fusco

About the author:

Giacomo Giammatteo lives in Texas, where he and his wife run an animal sanctuary and take care of 45 loving rescues. By day, he works as a headhunter in the medical device industry, and at night, he writes. 

Connect with Giacomo:
Website | Blog | Facebook | Goodreads | Twitter |

Buy the book:
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Apple | Kobo 

January Justice Showcase

About the book:

Reeling from his wife's unsolved murder, Malcolm Cutter is just going through the motions as a chauffeur and bodyguard for Hollywood's rich and famous. Then a pair of Guatemalan tough guys offer him a job. It's an open question whether they're patriotic revolutionaries or vicious terrorists. Either way, Cutter doesn't much care until he gets a bomb through his window, a gangland beating on the streets of L.A., and three bullets in the chest. Now there's another murder on Cutter's Mind. His own.

Praise for Athol Dickson's novels:



"Atmospheric, well-paced and powerfully imagined . . . a highly entertaining nail-biter." (Publishers Weekly)



". . . richly imagined . . . lyrically written . . . artfully constructed." (Bookwire)



". . . well-written . . . intelligent . . . suspenseful . . . engrossing." (Library Journal)



". . . elegant prose . . . very well written." (The New York Review of Books )

Excerpt from January Justice

ONE OF THE STRANGEST THINGS ABOUT THE CITY was the sudden way it disappeared around the edges. One minute you were down on Sunset Boulevard surrounded by glass and concrete, and the next thing you knew you were up on Mulholland Drive, alone in the rough country. From a high window or a rooftop almost anywhere in Los Angeles you could see the mountains, and there was always something ravenous up there looking down.



I was up among the hungry creatures, standing at the edge of a cliff, with Hollywood and Santa Monica far below me in the distance. One step forward and I would be in midair. I was looking down and wondering if Haley had considered how suddenly you could go from city to wilderness. Then I wondered if it was a distinction without a difference, if the city might be the wilderness and the wilderness the city, and maybe Los Angeles’s edges seemed to disappear so suddenly because there really was no separation between sidewalks and mountain paths, buildings and boulders. Up in the mountains or down in the city, either way the carnivores were in control.



I imagined Haley, out of her mind, running full speed off the cliff. I wondered what it had been like, that final second or two before she hit. Had she realized what was happening? Did she recognize the city lights below for what they were, or did she really think she was flying toward the stars? And did she think of me?



Stepping closer to the edge, I slid the toes of my shoes into the air. I looked down two hundred feet, toward the spot where she had broken on the rocks. I stood one inch from eternity and tried to imagine life without her. I could not summon up a single reason why I shouldn’t take that final step, except for one. I thought about the kind of animal who would drive someone to do what my wife had done. Predators like that were everywhere. I should know. I had trained for half my life to be one of them. I was hungry, looking down on the city. If I was going to live, the hunger would have to be enough, for now. But I would sink my teeth into him, sooner or later. I would do that for Haley, and for myself, and then maybe it would be my turn to see if I could fly.



I stepped back from the edge.

About the author:

A master of profound suspense.



Athol Dickson's mystery, suspense, and literary novels have won three Christy Awards and an Audie Award. Suspense fans who enjoyed Athol's They Shall See God will love his latest novel, January Justice, the first installment in a new mystery series called The Malcolm Cutter Memoirs. The second and third novels in the series, Free Fall in February, and A March Murder, are coming in 2013.



Critics have favorably compared Athol's work to such diverse authors as Octavia Butler (Publisher's Weekly), Hermann Hesse (The New York Journal of Books), and Flannery O'Connor (The New York Times). Athol lives with his wife in southern California.

Connect with Athol:
Website | Facebook | Twitter

Don't forget! We'll be touring soon for more chances to win this amazing myestery!

 

Thank you to Athol Dickson and Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for generously offering this book for review. If you'd like to join in on an upcoming tour just stop by their sites and sign up today!

 

Featured Author: Marc DiGiacomo

In A Small Town by Marc DiGiacomo is the first book in a crime series. Marc is stopping by today on his Partners In Crime tour to share an excerpt. This mystery/thriller, published by Infinity Publishing and written by a former police officer, is getting rave reviews. It's a good thing this book is one of a series because it ends with a cliff-hanger.
NOTE: This book contains excessive strong language, graphic violence, and explicit sexual scenes.

About the book:

The shotgun blast catches Detective Matthew Longo by surprise. His world unravels into a nightmare that seemingly won't end. Murder, rapes, pedophiles, the small town of Hutchville, N.Y. is changing. It is up to him to make a difference. While partner Donny Mello is in Italy attending a funeral for a family member who is connected, to say the least, a beautiful F.B.I. agent waits to question him about his family business. Can Matt keep from answering the Agent's questions? More importantly, can he hide a potentially career-ending secret from his community, his brother, and most especially Agent Cynthia Shyler?

Excerpt

Chapter One

Not In Our Town



I can’t get it out of my mind. The lightning that exploded from the end of the barrel. The ripping orange flash off the black steel. The smell of gunpowder. The sound, like an M-80. And the pain—the fucking searing pain. It is permanently scorched into my memory. Everything but his face. The face I didn’t see haunts me every second. All I remember are those ultra-white Reebok sneakers as he ran away. The fucking coward would have shot me in the back, but I turned around and caught the blast in the chest. I didn’t have time to pull my Glock.


The shot knocked me to the ground. I thought I was having a heart attack—I couldn’t catch my breath. Then I understood what happened, and reality hit: I was going to die.


It seemed to take minutes rather than seconds, but I managed to radio into headquarters. The response from the good guys was impressive, to say the least. They saved my life. Cops from my own town and others surrounded the scene. I knew they would come. When a cop gets shot, they all come, and with one thing in mind—-to find the bastard who pulled the trigger. 


Things grew foggy. I saw blue uniforms scurrying around the scene while white-clad EMTs lifted me onto the gurney and loaded me into the ambulance. I could hear people talking about me—-reporters, other cops, curious residents. “Detective Matthew Longo...Only 29 years old, been on the force nearly 10 years...Shot in the fucking chest and shoulder. No wife or children. Parents live in town; Hutchville lifers. Oh yeah, the town is going to go batshit over this.” 


Blood oozed from my left shoulder. My friend and paramedic Scotty Franks hovered over me and placed direct pressure on my wound. Even through my fog I could tell he was holding back tears. My shoulder was on fire. I never wore my bulletproof vest unless making entry on a search warrant, or if a hot pursuit was coming my way; then I quickly threw it over my shirt. I was lucky I had it on that night. Maybe someone on the other side was looking out for me.


I fell unconscious even with all the shouting around me. I dreamed of my funeral and who would be there. I saw myself in the blue box surrounded by a sobbing crowd of familiar faces. My parents looked horrible. My poor mother clutched her bible and rosary beads. My dad kept his eyes glued to the floor, angry and broken. My little brother Franny, in full uniform, stood near my casket at full attention, his white gloves damp from tears. Donny was there too, trying to keep it together.


I heard Scotty screaming for me in the distance. The poor guy loved me, but why was he screaming my name, spitting all over my face, at my wake? Maybe I should have had a closed casket.


Suddenly I felt him slapping me. I awoke and found myself back inside the ambulance. Scotty took a deep breath, in and out, and said, “Okay Matt, okay. Don’t do that again.”


The pain was relentless, and I couldn’t help but cry. Scotty put a needle into an IV line in my arm and the pain vanished almost immediately. “Don’t give me morphine Scotty,” I managed to whisper. “It killed my grandparents.” Then I lost consciousness again, falling into a world between life and death.


I heard someone screaming in the night. Was it me? It was too dark to see. Where’s Donny? I really needed him now. Was I dreaming again or was this some delusion of reality? I slapped myself and felt a sharp sting, jolting me awake. 


It has been three weeks of hell living inside this apartment. My social life has been placed on indefinite hold. The phone rings constantly but who cares? I don’t answer. The window shades are drawn. I don’t know if its day or night, and I don’t give a shit.


Thankfully, the wound has been healing well. But I look at my shoulder and am repulsed by the scar and missing flesh. People say scars are sexy but this one may be the exception. My left arm is still in a sling. At times, the pain is still unbearable. The Percocet I’m still taking makes me pass out.


The sink is loaded with paper dishes and plastic cups. Last week’s dinner from my mother sits on the kitchen table still wrapped in tin foil, and the smell is starting to ferment in my kitchen. I can hear my Dad’s deep voice in my head: “Why don’t you pull it together and clean up around here? You’re making your mother nervous.” She’s nervous? I can’t help laughing. 
Hey Dad, your oldest son was almost shot dead in the same small, safe community where we played Little League baseball. Mind if I take a week or two to let that one sink in? 


Only cops—-and maybe some of their wives—-realize how dangerous police work can become in a millisecond. Parents of cops usually choose to ignore the reality—-it’s too difficult to accept that a life-or-death choice awaits their son or daughter at any moment. A bank robbery turns into a shootout; a wanted felon gets pulled over for a broken tail-light and decides suicide by cop is his only way to avoid a lengthy jail sentence. As a detective, this is my everyday reality. 


This isn’t supposed to happen in a small town. We’ve never had a police shooting—-never. In fact, the last time we had any kind of criminal shooting was ten years ago, and it was a domestic dispute between a father and his cheating son-in-law. These old-school Italians are no joke.

About the author:

Marc DiGiacomo is a retired and highly decorated police detective who worked for an affluent community within the State of New York. He has worked with numerous police agencies at the local, county, state, and federal levels on various investigative assignments. He currently resides in New York with his wife and three children.



Connect with Marc:
Website / Facebook / Twitter / Goodreads

Buy the book:
Barnes & Noble / Amazon