Christopher J. Lynch
Find me on Facebook
  • Home
  • Author Events
    • Past Events
  • Books & Short Stories
    • Short Stories
  • Eddie
    • Eddie: The Life & Times...
  • One Eyed Jack
    • One Eyed Jack: The Novel
    • Jack Extras . . . >
      • Making the Trailer
    • Reviews
    • Author Interviews
  • Russian Roulette
    • Russian Roulette: Excerpt
  • Sin Tax
  • Newspaper & Magazine Articles
    • LA Weekly >
      • Oran Z's Black Facts and Wax Museum
      • Venice Art Walls, Living Canvases on the Beach, Turn 50
      • How Wall Street Kicks L.A. Pets Out of Their Homes
      • Not-So-Secret Santarchy
    • Daily Breeze
    • Topanga Messenger
    • Gardena Valley News >
      • Ryan Wilkes
      • Andrew Aaron
    • Arthritis Today
    • Easy Reader
    • American Legion Magazine
    • Blindskills Inc.
    • South Bay Woman
    • Beach Magazine >
      • Prison Vets Work With Blue Star Mothers
      • Beach Romance-Dinner With A Side Of Diamonds
      • Ejection At Mach 1.05
      • Painting Polly's
      • Surfmats: Fact or Fiction?
  • The Orphanage: Stories Looking for a Home
  • Contact/Subscribe
  • Links
    • Shout Outs: Great Self-Publishing Support
    • Shout Outs: Great Indy Bookstores
  • Blog

Picture






Picture
Read an excerpt . . .
 September 20, 1980 

LAPD Officer, Steve Fischer, “Don’t worry Kenny, you’re gonna be fine, everything’s gonna be just fine.” 

The words were meant to reassure me, but I never in my life wanted to hear them, especially lying flat on my back, after being shot three times at point blank range. I knew what Steve was trying to do and I appreciated it. 


He and I had gone through the academy together a decade ago. Inches away from me, my assailant, who in legal parlance would still be referred to as the suspect, lie bleeding out, as the result of a single gunshot wound to the head. A river of blood flowed out of his cheek, down the sidewalk, and into the gutter. In the darkness of the night, the blood looked black, like crude oil. 

In the distance sirens were wailing, as every officer in the vicinity was racing to the call of: “Officer needs help – shots fired - officer down.” I had done so myself in the past and joined in the screaming posse, I just never imagined they would be riding to me. 


I stared up at Steve. He was a good cop, and a good man. I could trust him to do what I needed him to do next.

“I’m hurtin’ real bad Steve,” I said. “Tell my wife and my sons that I love ‘em.”


Now available on Amazon.com and better independent bookstores. 

Picture
Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.