Off the Books Available for Pre-Order

 

Next Friday, March 15, marks the publication date of the sixth Nick Forte private eye novel, Off the Books. Here’s the short and sweet:

 Nick Forte has lost his detective agency and makes ends meet doing background checks and other paperwork. He pays for everything else through jobs he takes for cash and without any written contract. What starts out as a simple investigation into a traffic accident exposes Forte to people who have truly lost everything and have no viable hope of reclaiming their lives. That doesn’t sit well with Forte, leading him and his friend Goose Satterwhite to take action that ends more violently than anyone expected.

 Some luminaries weighed in with their opinions:

 “The return of Chicago private detective Nick Forte, the tough protagonist of two Shamus Award nominated novels, is well worth the wait. Nick’s latest escapade Off The Books—the first in nearly six years—will surely earn additional praise for the acclaimed series.”

-J.L .Abramo, Shamus Award-winning author of Chasing Charlie Chan.

 "Nick Forte reminds me of Robert B. Parker's Spenser: a PI with a finely tuned sense of justice who doesn't take anyone's s***. Any fan of hardboiled detective fiction is in for a helluva ride."

--Chris Rhatigan, former publisher of All Due Respect Books

 "Six years since his last appearance, the return of Dana King's no-nonsense Nick Forte is cause to celebrate for fans of Robert B. Parker's Spenser and Loren Estleman's Amos Walker. As tough and unsentimental as Forte himself, Off the Books delivers all the action, acute observations, and wise-cracks required to satisfy that old-school PI itch. Now we just need King to not make us wait so long for the next one!"

--James D.F. Hannah, Shamus-winning author of Because the Night and Behind the Wall Of Sleep

 That’s right, Jimmy, it’s been six years since Forte had his own book, though he did make a cameo in last year’s Penns River novel. I had so much fun writing his scenes in The Spread I started thinking about getting into his POV again; Off the Books  is the result, and I’m happy with how it turned out.

 Off the Books is available for $8.99 in paperback, $2.99 for Kindle, and is free for Kindle Unlimited subscribers. The Kindle version is available for pre-order. The paperback drops March 15.

 Six years away has not softened Forte any, as this excerpt shows:

 The diner didn’t serve alcohol and a couple of beers would help me sleep. I didn’t keep beer around the house anymore and wouldn’t buy any for the motel room because people who drink alone are alcoholics and I had enough problems as it was. Rusty’s Lounge was only a small detour on my way to bed.

The inside would be right at home in a relatively decent local hotel. The bartender wore a white dress shirt, no tie, with striped garters. The tables were two- and four-seaters with candles, the ambient light forgiving without creating a trip and fall hazard. Several couples shared tables. The bar was about half full, with a two-to-one ratio of men to women.

No seats where I’d have room on both sides, so I slid in between a man on my left and a woman on my right, both already engaged in conversation with members of the opposite sex. I ordered a Leinenkugel’s draft and looked for a television set. The Cubs were on, but I watched it, anyway.

I’d sucked the foam off my second beer when the man talking to the woman on my right excused himself to go to the john. She moved away to make room for him just as I shifted forward to dislodge a knot in my boxers. We bumped. Her fresh drink spilled, but my shirt and pants kept most of it from ending up on the floor.

We went through the standard ritual of mutual apologies. I volunteered to make things right. “My drink is intact. Let me replace yours. It’s only fair.” Continued before she got the wrong idea. “You’re here with someone, and I’m only going to finish this before heading out.”

Her shields came down. I waved to the bartender, a guy who looked like he’d been here a while and still hadn’t got used to the idea of having to wear shirt garters. He brought her drink and I paid about half what I would expect to in Chicago.

The woman nodded in my direction. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“My pleasure. I’m clumsy enough to make sure people don’t mind too much if it happens again, but not so clumsy it’ll bankrupt me.”

She gave as much of a laugh as that deserved. Middle thirties was my guess. Average build with dark hair pulled away from her face and down to her shoulders. She had a quick and happy smile, but the fatigue in her eyes implied she’d seen enough of nights and bars like this.

Her companion returned, passing behind me to get to his seat. She said, “And now it’s my turn” and adjusted her stool to stand. I made a show of giving her as much room as space allowed. She smiled and nodded in appreciation and went on her way.

I resumed my seat in time to see the man she was with jerk away from her glass. I pinned his other hand to the bar. “What did you put in her drink?”

His face gave him away. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I waved for the bartender. “Do me a favor. Keep this glass safe behind the bar and call the police.”

Took him only a couple of seconds to put it together. Eyed the other man with disgust and reached for the glass. Romeo darted his free hand to spill everything across the bar.

“Oops.” He half smiled.

I let go of his hand. Grabbed a handful of hair and slammed his face into the bar.

He turned toward me. Said, “Asshole.” Not the response I had in mind, so I did it again. Harder. Liquid sloshed from both our glasses. He put a hand to his face and stayed down. Blood dribbled from his nose to the bar.

The bartender engaged. “Enough of that or I’ll call the police.”

I raised my hands shoulder height, palms out. “Call them, anyway. It might be nice to have this jagov on file in case something like this comes up again.” The barman hesitated until I told him I would if he didn’t.

It happened so quickly no one else noticed until a woman three seats down looked over and saw Bleeding Man’s face. That prompted the inevitable gasp and pointing but no general tumult.

The bartender handed Bleeding Man a towel as the woman returned. She ran the last few steps. “What happened?”

I kept my voice low and even. “He put something in your drink.”

“Like hell I did. He wants to take you home himself.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So I…what? Broke your nose and called the police? How’s that supposed to work?”

The woman looked from me to him as if trying to decide which of us had evolved a spinal column. Started to speak, pulled it back. Glared at a spot between the bartender and me. “Sometimes I wonder why I don’t just have the damn thing sewn shut.” People made room on her way out.

Then I made another mistake. I waited for the cops. Again.