Trouble in Paradise? #Miami #UrbanCrime #InterracialRomance

By Tim Smith (Guest Blogger)

He’s as cool as a Pina Colada on a Key West beach, he’s the kind of guy your mother wouldn’t let you play with, and he’s every bad guy’s worst nightmare. Nick Seven is back in The Neon Jungle (Nick Seven Book 6), a gritty tale of crime and revenge on the mean streets of Miami.

In the laidback Florida Keys, former spies Nick Seven and Felicia Hagens found a paradise far removed from the covert world of the CIA.

Nick, content to run a bar on the Gulf and maintain a low profile, breaks his self-imposed exile when a friend asks for help in getting a local mob boss off his back. Popular singer Jimmie Rae wants to get free from the notorious Turk Morgan, a crooked music mogul who controls the Miami entertainment scene. Jimmie reveals that his girlfriend has gotten caught in Turk’s web, and he wants to get her out before it’s too late.

As Nick and Felicia explore the neon jungle of South Beach, they encounter the dark underside of the music business. Drugs, prostitution, street thugs, and political payoffs are Turk’s stock in trade, and he isn’t one to relinquish control over his empire.

Nick goes undercover as an international criminal to challenge him, but will he succeed in breaking Turk’s hold over Jimmie and his girl? Can Nick use the sting operation to solve a cold case murder he discovers by accident? What other secrets will he uncover?”

 

This story is a bit different from the other entries in the Nick and Felicia spy thriller series. If you’re familiar with TV shows like “Burn Notice” or “Leverage,” you’ve seen the trope of people pulling a scam on someone to bring them down. In this case, the target is a vicious Miami crook masquerading as a music mogul. He’s sort of a black Godfather, using a network of street thugs and paid-for cops to maintain his illegal empire.

It was fun to write because I got to send Nick undercover using an old alias from his days as a CIA spook, a Greek arms smuggler named Nick Stavros. Along with Felicia and his former partner, the somewhat trustworthy Bones McCoy, Nick concocts a plan to make Turk Morgan think his empire is crumbling around him. There are colorful locations, quirky characters, snappy dialogue, action, romance and hot sex. I made full use of South Beach as a backdrop, with its art deco buildings, bright neon lights, and endless parade of street hustlers to add atmosphere. These elements added to the ongoing sexual attraction between Nick and Felicia.

Here’s an exclusive excerpt:

Nick swam through the incoming current to catch up with Felicia, who had bested him after they dived into the ocean. When he reached her, he treaded water, shook his head, and spat out the mouthful of the Atlantic he had sucked in. Felicia bobbed neck high, treading water while giving him a teasing smile. Nick sidled up next to her and brushed his wet hair back from his face.

“Looks like I win, tough guy,” she proclaimed. “Five bucks. Pay up.”

“I left my wallet in my other pants.”

They floated with the gentle tides and looked around. Several sailboats coasted in the distance, along with some jet skis out for a day of exploring. The white sandy beach was dotted with bikinied sun worshipers and a group playing volleyball. The smell of saltwater and sunscreen permeated the air, punctuated by excited cheers and chatter from the volleyball crowd.

“Sure is pretty out here,” she said.

“That’s the second time you’ve said that. Are you sure you’re not trying to tell me something?”

She splashed water in his face. “No, I’m not tryin’ to tell you anythin’. Can’t a person make an observation without you readin’ somethin’ into it?”

“Old habit.”

She pulled him in for a kiss. “Get over it.”

Her long, wet hair dangled carelessly around her face. He peered into her eyes while caressing her cheek. “Felicia, I’d be happy anywhere we lived as long as you were there. I just can’t envision life without you being a part of it.”

She gave him a dreamy smile. “Now who’s bein’ selfish?”

“Come on. I’ll race you back to shore.”

“Double or nothin’?”

“You’re on.”

They swam toward the beach, coasting part way on the waves and reached the sandbar at the same time. They walked onto the beach and caught their breath.

“Tie,” Nick declared.

“You still owe me five bucks.”

They walked to where they had laid out their towels, and Nick took two bottles of water from the beach bag. He handed one to Felicia, then took a long drink.

Nick let his eyes wander over Felicia’s toned body, her bronze skin offset by a white mesh bikini that clung to her body. Rivulets of water dripped from her hair when she fluffed it with her fingers. In spite of the heat, her nipples pressed against her bikini top.

“I guess that water was cooler than it looks,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

He indicated her breasts. “You’re standing at attention.”

She moved a step closer to run her fingers along his arm. “If we were back home on Barbados, I wouldn’t be wearin’ this.”

“We should plan a trip there.”

About Tim Smith

Tim Smith is an award-winning, bestselling author of romantic mystery/thrillers and contemporary erotic romance. He is also a photographer, freelance writer, editor, and blogger. His novels featuring former CIA agent Nick Seven have garnered several awards and international critical praise. When he isn’t writing, he can often be found in The Florida Keys, doing research between parasailing and seeking out the perfect Mojito.

You’ll find more information about Tim and his books at www.timsmithauthor.com, AllAuthor.com, ManicReaders.com, and Goodreads.

Available on Amazon in Kindle and paperback

 

Review Tuesday: The Russia House - #ReviewTuesday #literaryfiction #genrefiction

The Russia House by John le Carré

Alfred A. Knopf Limited, 1989

Whenever I read a novel by John le Carré, I am reminded that the distinction between genre and literary fiction is totally artificial. Le Carré is renowned for his long career as an author of “spy fiction”. However, every one of his books bears the marks of serious literature: fluid, precise and evocative prose; vivid, complex characterization; innovative narrative structures; and perhaps most important, attention to serious themes. Few authors explore the moral ambiguities of politics and society as acutely as le Carré. Furthermore, he demonstrates how these thorny issues ultimately arise from individuals, their choices and their behavior, though always in the context of the institutions to which those people are bound.

The Russia House was written and published during the years of perestroika, when the Berlin wall was crumbling and the Cold War appeared to be in a state of thaw. I expect that its insights and its irony seemed particularly cogent at that time, but even now, the novel retains its impact. In fact, in this era of polarization, fake news and manipulated identities, it seems almost prescient.

The story centers on British publisher Scott Blair, aka “Barley”, who in mid-life is a brilliant, charming, well-educated failure. Barley’s long history of drunkenness, indebtedness, broken marriages and broken promises has led him to flee England and take refuge with his latest lady-friend in Lisbon.

Kept on a short rein by the aunts who bankroll his publishing company, Barley has been a frequent visitor to Russia. The West is eager to strike deals there, in the new spirit of cooperation and openness, translating Russian gems as well as pushing previously unavailable English books. On one of his Russian jaunts, at a vodka-soaked gathering of authors and intelligentsia, Barley has a lengthy, late night conversation with a remarkable man calling himself Goethe. Although Goethe’s intellect and passion deeply impress him, Barley more or less forgets the encounter until the British spy agency ferrets him out and forces him into service.

It appears that Goethe is actually a top Russian scientist, who has written a critical book exposing the incompetence and fraud in the Soviet nuclear missile program. But in spycraft, nothing is ever as “it appears”. The explosive revelations and technical detail in Goethe’s book could fundamentally change the balance of power—increasing the chances of peace, or of war, depending on whom you talk to. The government and its minions need to know whether the material is genuine or a hoax designed to undermine the readiness of the West. Goethe trusts only Barley—he directed his manuscript to Barley, urging him to publish it, and it’s only by accident that the book ends up in the hands of the authorities. Hence Barley, mercurial, shiftless, tortured by inner demons, must be trained in espionage and sent to meet the reticent author.

This skeleton of the plot omits many complexities and a number of important characters, all of whom le Carré sketches with a deft, sure hand. In particular, there’s the shadowy figure of Palfrey, legal advisor to the British spooks, who acts as the almost invisible narrator for the novel. Palfrey sees himself mirrored in Barley; he’s the silent, conflicted observer who always takes the easy way out. Unlike Barley, he does not achieve redemption.

Then there’s Katya, Goethe’s one-time lover, who is serves as the conduit to the reclusive scientist. I will allow readers to discover her on their own.

I was struck, as I often am in reading le Carré, by the absence of rapid action, violent confrontations and feats of derring-do so prominent in modern spy thrillers. As Palfrey notes, “spying is waiting”, and spycraft is far more of an intellectual than a physical exercise. There’s violence in this book, but it’s hidden in overtly civil conversations. In particular, a scene in which the American CIA (who seize control of the operation from the more civilized Brits) administers a polygraph test to Barley made me shudder. (I am certain that was the author’s intention.)

One of the delights in this book is the author’s rich portrayal of Russia and the Russian people. As they deal with shortages, crumbling infrastructure, corruption and fear of State repression, they remain resourceful, brave, warm-hearted and sociable—even idealistic. It’s clear that le Carré has deep knowledge of, and abiding love for, Russia. The British characters fare more poorly, and the Americans worst of all.

I greatly enjoyed this book. It also filled me with new admiration for its author. It’s far more than just a throwaway piece of genre fiction.

I would really love to see John le Carré get the respect he deserves.