The City Streets Series: a murdered runaway, a wrongly-accused veteran, and the dicey world of street punks. Be careful. It’s rough out on these streets.
When my first novel The Suite, was published in 2018, I didn’t intend for it to be the first book in a series, but several people asked me, “What happens next, Susanne?” I started asking myself the same question.
Developing a series of three novels required revisions to the original stand-alone, The Suite. I needed to link the stories together better and strengthen returning characters. The Suite was re-edited, renamed and graced with new cover art. The story is essentially the same, but better—and the stage was set for Veteran, Book 2 & Gutter Punk, Book 3.
Runaway was released as an ebook October 1, 2020. Veteran had its ebook release on November 1, 2020. The series was concluded with the release of Gutter Punk on March 18, 2021. I have received requests about print copies and am working toward offering The City Streets series in softcover soon.
PURCHASE & DOWNLOAD ALL THREE NOVELS IN THE SERIES FOR ONLY 99c EACH FOR A LIMITED TIME FROM DIGITAL BOOKSTORES. REVIEWS ARE ENCOURAGED AND APPRECIATED.
*Note to reader: this excerpt depicts violence and contains language which some readers may find objectionable.
Chapter One “A Cold World”
“We need to get out of here, Pooki,” whispered Elle. “We’ve been here for, like, two days.” “Yeah,” answered Pooki. “I’m sick of these dudes. I’m sick of their faces, and I’m sick of them beating on us for kicks.” Pooki wanted to cry, but she was too tired and in too much pain. And she was angry. Angry, physically hurt, and scared. “I hope they don’t hear us talking, Elle. Do you think they can hear us?” “I don’t know. They’re pretty sauced. If they keep drinking, maybe they’ll pass out,” said Elle. She was as exhausted and hurt as her friend. She had bruises on her face, arms, and shoulders. The least the creeps could do was to offer the kids some of their whiskey to take the edge off. There were two of them. The younger one was a skinny dude. He had offered Pooki food and a place to stay. They met up in the alley behind Mahli’s Asian Café where Pooki was searching the dumpster for something to eat. Pooki had asked Elle to come with her because they were safer together. It hadn’t mattered this time. The skinny guy was okay at first, but he turned weird. He got mean and he enjoyed it when things became violent. It crossed Elle’s mind that he might be a spotter with the West Coast Track, looking for young bodies to traffic. If he was, Elle knew that she and Pooki were done. Neither of them would be seen or heard from again. They didn’t know the other guy existed until they got to the address. This second guy was older and not too bright. He was a big guy. He liked to hit and he hit hard. It was too late for Elle and Pooki to wonder if they had been overheard. The assholes were coming back from the other room. “Forget it, you little shit!” hollered the big, old guy. “You’re not going anywhere. You still owe me for food. What about the movies you been watching? Who paid for that, huh? We even let you take a shower and clean up your scrawny ass.” He grabbed Elle by the hair and started to shake her. It was the guy’s version of foreplay. The attacks had been going on since yesterday. Elle had had enough but the jerk wouldn’t leave her alone. “Please, man, I can’t take anymore. You gotta give me a break, okay?” “A break, you freeloading piece of shit?” he shouted at Elle. “Here’s all the break you get, now shut your mouth!” He hit Elle so hard on the side of her head that she saw stars. The old guy went after Elle again. He wasn’t taking no for an answer, and his buddy was laughing at the show, enjoying it like staged entertainment. Pooki grabbed the closest thing at hand—a dinner plate. It was heavy, thick, ceramic. She smashed the plate into the guy’s head. He went down on his belly, his pants around his knees. He was stunned, but he wasn’t knocked out. Elle climbed out from under him, eyes wide. “You little fuck!” screamed the skinny guy, sticking up for his moron friend. Then Elle and Pooki saw the knife in his hand. He started slashing the blade around in wild arcs, punctuated with stabbing motions. He was fueled by whiskey and outraged that two street kids would dare to defend themselves. Elle stayed low and scrambled away. Pooki tried to move a safe distance from the swinging knife, but she was right in the path of the blade. Before she could back away, the knife sliced across the side of her abdomen. Blood spurted and Pooki’s hand flew to her wound. She sunk down to the floor, wide-eyed. The skinny asshole couldn’t believe what he’d done. He stared at the knife for a moment, and then he tossed it to the floor. Elle didn’t think twice—she reached down, grabbed the knife from where it had landed and pointed the bloodied blade at the two creeps. “Stay the fuck where you are!” Elle screamed. The older one had pulled his pants up by now and started to make a move toward the knife. Elle looked at him and said, “Go ahead you crazy asshole, you think you’re faster than me? I owe you some painful shit right about now!” It was a surprise to Elle that the moron stopped. He stared at the blade in her hand. Elle heard his labored breathing. He grunted. Apparently, the sight of blood hadn’t sobered him up. Keeping the knife out in front of her, her eyes peeled on the creeps, Elle reached for a dish towel that had been left on the table. She scooped Pooki up off the floor and pushed the towel into the wound. Pooki moaned with pain. There was a lot of blood, but Elle had to ignore that for now and get them the hell out of there. She put Pooki’s arm around her shoulder and they backed out the front door. Elle and Pooki stumbled down the front walk of the crummy place. Elle tossed the knife into a rhododendron bush and they headed down the dark street to find help.
*Copyrighted material. Do not reproduce without permission.
I’m excited to announce the launch of Gutter Punk, the third book in the City Streets series. The book will be live on March 18. It is available for pre-order from several digital bookstores. To celebrate the release, you can purchase and download for only 99c. If you’ve missed Runaway or Veteran, they are offered at the same price for a limited time. Use the links below to access digital bookstores.
Sitting at his office work station, Dylan Colby grew impatient. He glanced at the corner of the screen. At least the time display didn’t disappoint. Nearly time to call it a day. One last meeting and his workday would be over. But this meeting wasn’t going to be an easy one. He regretted that it had to happen, but it was time. He must be very clear about that. His focus returned to the screen. Satisfied with the final notations, Dylan saved his changes then attached the documents to an email. He selected “Send” before he could change his mind again.
This meeting would be the last time he’d waste effort on this particular endeavor. Futile interactions were an expense he could not afford. There simply were too many others requiring his attention. Their past conferences had not been noted on the office calendar and neither was this one. They had agreed on this at the onset. They arranged to meet at the end of the work day at one of a few select locations which included his office. Except for Dylan, the office was empty. Quiet, dark, and cavernous. Like a tomb.
Dylan stood, stretched, and reached for his water container on the desk. He wanted to see the matter finished. Then he could head to the gym. Where the hell were they? Tardiness irritated him nearly as much as excuses. There would be some bullshit excuse which would serve to steel his resolve to be done with it. His after-workday-workouts helped to purge the frustration from his psyche as well as from his central nervous system, of this he was sure. God, he prayed, please let me be on the treadmill within the hour.
Engaged in his thoughts, Dylan headed to the break room to fill his water container. He boasted an enclosed work space in the back of the office because of the nature of the business conducted there. Private it was, but a distance from the kitchen, the entrance, even the men’s room. Not even a window nearby. But he liked the location of his workspace. He thought of it as his inner sanctum. Street lights illuminated the perimeter of the vast office space, but the interior was encased in blackness. He liked it this way. On evenings when he was still working when the cleaning crew arrived, he disliked that they turned on all the lights. Time to stop working and turn the place over to them, he told himself at those instances. At least they were efficient.
The street remained wet from rain earlier in the day and the temperature hadn’t been warm enough to dry the puddles that formed. Light from the windows reacted to movement, catching Dylan’s eye. As he returned to his office, he glanced at the clock deciding to wait only five minutes more. If they didn’t show he’d have to deal with it another time. What a colossal pain.
At the doorway to his office, a force grabbed him from behind in a strong and vicious embrace that pulled him backwards and off his feet. Before he could register any reaction, Dylan felt a sharp knee punch to the groin. He would have doubled over with pain and nausea but his upper body was restrained. Incapacitated, Dylan became a rag doll as strong, gloved hands grasped his head on either side. In one quick motion, the hands twisted his head to the left, quickly separating the occipital bone at the base of the skull from vertebrae protecting the spinal cord, irreparably damaging soft tissue. Dylan fell to the floor of his office, dead.
The killer retrieved the metal water container from the floor where it landed during the attack. Stepping over to Dylan’s desk, gloved hands used the water container as a cudgel, smashing the monitor, the CPU case, the keyboard, even the router. The killer surveyed the damage to the office, glanced at the body of Dylan Colby, then left. The cleaning crew would arrive shortly.
*Copyrighted material. Do not reproduce without permission.
When the shelter residents returned from searching for housing, work, help, whatever—they were told the girl was dead. But when asked by the investigators, no one had noticed whether she was not at breakfast, nor could they remember if the girl had been around the night before. No one noticed. It was the story of her life, as they say. No one noticed whether she was around unless it was some degenerate Fagin-like creep who saw her as a commodity. But they noticed her now, now that she was dead. The shelter where she was staying was called Avalon, a temporary shelter for street folks who needed a place to stay. Mid-November was wet from the incessant rain and cold at night. Avalon was busy. Families with children or single women can stay at Avalon for thirty days. Then they have to move on—to permanent housing, to in-patient treatment, to transitional housing, to another shelter, back with relations or friends, or back on the street. Avalon has a dorm, one large room, known as The Suite. The space is made available for up to four women at a time. The unnoticed girl had a bed in The Suite and had been there three days before she was found dead in the alley. Mark Twain was quoted to say that the rumors of his death were greatly exaggerated. Not so with the girl. She was gone. Had the girl been able, she would have told them what happened, how it felt. She would have told them that dying was less painful than many things she had encountered in her young life. At least her death had been quick and of that she was grateful.
The first one to notice the girl in the alley was Ty. A decent sort, Ty returned from the Gulf War a different guy from the one sent. Ty never blamed anyone else for his situation. He had simply heard, seen, and smelled more than anyone should have to in this lifetime and he was haunted by what he’d been through. He tried to work, tried to relate to people, tried to quell the nightmares, but the memories defeated him and he toppled down like one of Saddam’s statues. Ty was a regular at Brooks House, the men’s shelter down the street. Actually, Ty was a fixture there. And because he was a decent guy and he didn’t have a temper, the staff liked him. Ty walked from the bus stop to Avalon every Sunday at five p.m. because Mike worked the Sunday evening shift. Ty looked forward to seeing Mike on Sundays. Mike treated him like a man instead of some wasted shell person. Mike didn’t divert his eyes when Ty looked him in the face and he greeted him when he saw Ty approach. Days could go by on the street without that happening. Ty and Mike would have a cup of coffee and visit like old friends. But on this Sunday, as Ty walked past the alley, he smelled it. He knew what it was. For a few seconds he was there in the smoke and the stink and the fire. He made himself approach the lump at the side of the alley entrance and saw that it was the girl. What was her name? Had he ever heard her name? he asked himself. He must have. Ty took in the ugly gash at the side of her head. It was just above her right ear but more to the front. Something heavy had slammed into the side of her head, cleaving skin, tissue, and part of the skull. There was a lot of blood producing the sour smell that had brought Ty to her. The blow or blows had missed her open right eye. The girl stared into hell without seeing or caring that she had arrived.
Two others came along minutes after Ty. It was Marco and Genevieve, known as the seniors. Marco spoke with an accent although he had been in the States forty years. Having never learned to read and write and with no driver’s license or Social Security number, Marco was like a ghost in that he was only seen in shadows. Marco’s friend, Genevieve had been married at one time with a family. She had four children with her husband and “functioned well” until the voices started to dictate how to raise those children. At some point, Gen’s path crossed with Marco’s. Marco didn’t mind that Genevieve heard voices because she helped him keep a stash of meds handy for his back pain. The arrangement worked for Genevieve, as well. Marco kept the street predators at bay and reminded Genevieve to eat. Marco and Gen had followed Ty from the bus stop. When they saw him enter the alley, they followed like lemmings. Ty called to Marco, “Hey man, go get Mike. Now, man, get Mike.” Ty didn’t consider whether Marco knew who Mike was or if he’d know where to find him.Marco and Gen had been on the streets long enough and folks on the street knew that Mike was the guy at Avalon. The pair stopped short of approaching the girl. Too intense, too much, they thought. Marco’s back hurt since he hadn’t had a pill since mid-day. Marco ambled toward the alley entrance and yelled for someone to get Mike. Gen was looking but not really looking. Don’t do it, she told herself. They both took cues from Ty’s demeanor. Marco and Gen could tell a hard rain had fallen. The Fates told them in their souls to be reverent because a fellow traveler had met with a bad end. Death, they knew, even of a disenfranchised soul, was sacrosanct. (*Copyrighted material. Do not reproduce without permission.)
“Riveting! The author has outdone herself with this book. She writes about each character as if she grew up with them. Great story line. I love what happens at the end of the book. Totally enjoyable read!”
“Great follow up to Book 1. Well written with empathy and understanding for the troubled main character. Good follow up to Runaway, the first in the series.”
“Military, crime and MURDER! Beginning with a grisly execution, Perry builds a world around the homeless community in the Pacific Northwest with regional references. Several twists keep you on the edge of your seat until the end. Great read for anyone who enjoys mystery thrillers.”
“Hard to put down. Characters are well-depicted and the well-turned out plot left me hanging until the end. An enjoyable yet educational read regarding the struggles of the homeless in society.”
“Captivating story line that keeps you guessing until the end! Perry makes you feel like you know the characters in real life and walk alongside them while solving the mystery. You’ll finish this book wanting to know more about these characters and experience more with them!”
“Set in my home town, it was exciting to visualize the local and historical landmarks mentioned in the plot. Runaway reels you in fast, keeps you engaged, and leaves you hanging until the final twist!”
“This compelling mystery keeps you guessing page after page. Great character development and touching backstory of characters. Read it in two days because I couldn’t put it down! Great read!”
Susanne Perry Publishing 