Bruce’s Comments (group member since Sep 14, 2011)

Bruce’s comments from the Q&A with Bruce A. Sarte group.

An Excerpt:

Linc Diesel drives an immaculate green GMC Yukon and I was hoping to spot him or the blue sedan, but I saw neither. Of course, maybe they weren't there. Maybe the blue sedan hadn't really been following me and I was making a big deal with the jacket for nothing. Lance Carter, Existential Detective. On the other hand, maybe the guys in the blue sedan were better than me and I wasn't good enough to spot them. I think not. I shot back up town, changing lanes to avoid slower traffic and speeding up when the traffic allowed and trying to seem like I was driving normal. Just another dude in a classic yellow Camaro. It paid off. A quarter mile past the Moshulu on Columbus I spotted the blue sedan hiding on the far side of a Ryder moving van, two lanes over. The guy with the Phillies cap was still driving and the guy with the butch cut was still riding shotgun.
I found my way up to Market headed west towards the University of Pennsylvania trying to time the lights to get a better view, but always just missing. These guys were good. Always three or four cars back, always with plenty of separation and they didn't seem worried that they'd lose me. That meant they knew they could always pick me up again, or that they were working with a second car. Then a though occurred to me. Cops always use a second car.
Market Street is four lanes most of the way. But as we approached the City Hall area two of the lanes merged into one. Looked like some guys were doing some sewer work. By the time I cleared the work in the intersection, a guy behind me in a Toyota 4x4 had had enough and roared past, giving me the finger. I stayed in the right lane as I entered the City Hall circle and the remaining two cars behind me pulled over to the sidewalk. That left just me and the blue sedan. The driver swung right pulling to the curb as if they had never intended anything else and that's when I picked up the slack car. Darren Elway was driving his dark brown sedan two cars back, sitting in traffic behind a couple of guys on Harley Davidson motorcycles. My, oh my.
I swung around the circle and emerged on the other side of City Hall and shot onto JFK at almost sixty miles per hour before I slammed on my breaks and yanked the Camaro to the curb. On the count of three the brown sedan blew by me and I punched the accelerator falling in behind him. Darren would've radioed that he still had me in sight and that we were proceeding northbound and that's how they'd know where to wait. Darren hung back and after I passed, the blue sedan pulled in behind me again. Just where I wanted them.
I led my followers to 30th Street Station. The large historic train station is the central train station for the city of Philadelphia. The big, square, white building has clean lines and a drab exterior that is punctuated by the flashy, new Amtrak building directly behind it. A few years ago the city tried to get Amtrak to change the name from 30th Street Station to Ben Franklin Station. That didn’t go over to well with Amtrak. The building is historic but it's narrow and it's cramped and it's lousy when you're here on a Saturday and the place is jammed with tourists, but it's ideal for a private eye looking to spring an ambush.
When I was clear of the little drive that leads up to the station, I pulled a quick reverse and backed my car behind a delivery truck. A teenaged girl in a white Volkswagen Rabbit came through the gap after me and, a few seconds later, the blue sedan followed. It came through at a creep, the guy in the passenger seat pointing to the south and the driver sitting high to see what he was pointing at. Whatever he saw he didn't like it, because he made an angry gesture and looked away and that's when they saw me. I jumped the Camaro into their path and got out of the car with my hands clear so they could see I had no gun. The kid with the butch bounced out and started yelling into one of those push-to-talk phones and the Hispanic guy was running toward me with his badge in one hand and a Browning 9mm in the other. Darren Elway was roaring toward us from the far end of the lot. Simons wasn't with him. Simons wasn't anywhere around.
The Hispanic guy yelled, “Get your hands up. Out and away from your body.” When the guns come out there's always a lot of yelling.
The guy with the butch ran over and patted me down with his free hand. I made him for Cain. The other guy for Garda. While Cain did the shakedown, some of the people from the tour buses began to gather on the walk and look at us. Most of the men were in Bermuda shorts and most of the women were in summer-weight pant suits and just about everyone held a camera. It was a little chilly for Bermuda shorts. Tourists. They stood in a little group as they watched and a fat kid with glasses and a Drexel sweatshirt said, “Cool, a bust!” Maybe they thought we were on Live at 5 or something.
DeLeon said, “Jesus Christ, we've got a goddamned crowd.”
I smiled at him. “My fans. They follow me everywhere.” I shrugged.
Cain looked nervous and lowered his gun like someone might see it and tell. DeLeon lowered his, too.
Elway's car screeched to a stop and he kicked open the door. His face was flushed and he looked angry. He also looked drunk. “Stay the fuck away from my wife.”
DeLeon yelled, “Darren,” but Darren wasn't listening. He took two long steps forward, then lunged toward me with his body sort of cocked to the side like he was going to throw a haymaker and knock me into the next time zone. He swung, I easily stepped outside of it and snapped a high roundhouse kick into the side of his head that knocked him over sideways.
The fat kid said, “Look at that!” and the fat kid's father aimed a nice looking video camera at us. Maybe we’d end up on YouTube.
When Elway fell, DeLeon's gun came up and Cain started forward and that's when Linc Diesel reared up from behind their car, snapped the slide on a 12-gauge Ithaca riot gun and growled, “Don't.”
DeLeon and Cain froze. They spread their fingers off their pistol grips, showing they were out of it.
The crowd went, “Ooo.” Some show, all right. Forget YouTube -- we might end up on Facebook.
Linc Diesel stands six-one and weighs maybe two hundred pounds. He was wearing faded blue jeans and Nike running shoes and a plain grey sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off and aviator sunglasses. Angle the sun on him just right and the tattoos on his shoulders would glow. I think Diesel calls it his apparition look.
I said, “Glad you could make it, Linc.” Diesel's mouth twitched. He doesn't smile, but sometimes he'll twitch. You get a twitch out of Diesel, he's gotta be dying on the inside. I mean if it were me, I’d be in tears. I took DeLeon's and Cain's guns while Diesel circled the blue sedan, finding a better angle to cover Elway. When Diesel moved, he seemed to glide. He moved as if he were flowing over the surface of the earth, moving as a panther might move. To move was to stalk. I'd never seen him move any other way.
DeLeon said, “Put down that goddamned gun. We're police officers, goddamn it.”
Diesel's shotgun didn't move. An older woman with a white sun hat and a purse the size of a Bloomingdales Brown Paper Bag looked at the other tourists and said, “Does the bus leave after this?”
I pulled Elway's gun and then I went back to Cain and DeLeon and checked their IDs. Cainworth said, “You're gonna be fucked for this, asshole. You're going down hard.”
“I'm sure...” I replied.
Elway moaned and sort of turned onto his side. His head was bleeding where it had bounced on the tarmac, but it didn't look bad. I took the clips out of the three police guns, tossed them into the blue sedan's backseat, then went back to Elway. “Let me see.”
Elway pushed my hand off and tried to get away from me, but he didn't do much more than flop onto his back. “Fuck you.”
Cain said, “You're in a world of shit. You just assaulted a Philadelphia police officer.”
I said, “Call it in and let's go to the station. Maybe they'll give Elway a Breathalyzer while you guys are booking me.” You could smell it on him a block away.
DeLeon said, “Quiet, Cain.”
A green four-door sedan identical to the other two cop sedans came toward us across the lot. Elway was still trying to get up when the green car pulled in behind him and a tall guy with short grey hair got out. He was wearing chino slacks and a striped short-sleeve shirt tucked neatly into his pants and short-topped Redwing trail shoes. He was tanned dark, like he spent a lot of time in the sun and his face was lined. I made him for his mid-forties, but he could've been older. He looked at Elway, then the two cops by the blue sedan and then at Linc Diesel. He wasn't upset and he wasn't excited, like he knew what he'd find when he got here and, when he got here, he knew that he could handle it. When he saw Linc Diesel he said, “I didn't know you were in on this.” Diesel nodded once.
I gave them surprised. “You guys know each other?”
Diesel said, “Rich Frisco.”
Rich Frisco looked at me, then looked back at Diesel. “Diesel and I rode a black-and-white together for a couple of months maybe a million years ago.” Diesel had been a uniformed Philly police officer when I'd met him. “Put away the shotgun, Linc. It's over, now. No one's going to drop the hammer.” Diesel lowered the shotgun.
Cain craned around and stared at Diesel. “This sonofabitch is Linc Diesel? The Linc Diesel?” Diesel had worn the uniform for almost three years, but it hadn't ended well.
Elway said, “Who?” He was still having trouble on the ground.
Frisco said, “Sure. You've just been jumped by the best.”
Cain glowered at Diesel like he'd been wanting to glower at him for a long time. “Well, fuck him.”
Linc's head sort of whirred five degrees to line up on Cain and Cain's glower wavered. There is a machine-like quality to Linc, as if he had tuned his body the way he might tune his GMC and, as the GMC was perfectly tuned, so was his body. It was easy to imagine him doing a thousand pushups or running a hundred miles, as if his body were an instrument of his mind, as if his mind were a well of limitless resource and unimaginable strength. If the mind said start, the body would start. When the mind said stop, the body would stop and whatever it would do, it would do with precision and exactness.

When Lacey Ramsey walks into Lance Carter's office she wants to hire him to get her boyfriend out of trouble. Lance thinks she's nothing more than a girlfriend with an over active imagination... until he learns he is a Philadelphia Police Officer. When he learns he is an elite POINT team member, he is sure he wants nothing to do with this case.

When he learns Lacey's boyfriend is cheating on her and that is why he is ignoring Lacey, Lance thinks case closed.

But when the body count begins to mount he knows this case is far from closed...

Follow Lance and Linc Diesel through an adventure that takes them through the gang-riddled streets of South Philadelphia and into the historic buildings of Olde City. They fall into the world of dirty cops, gang violence and ultimately find themselves on the run and wanted for murder!

Author Bruce A. Sarte’s fourth novel and second Lance Carter adventure brings fast paced action and thrills! Look for Bruce’s other novels, Philadelpahia Story, Sands of Time, Towering PinesVolume One: Room 509 and The Star of Christmas.

The Insider's Story: A Lance Carter Detective Novel #2

Just a head's up -- the date on the event had changed:

I will be appearing at Java Good Day Cafe on Main Street in East Greenville, PA for The Insider's Story Book Launch Event!

Come get your copy of The Insider's Story before it hits stores and get a FREE cup of coffee!

For more info: http://www.facebook.com/events/293508...

I will be appearing at Java Good Day Cafe on Main Street in East Greenville, PA for The Insider's Story Book Launch Event!

Come get your copy of The Insider's Story TWO WEEKS before it hits stores and get a FREE cup of coffee!

More info: http://www.facebook.com/events/293508...

I will be appearing on the talk radio show A Book and A Chat with Barry Eva at 11:00AM EST on Saturday June 23rd!

You can call in LIVE at 347-237-5398 and join the show! An archive of the appearance will be available on the show's site and here!

Check it out here: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/across-t...

Thanks Anna!

Snippet from Philadelphia Story:

The tone of her voice begging me to go save her little girl haunted my very being…
“Lance, please…” She sniffled her pain back inside herself. “Please save Jenny. I’ve got no one else to turn to.” I felt her suffering through the phone in her throaty, dry voice.
“Lin, tell me what’s going on. I can help you!” I urged her.
“Lance, there’s nothing you can do for me – they are coming to get me!” I cut her off.
“Lindsey, tell me where you are, you have to tell me. I can help, I’ve got people – you know I’ve got people!”
“Lance, get to Pier 51 – go now! Hurry! They’re coming here! They’ve already got Jenny! They’re going to kill her!"
“Who? Who is it, Lindsey?” I yelled.
“It’s… They are…” There was loud crash on the other side of the phone and Lindsey screamed.
“Lindsey!” I called out.
“Lance, please….” The sound of the gunshots echoing through the phone hit me right in the gut.
“Lindsey!” I screamed again and felt a cold numbness seep through me. “Lindsey…”
That was almost an hour ago. I had no idea what happened to Lindsey but I could only assume the worst. Deep down I knew that she wasn’t all right. That nothing was right. I rubbed at my eyes and took another deep drag from the bottle. I came up around a corner and could see lights on top of each corner of the vomit yellow structure that had to be fifty years old as my Camaro tore into the parking lot. I slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a stop square in front of the three-story dinosaur. The car was still jerking to a stop when I heaved the door open, jumped out and ran around to the north side of the building.
“Jenny?!” I called out.
I waited a moment but only heard the sound of the rain smacking the pavement and the river splashing up against the pilings of the pier. My gaze went from building to pier to the Benjamin Franklin Bridge off in the distance. The bridge was lit up like it was the fourth of July, only it wasn’t. I directed my gaze at the boarded up skeleton of the Moshulu still moored at Pier 51. She’d once been a fine sailing ship and then a four star restaurant. Now she sat, crippled by fire, waiting for someone to save her… or the scrap heap.
“Jennifer!” I yelled with a sense of urgency in my voice. Again I listened and heard the dancing of the rain and the lapping of the waves. But then what was that sound? There was a rustling on deck of the abandoned ship. I ran to the edge of the dock and looked from the bow to the stern of the three hundred and ninety six foot shop.
“Jenny! Is that you? It’s me, Uncle Lancelot! Is that you?” I cupped my hands to my mouth to amplify my voice. I needed to make myself louder.
Then there was a muffled scream and then there were footfalls on deck. I pulled my Walther PPK, Betsy, from its holster and ran to where the gangway sat pitching back and forth to the rhythm of the river. I shook the padlocked gate fiercely trying to find a way around it.
“Jenny! I’m coming!” I could still hear the sounds of whoever it was moving towards the stern of the ship that faced Camden, New Jersey. I point my Walther at the lock and fired, shredding the lock into several pieces. I kicked the gate hard and it flew open, clanging into the metal posts of the gangway. With a quickness and agility I hadn’t displayed in years, I bounded up the platform in four quick steps. I made a beeline for where I thought the noise was coming from.
I stopped and looked all around me. The rain was still coming down and the wind blowing in from the river made it very difficult to see. Then I saw her. The sight of little Jenny standing on the platform of the deck only inches from the railing sent a chill down my spine.
“Jenny…” I started but was cut off.
“If you take one more step, I’ll off the girl…” The man with the gun pointed at Jenny’s temple paused and then added with a sarcastic tone, “Uncle Lancelot.” He punctuated it with a maniacal laugh. I looked into Jenny’s face and saw pure, unadulterated fear. She was frozen, not able to make a sound or move a muscle.
“Jenny, don’t move. Everything is going to be OK,” I tried to reassure her while slowly aiming my pistol toward the bad guy.
“You think so, Uncle Lancelot?” He nudged at her head with the muzzle of his gun. “What makes you so sure of that?” Jenny stumbled to the side as he poked at her. Her hair was matted to her head by the rain and a small, golden key dangled from a necklace around her neck.
I looked him straight in the eye and said, “This…” and pulled the trigger twice, placing two clean shots in his forehead. He had just enough time to register a look of shock on his face before he dropped his gun to the deck. The loud bang from his gun as it struck the deck was punctuated by a fire in my upper right thigh. I felt my leg go numb as I watched the bad guy free fall over the railing and into the river with a soft splash.
“Jenny!” I exclaimed with relief. I limped to her and took her in my arms in what seemed to be a feeble attempt to keep her safe from harm. On some nights it would have been enough. At this moment, not so much — but right here and right now, it was the best I could do.
“Uncle Lancelot, is it over?” Her small voice came to me through the rain. No one else called me by my proper name.

Hey Gang!! THIS Saturday from 12:00 - 2:00 Jason Gerick, the uber-superb-illustrator-deluxe, and I will be appearing at one of my favorite bookstores in the world, Booktowne in beautiful Manasquan, NJ! This is the ONLY event that you can get your copy of The Star of Christmas signed by BOTH of us!!

I will also be doing a live reading of The Star of Christmas -- don't miss it!!

Information on where I'll be and when I'll be there!!! I love to have people come by and say HI!

Ottilie -- there are always several :) Never one or none. But like I mentioned to you before it has become a little overwhelming with the publishing stuff on top of it... that's one reason To Hell and Back is put off semi-indefinitely... it will get out... I just have too much other stuff to do.

Linda,
Thanks for stopping by!

Genre-wise I don't have a "comfort zone". I write what comes to me more-so than a genre. The first draft of Sands of Time did not have any vampires in it. The Kayhmann's were initially names the Bestucci's and were very human. But on the second draft the vampire genre was exploding and I was reading it all along with everyone else and that influenced me to add that little twist to the story.

Upcoming stories? Roast at 350 is my entry into the Bump in the Night 2011 Horror Anthology which is very Twilight Zonish (out October 2011), The Star of Christmas is a traditional Christmas story in the kids arena (fully illustrated out November 2011) and my big project that is due out January 2012, Philadelphia Story, is a straight up detective novel.

In the future I intend to stay in the detective genre, Lance Carter (the detective) will be in a series of novels and Towering Pines will be at least 3 novels. I have already written the second Sands of Time novel (To Hell and Back) but there is no release date as of yet on it because of other projects.

Anna, I agree that being compared to something so popular is not a bad thing. The only reason I shudder is because of the style of writing Stephanie Meyer uses... We are nothing alike. That being said, I know what he reviewer meant and they meant it very complimentary.

Were you watching the comments on their web page during the show? Very amusing stuff...

Anna, well I have Ottilie to thank for that. I have to admit that sometimes I got so bogged down in editing and publishing that I lose my excitement for actually writing and promoting. Listening to Ottilie's radio spot last night got me a little excited again and when I saw you she and you had done on here I thought -- hey we should ALL be doing this.

The Caelitus are a highly evolved form of vampire. They do not live by the "no sunlight" limitation or several other limitations that traditional vampires have to deal with. The are very "mainstreamed" into society.

Ottilie -- you might see some spots you know in the book. Since I grew up there I put as much into it as I could (within reason of course). I do that with all my stories.

Anna -- I consider it Young Adult because of the main characters age. And there is a certain amount of age-appropriate situations within the story but it isn't about that at all. It has been compared in one or two reviews to Twilight and that makes me shudder since I barely consider Twilight a book... but that's just me. Twilight focuses very much on the relationships, Towering Pines DOES address teen relationships but it does not dwell on them. It moves between Liam and Lisbeth building a mutual trust and the ghost story -- which *is* the point of the book.

This thread is for Philadelphia Story: A Lance Carter Detective Novel, a hard boiled detective novel that will introduce Lance Carter. There will be a series of Lance Carter novels.

When Detective Lance Carter sipped his cup of coffee, he never imagined where it would take him. With each sip of the blazingly hot brew, his past comes closer and closer pulling him back to one moment in time that he thought was over.

With his partner, Linc Diesel, Carter's well-meaning conscience keeps digging holes that they can't fill. Who knew a ten year old little girl could bring the full force of Philadelphia's Asian Mafia down on top of Lance?

Join Lance as he endures the pain of his lost love, good deeds gone wrong and his battle with the seedy underbelly of Philadelphia's streets in Philadelphia Story!

This thread is about my first children's and holiday book, The Star of Christmas.

This was written specifically for Overly's Country Christmas for a speaking event. It was then released as a Kindle only release in 2010. For 2011 we have put together some fantastic illustrations and are bringing out a paperback! Look for it!

For God so loved the world that he sent his only begotten son... but how did He choose the star to announce the birth of the Savior?

Through this moving story of humilty and service to something bigger than ones self a holiday tradition is born!

This fully illustrated story of God's servant is sure to become a staple in your holidays for years to come!

This thread is about my second novel, Towering Pines Volume One: Room 509. Towering Pines is meant to be a three books series.

Towering Pines Volume One: Room 509 is a novel set in Ocean County, New Jersey. The story follows the story of a teenage basketball star who feels his life is over when he is sent to military school to commute an aggravated assault charge. Liam Rider's star quickly falls as he finds military school to be far more than he had bargained for. He finds the cadets harsh and abrasive; and the staff less than welcoming. When the guidance counselor tells him that he is going to be set back a year because of his remedial classes at public school, he feels like life couldn't get any worse.

When he meets Lisbeth Harrington, he feels like the tide may be turning in his favor. She is assigned to help him acclimate to his new surroundings in the middle of a semester and he quickly realizes that she is the only friend he has at the school. And when he begins having disturbing dreams of kids killing each other and seeing people in his room that aren't really there, he enlists he help to find out why no one has been assigned to room 509 for twenty years — and why he is being tormented by the ghosts of cadets past.

Suddenly pulled into the past of the historic school by nightmares of his own suicide, Liam and Lisbeth are catapulted forward into the
hidden history of ghosts, suicide and murder. Can they solve the mysteries of the military school before Liam becomes the next victim of the paranormal murderer?

This thread is for my first novel, Sands of Time!

In one tragic moment, Sam Shepard's family was gone. His wife and children taken from him in a tragic accident following a bitter argument. Sam is left alone struggling with a mountain of guilt and a chasm of grief that can only be filled with alcohol. When a young, attractive woman comes to stay at his inn, Sam thinks his luck might be changing. She brings him comfort and a kindred spirit suffering through her own loss. Is she the answer to everything he has been wrestling with for all this time? Soon after, Sam begins to have dreams about his dead wife and have hallucinations of her speaking to him. Has the alcohol finally gotten the best of him?

With the help of his manager Natalie, his best friend Curtis and his Pastor; can Sam follow the clues that will save his future -- or will he just become another victim of The Caealitus?