A young man returns home to find his pregnant wife murdered. A little girl is sold on the black market. After two decades, their worlds collide, as they are forced to unite against a common enemy who just won’t stay dead.
“Six Shot. Seven?” is a tale of resolution, rude Canadians, and improvised homebrew warfare.
It’s six shots, with number seven in the chamber.
Now it needs to be said for William J. Carleigh that for a liar he played an incredibly cool and steady hand. His facade never wavered. He worked his face back towards forward and spoke in a voice devoid of a trace of any kind of emotion.
“Of course, Earl, that is the story. That is what everybody wants to hear, isn’t it? I think we’d better just stick with the story. Nobody wants to be upset by unfounded allegations and sordid details. It wouldn’t be right to scare people with all these messy little tangents. Sometimes the Universe uses these things for the best, doesn’t it Earl? I think that it is best you speak of this whole situation to nobody. Think of the ministry, Earl. We need to show compassion, not vengeance.”
He paused, the vehicle jolted, he continued, looking straight ahead.
“Earl, it goes without saying but if you speak of this whole situation to anybody, it would be a shame to think of what might happen. It would be a shame to think of who might get hurt. It would be so unfortunate.”
He was looking at me now. We both knew what this was about and he made me angry.
I slammed on the brakes and William “Bill” J. Carleigh nearly bounced off the dash, and dust got on his navy blue jacket.
I reached over to him and grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in close and the twinkle was no longer in his eye, and I wasn’t hugging him like a brother.
“Mr. Carleigh…” I said, very quietly “…it would be wise to never even think of my name again. It would be so unfortunate. It would be a shame to think of who might get hurt.”
I pulled him right in close.
“Because frankly, Mr. Carleigh, you don’t know a fraction of what a man, least of all me, is capable of. Don’t bother me Mr. Carleigh, and I won’t bother you, and we can call it a truce and you can believe your story and I can go back to what’s left of my life. I want nothing of you and I don’t want to know you exist. Otherwise, Mr. Carleigh…” and I made a pistol with my right forefinger and thumb and held it under his chin “…otherwise, Mr. Carleigh, pow!”
I mouthed the last word without a sound and dropped him back into his seat.
The rest of the drive was silent and that was the last I’d ever heard of it or him or anybody else, and two days later we went our separate ways and that was the last I saw of him or anybody else from that place. He maintained his performance the whole time with all concerned and viewed me as one might view a stone best built around or over top of and I don’t even think he hated me, but he did know full well I meant what I said, even if I was hardly more than a kid.
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Please enjoy the review, and please by all means read Six Shot. Seven? and pass it around.
This is a fast-paced novel with many unchartered turns. From the sleepy town of Baxter, all across Canada, down the streets of Amsterdam, to the dust of an orphanage in Africa, nothing is what it seems.
Love exists and is suddenly extinguished between Earl and Eva, leaving a lifetime of emptiness and regret behind Earl’s eyes.
This novel takes you from drugs and human-trafficking, to murder and mayhem, Six Shot. Seven? has it all. Follow Earl and Allison from north to south and east to west as they run, from who? To where? You won’t want to put it down.
This novel has many laugh-out-loud moments for me as well as the drama with a plethora of “old Indian tricks” to shooting moose from a yard with no moose or off a lake . . . a hunter should know that for shooting moose you need a moose gun.
You have to see how this one all turns out. I recommend Six Shot. Seven? with a resounding
~ Patricia, Room With Books ~
© March 24, 2014
I believe the first book I read cover to cover was an unabridged Swiss Family Robinson; it was predicated by a bribe from my mother, and it worked. I was nine or ten years old and remember more or less two things from the book: how to manufacture nitroglycerine and how to par-cook ortolans and small birds for long term storage in melted grease. While I’m not sure the benefit of either of those takeaways, the mindset behind it most certainly informs my writing.
From there I transitioned eventually into literary meanderings after a youth spent commercial fishing, feeding lions, and cutting up ancient cedar trees. It was a strange time but I was good for it, and again, it transitions into my work.
I live with my wife and little daughter in the shadow of a mountain on Vancouver Island; as a matter of fact, it has snowed sixteen inches in the past day and completely covered the flowers. That said, I am excited by the possibilities of fiction ebooks and am glad to present this first, Six Shot. Seven?