Bad Luck, the third book in the Gibbons and Tozzi thriller series, takes FBI agents Mike Tozzi and Cuthbert Gibbons to Atlantic City to investigate shady dealings between the mob and a celebrity real-estate mogul. Add an oversexed trophy wife, a Mafia boss who pretends to be a mental patient, his...
The young couple had been murdered with peculiar precision... a single sword stroke that nearly cut their joined bodies in half. This bizarre homicide that crossed state lines led New York FBI agents Bert Gibbons and Mike Tozzi to a sinister new crime network.A powerful partnership between Americ...
FBI agents Cuthbert Gibbons and Mike Tozzi are on the case in Bad Apple, the sixth book in the Gibbons and Tozzi thriller series. When an undercover FBI agent is murdered, the mob and the bureau race to nab the triggerman. The prime suspect takes Tozzi hostage and handcuffs him to the Mafia princ...
Like many true accounts, it is not all that well written, but the story itself is more than enough to carry the book. I saw the movie first and thought it was fiction and found myself disliking the movie for all the gratuitous violence, and thinking it was so over the top it passed the point whe...
Stacy looked incredible tonight. Little black dress cut up to the middle of her thigh, black suede heels, and all that incredible hair. She was a walking dream, and he wasn’t the only one who thought so. A couple of guys at the bar were giving her the eye right now, showin...
By August it becomes so familiar people hardly notice it anymore. It’s an innocent singsong tune played on a celeste that is very reminiscent of the theme song from Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, and the recorded sound track is played over and over again, often late into the night. It comes from th...
The glass was frosted, which meant it was a bathroom. It was open a couple of inches. Somebody must’ve left it open yesterday when all the people were here after the funeral. See? This was gonna be even easier than he thought. He’d told that fuck French Fry it would be a snap, but no, he didn’t w...
Their bedroom was right off the kitchen, and that radio played 24 hours a day—baseball, talk shows, and news. His parents couldn’t sleep without it. His mother sat at the kitchen table, leaning over the newspaper, engrossed in the obituaries. His si...
He would’ve liked home fries with that, but they were too much trouble to cook and anyway they never tasted as good as diner home fries when he made them at home. The radio in the kitchen was tuned to a classical station; the strains of a Liszt piano sonata competed with the sizzle of the frying ...