BooksChatter: ☀ Bob

Thank you for joining us on the Virtual Book Tour for Bob, a soft science fiction novel by Tegon Maus (3 September 2014, Tirgearr Publishing, 168 pages).

Here you will find the book's synopsis, an excerpt and our Q&A with the Author Tegon Maus. You can also read the first chapter on Amazon.

The author will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner via Rafflecopter during the tour. Please do take part: comment on our post and follow the tour where you will be able to read other excerpts, interview, guest posts and reviews. Also the more comments you leave the higher your chances of being a winner.

Synopsis | Teaser | Author Q&A | About the Author | Giveaway & Tour Stops Review |

Synopsis

After 27 years as a newspaper man, Peter Anderson’s career is slipping away, at least it was, until he stumbled upon the story of a lifetime.

Sent to do a fluff piece about lights in the night sky over Arizona, he discovers far more than he ever expected when he comes upon a mysterious young woman held prisoner in a basement. After helping her to escape, she disappears before he can learn the truth about who she is or where she came from. His search for her leads him back to the lights in the sky and leaves him with more questions than answers.

The only thing he knows for certain . . . the only thing he can count on are the two words offered repeatedly by his friend and guide . . . “IS BELT.”

The first time I heard it, I thought nothing of it at all... nothing. I've been in the newspaper game for more than twenty-seven years and that kind of experience gave a guy an edge but even that didn't prepare me.

I'd been beaten, shot at, even stabbed a couple of times over the years but I always got the story... always. But this one... this one was big... too big perhaps... Maybe we were ready, maybe not. Either way, it wasn't my call.

None of which filled me with the fear, the trepidation... the anguish of five little words that still haunted me today...

"Is okay. I have cousin."

Teaser: Excerpt

"Bob?" I began, pointing toward the dark, stooped figure of Fred threading his way through the underbrush.

"Is Fred's way... live too close to nuclear plant. What Bob going to do?" he said, holding up both hands in defeat.

I had no idea what to say to that.

Bob, following Fred's lead, pulled a black ski mask over his face, before handing me a baseball cap.

"What's this?" I asked totally expecting a ski mask, turning the cap over in my hands.

"Beginner’s hat. Maybe, next time, for you," he smirked.

I'd been ribbed before, and I can take it almost as good as I can give it but this... from Bob? Damn aggravating.

I tripped along in the dark, getting my feet tangled on every stick, every root, every obstacle that stuck up out of the ground as I trailed behind him.

He, unlike Fred, seemed to be more than comfortable in the woods as well as the dark. Fred walked slightly ahead, darting from tree to tree as if hiding himself from some unseen observer.

Bob and I simply stood in place, waiting for him to wave us on as he dashed to the next tree or rock outcropping.

After what seemed like forever and more scratches and bruises than I had acquired in a lifetime, we found the house.

Fred, his back pressed against a sizable rock as if he were keeping it in place, held his position a dozen yards ahead of us. He waved frantically, signaling for us to get down and we obeyed.

A moment later headlights swept over where we had stood. The sound of tires grinding through the dirt filled the air.

"Shit," I breathed to myself. I hadn't expected this to be easy. It never had been in the past, but with Bob and Fred leading the way, we were screwed.

Fred scampered to his next position, waving us on to the rock he had just left behind when he felt the coast was clear.

It took us another fifteen minutes to cross the distance from where we first saw the house to physically touching the building.

I had to admit, my heart pounded hard in my chest, certain we were about to be caught as Fred pulled himself up to peer into a window.

"Clear," Fred whispered and we crept around the corner.

There were no cars, no trucks, no men with guns to be seen anywhere. Fred had hit it on the mark. For all outward appearances no one was home.

We continued to follow Fred as he made his way to a back door. Slowly, silently, he eased himself onto the porch kneeling before the door, slipping a hand into his shirt pocket.

Removing two small, shiny tools from its folds, he went to work on the knob.

Faster than I could say "is belt" Fred worked the lock, turning the knob. The door opened slightly.

We held a collective breath, waiting for the sound of an alarm.

"Clear," Fred whispered softly as he allowed the door to open fully. Crouched, almost on all fours, he scooted inside, closing the door behind him.

Unfathomable amounts of time seemed to slip by with each heartbeat as Bob and I stood outside in the dark and waited.

My anxiety, a mere seed in the pit of my stomach, had begun to run away with me. My palms grew sweaty.

"Is nice," Bob offered, leaning against the building, pushing both hands into his pockets.

"What?" I asked with disbelief.

"Is nice. Bob always busy... go here, go there. Wife always - when take wife to dinner? When go to opera? When take wife to see sister? When have time for wife? When Bob take out trash?"

"We just broke and entered. We can go to jail for this."

"Is nice, out with friends. That's all Bob say."

Before I could formulate an answer the door eased opened again.

"We're alone," Fred said.

Bob and I slipped in, closing the door behind us. We now stood in the mud room off the kitchen.

No more than six by five it held a built-in bench on one of the paneled walls, with a coat rack filling the opposite. The oversized tile floor continued throughout the kitchen as well.

The dim glow of a night light traced the edges of the granite topped cabinets and dining table. On the opposite side of the room was an opening to the hallway.

My attention was drawn by the sound of someone going through one of the cabinets.

"Fred," I whispered hoarsely, looking about the room for him.

"Da," he responded, popping up from under one of the cabinets, a large frying pan and matching lid in his hands.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked angrily.

He began to speak in Russian as Bob patted him down, removing a stainless steel sauce pan from under his shirt.

Bob said nothing beyond a couple of quick snaps of his fingers before pointing to me.

Fred's arms went limp again as his hands went to his pocket, retrieving a fifty, handing it reluctantly to me.

"You should be ashamed," I admonished, happily snapping the money right out of his hand.

We moved through the kitchen to the hall and to the door that someone had used to spy on us.

At that moment, the sound of a toilet flushing reached us from somewhere upstairs.

Like little kids, all three of us dove for the door, rushing inside. On the other side the floor vanished, becoming little more than a small landing with stairs trailing into the darkness.

Bob - available NOW!

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About the Author

I was raised pretty much the same as everyone else... devoted mother, strict father and all the imaginary friends I could conjure. Not that I wasn't friendly, I just wasn't "people orientated". Maybe I lived in my head way more than I should have, maybe not. I liked machines more than people, at least I did until I met my wife.

The first thing I can remember writing was for her. For the life of me I can't remember what it was about... something about dust bunnies under the bed and monsters in my closet. It must have been pretty good because she married me shortly after that. I spent a good number of years after inventing games and prototypes for a variety of ideas before I got back to writing.

It wasn't a deliberate conscious thought, it was more of a stepping stone. My wife and I had joined a dream interpret group and we were encouraged to write down our dreams as they occurred. "Be as detailed as you can," we were told.

I was thrilled. If there is one thing I enjoy it's making people believe me and I like to exaggerate. Not a big exaggeration or an outright lie mind you, just a little step out of sync, just enough so you couldn't be sure if it were true or not. When I write, I always write with the effort of "it could happen" very much in mind and nothing, I guarantee you, nothing, makes me happier.

My wife of forty two plus years and I live in Cherry Valley, a little town of 8,200 in Southern California. In that time, I've built a successful remodeling /contracting business. But that's just my day job... everyone that writes... everyone who tells you how to write, all say the same thing.... write about what you know... and what I know... is me.

Well, at least the me I see when I write... an... alter ego of myself that gets frequently wedged between a rock and a hard place but manages to work things out at the last minute after all. Like most of us when pushed into a corner it only brings out the best in us and we become the unstoppable force of a reluctant hero... at least on paper, making the day to day a little more tolerable. If I have a signature style for creating a character then this is it.

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