An international drug cartel started the fight.
John Tyler will finish it.
Tyler is back to work as a classic auto mechanic. When a young woman—and car enthusiast—brings her vintage Porsche in for some work, Tyler is glad to talk shop with her.
When she never returns for her car, he wonders what's going on.
His daughter doesn't want him to investigate. Something bothers Tyler about what happened, though, and he's determined to uncover what happened to the mysterious woman from the shop.
The twists and turns of her life soon put Tyler in the path of a brutal drug cartel. They're establishing a foothold in Maryland and show no mercy to anyone who gets in their way.
Tyler's quest will take him far out of state and put him directly in the path of the group's most sinister killers. How far will he go to stop the shadowy group, and what price will he--and those close to him--pay?
White Lines is the second novel in the John Tyler series. It's perfect for readers who take their thrillers with lots of action, a little heart, and a little humor.
Flogging familiar tropes
The author is an American who works in computer security and writes crime genre fiction on the side (15+ titles).
The protagonist, John Taylor, is 50, ex-army special forces, private security after that. He now works as mechanic in a place that specialises in “classic” American cars. His ex-wife is in jail for fraud, and his college age daughter lives with him. In Book 1, our boy saved his boss’s kid (also ex-army) from grief and took down some corrupt ex-military types. This time out, a young Canadian woman brings the Porsche Boxster her BF gave her in for a grease and oil change. Our boy and the chick bond over classic cars. (Not in the biblical sense. He’s old enough to be her Dad. Older even.) A day or two later, before the spare parts arrive, BF and goon take back the Porsche, which is registered in his name. Our boy reads online that a chick’s been found dead in a local forest with her head bashed in. The BF is Hispanic, from which, in the best traditions of cultural stereotyping, our boy concludes he’s involved with a Mexican drug cartel. The cops are dragging their feet about the dead chick, so our hero unleashes. People get dead. Warehouses blow up, homes burn down. The car repair shop too. Our boy’s boss isn’t happy. Yada, yada. Money changes hands. The end.
The cliches keep coming as Mr F seeks to eke something out of well-worn genre tropes. That having been said, there’s worse efforts around.