White Trash

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Publisher Description

Fourteen million dollars in a burned suitcase. Severed body parts of a dead man in a duffel bag. Two hired killers. A drug dealer. Two organized crime kingpins; all chasing two white trash kids from New York down to the deep south as they head for what they think will be safety in Mexico. Put the story together and you have one hell of a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde.
Adult content. Sex and violence.


The smell of hot metal filled the air. David peered into the car on the cement pad first: the trunk, popped open. All objects scattered throughout the inside of the car. Antifreeze dripped from under the hood and onto the concrete. It smashed the front roof line flat to the top of the driver’s seats. The backseat area appeared to be untouched. He slipped around the end of the trailer and looked at the other car. A newer Ford, he could see the badge on the rear deck. The front end of the car wrapped around the oak in the backyard, just as he thought. Steam was rising into the air. The Ford first, he decided. The car across the road would have to wait. The Ford had hit the tree and climbed it a few feet before it completely stopped. David had to stand on tiptoe to peer into it. The driver had no head left, which explained the massive stain on the windshield. He was past dead; he was dead wrong. There was no passenger. Looking out from the inside, it was not just red, but gray and black too: bone, hair, and brain matter. His stomach did a quick flip, and he shut his eyes as he turned away. David turned; his eyes glanced to the floorboard. A blue duffel bag jammed into a space between the driver’s legs. Thoughts bounced around in his head like tiny rubber balls. There was no way that the door would open, but the glass had shattered from the window. He balanced over the edge of the door, trying to stay as far away as he could from the dead man. Leaning in, David attempted to snag the duffel bag; his fingers brushed the two plastic handles, but he could not get a grip on them. Levering himself further over the windowsill, he nearly came down into the dead man’s lap as he lost his balance, and his feet left the ground. His hand shot down quickly, bounced off the dead man’s thigh, and hit the seat, stopping him just a few inches above the man’s lap and a small splattering of bone and blood that was there. His hand slipped, but he pressed down harder and held himself up. Feeling the slick blood and fragments of bone under his hand, he pushed the horrific sensation out of his mind, took a deep breath, braced himself, and then reached down with his free hand and snatched the handles pulling the heavy bag free.

Mysteries & Thrillers
September 3
A. L. Norton
Draft2Digital, LLC

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