BKMT READING GUIDES

BIG MONEY
by JACK GETZE

Published: 2008-03-12
Paperback : 224 pages
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THREE WOMEN WANT HIM DEAD... Left in charge of a one-office Jersey Shore investment firm, suspended stockbroker Austin Carr becomes the prize in a war between two crime crews and a powerful state investigator. Trying to stay alive with mobsters, beautiful cops, and a hit-man he calls the creeper ...
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Introduction

THREE WOMEN WANT HIM DEAD... Left in charge of a one-office Jersey Shore investment firm, suspended stockbroker Austin Carr becomes the prize in a war between two crime crews and a powerful state investigator. Trying to stay alive with mobsters, beautiful cops, and a hit-man he calls the creeper chasing him, Carr stumbles into the secret lives of three desperate women. One becomes a victim, one a murderer. And Carr is her next victim... -I stuff the DVD under my laptop and work hard to put on my three-o'clock-in-the-morning, full-boat Carr grin. Not exactly a simple trick. And definitely not sincere. I mean, how am I supposed to be calm and forthright when this DVD suggests last night's love interest-the lady headed this way-could be a killer. Clever of me to wake her up. I gasp when I see her. Oh, my. And oops. Oh, my because she's wearing nothing but white athletic socks. Oops because she's using both hands and all ten red-nailed fingers to grasp a pump action, single barrel shotgun. "You found the DVD, didn't you?" Ms. Shotgun says. "DVD?" If it wasn't for rhyming consonants, I'd be pretty much speechless. My gaze is tightly focused on her bare breasts and that shotgun in the same close-up. Visually and emotionally, it's a lot to absorb.

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Excerpt

PROLOGUE

Maybe it’s only a ghost.

The lady’s two-story house ranks as ancient, so it’s no surprise the pine floorboards creak. But do I detect a certain rhythm...as in footsteps? Hope I didn’t make too much noise going through her dirty laundry.

I lean back on the blood red living-room sofa and hold my breath to listen. A grandfather clock tick-tocks in the foyer. The oil-burning basement heater pops and rumbles. And yes, there...bare or stocking feet pad quickly toward me down the hall. My heart rate ratchets up to match the hurried footfalls.

I stuff the DVD under my laptop and work hard to put on my three-o’clock-in-the-morning, full-boat Carr grin. Not exactly a simple trick. And definitely not sincere. I mean, how am I supposed to be calm and forthright when this DVD suggests last night’s love interest may not be the innocent beauty I imagined?

In truth, the lady headed this way could be a killer.

Clever of me to wake her up.

I don’t mention her name because...well, gentlemen do not identify their secret lovers, not even by pet handles. And seeing her march out of the murky hall into the living area’s yellowish lamplight strongly suggests the need for a new nickname anyway.

I gasp. Oh, my. And oops. Oh my because she’s wearing nothing but white athletic socks. And oops because she’s using both hands and all ten red-nailed fingers to grasp a pump-action, single-barrel shotgun.

“You found the DVD, didn’t you?” Ms. Shotgun says.

“DVD?” If it wasn’t for rhyming consonants, I’d be pretty much speechless. My gaze is tightly focused on her bare breasts and that shotgun in the same close-up. Visually and emotionally, it’s a lot to absorb.

Her right foot slides back, toes out. Improving her balance.

“I know you found it,” she says. “Wrapped in my black beach dress.”

My lips move without sound. I suppose my throat might be choked with fear, but I’d rather think I’m distracted by the long curve of Ms. Shotgun’s hip, the loose weight of her breasts swinging below the carved gun stock.

Watch me get a boner.

“I just checked the bathroom,” Ms. Shotgun says. “You rifled the hamper, found the black dress. So...you’ve got my DVD.”

I try taking a deep breath. On tough stock and bond clients, this often works as a show of calm sincerity. “I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She racks a shell into the shotgun’s firing chamber.

My pledge of innocence must have lacked conviction.

I lift my iBook and offer her the DVD. My heart ticks to an even quicker time. My ego slips a notch. Time was, the full-boat Carr grin and a reasonable lie got me through bumpy spots with naked women.

My heart’s really thumping now, but I probably don’t have to worry anymore about that possible erection.

“Play it,” she says. “We’ll solve the murder together.”

I slide the silver disk into my Mac and wonder if I’m really going to view what the Branchtown Sun calls the “MISSING HOTEL MURDER VIDEO.” Like smoking, this feels very unhealthy.

The DVD’s first images show a thirty-ish woman primping her hair before a gilded oval mirror. Oh, my. I recognize her all right. The happy smile fooled me.

“Don’t you want to fast-forward?” Ms. Shotgun says. “Get right to the choking and burning?”

On screen, the doomed victim cracks open her hotel-room door. Until tonight, I would have been surprised by what I see next: Ms. Shotgun’s digital image rushes inside, pushing violently into the startled hotel guest and knocking her onto the carpet.

I turn from the laptop. “So it was you.”

Ms. Shotgun raises the pump-action level with my nose.

And I thought my future looked shitty last month. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

Do thirty-something, single men really think so much about sex?

Is Austin Carr’s brokerage firm representative of all investment companies? Why or why not?

Is it his humor that makes you like Austin Carr? What else?

Why does Austin seem bigger than life?

Notes From the Author to the Bookclub

Although we now live in New Jersey, both myself and my character Austin Carr grew up on the east side of Los Angeles. We share a strong affection for virtually all things of Mexican origin--particularly corn tortillas, tequila, the Cisco Kid, refried beans, crispy stringy-beef tacos, live mariachi music, and yes, even the donning of silly sombreros during certain celebrations in May.

It could have been my early school trip to Los Angeles’s historic town center, Olvera Street, or a four-hour family visit to Tijuana one or two years later. Maybe it was my first love, a fourth-grade classmate, the freckled Miss Lopez. Whatever the reason, to this day I enjoy all things remotely connected to south of the border. Well, except bullfights.

It is therefore no coincidence that Austin Carr spends much of his fictional time belly up to the horseshoe bar at Luis’s Mexican Grill, home of spicy food and blue aguave tequila. If it’s May 5th, you might see both of us celebrating in our sombreros.

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Member Reviews

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  "Entertaining read that kept you guessing, but not much to discuss"by Michelle B. (see profile) 12/15/08

The book was fun and easy to read. The characters were interesting and kept you guessing. The plot moved through so many twists and turns that you never knew what was coming or how it was going to end.... (read more)

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