A Dying Wish by Henry Roi

Elaborate cons, impossible heists and high-speed chases were his thing.

A dying wish

Elaborate cons, impossible heists and high-speed chases were his thing. His talent in boxing and engineering made those pursuits a gamble with death he never wanted to quit.

Then he left the world of crime with his woman, a blonde bombshell who was also accomplished in boxing and was his engineering equal.

Their late boxing coach gives them a reason to return to The Life with his last wish. His will instructs his former pupils to join with other talented individuals; to form a team that will commit major crimes for the sake of communities on the Gulf Coast. A job Coach Eddy started before he was murdered:

Taking on the Vietnamese Mafia.

Genre: FICTION / Action & Adventure

Secondary Genre: FICTION / Suspense

Language: English

Keywords: none

Word Count: 52084

Sales info:

Upcoming author

Sample text:

I. An Awkward Acquaintance


It's been a while since someone stuck a gun in my face. My line of work as a teenager had me looking at the wrong end of a pistol a total of six times. When I was eighteen I nearly killed a guy. Took his gun and beat his drug-addled head senseless with it. Drug related crimes on the Mississippi Coast haven't changed much in the nine years since.

This meth shooter in front of me is no different than the last idiot, a scared to death addict desperately seeking a mark in this quiet place of opportunity, hoping to stick me for a nice wad of cash he can poke into his scrawny arm.

I sighed with a sort of relief, trying unsuccessfully to suppress an eager smile. Held my hands up. I have been hoping, dreaming, for something like this to happen. Life has been BORING since I, myself, retired from crime. And the legit endeavors I've pursued in recent years are about as thrilling as watching two geriatrics drag race their electric scooters. This was the kind of danger I used to live for.

What happened to that guy?

He grew a vagina, my subconscious slapped me with. That nagging awareness has been too vocal for comfort lately.

"Give me your money!" the man shrieked at me, pistol waving, shaking two feet from my face. His shrunken features were pale, sweaty, and unshaven. Hair long and greasy, shinning grossly under the lights of the parking garage. His voice echoed off the concrete walls, roof, and the cars that filled nearly every slot. "You want to get shot? Give me your fucking money!"

Book translation status:

The book is available for translation into any language except those listed below:

Already translated. Translated by Adelhardus Leonardus Didymus Martinus Lange
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