Mostrando resultados por Editor "William M Ciccotti" en Todas las categorías

What if the King never died? Imagine the stress and pressure of being Elvis Presley. Suppose he faked his death to get away from the rat race and just chill out the remainder of his star-studded life. Where would he go to hide away? What would he do with all that new free time? That new freedom of doing anything he wanted. Walking down any street and nobody jumping all over him. Picture a man, a living legend if you will, who everyone thought was dead. Where would he go? Key West, baby. What would a great singer who had a voice from heaven do? He would impersonate himself.

Growing up wild and carefree in the 60s, every year was a great time in our lives. But before we saw the reality of everything and start to worry, life was pure laughter. We were so much freer back then. Best time in those years: sixth to eighth grade. The summers of those years to be exact. Best friends you would ever have. Last time you would be totally care free and truly happy. Last time you would act and not think. You would make memories of the littlest things, and those memories would stick with you forever. But only if you were lucky, and boy were we lucky.

Twenty years ago, an east coast mobster killed a connected hood. He took off with the mobster’s wife and the dead guy’s stash. The mob has been searching for him for years. And they came to the bad lands of Montana with an ax to grind.

Death comes in many forms. He comes one day for us all. But hopefully, not with a gun. Live by the sword, you die with a knife in your back. If you have a crew - a good crew - you can postpone the reaper. But if the Hobo Killers come after you, well then, you and your crew are all going to hell. Those monsters have a flawless record. Number one on the hit parade. But when they came after the gentle don, well, that’s where we met them.

Bank robbers. Kidnapping. Big game poachers. Bar fights. And if that wasn’t enough, there’s a serial killer on the loose. It may be 2018 but this is still the wild, wild west. And out here the six gun rules the day. Bad men still do terrible things to good people. Evil is strong and damn cruel. A lawman is all that stands between the innocent and certain death. The question is, who among us is truly innocent?

Life is unpredictable. It can be a funny thing, if you stay alive to laugh. You never know what you'll catch along its twisted journey. Treasure? Trophy fish? A beautiful girl? Misfortune? How about all the above, plus crazed cartel killers and an insane drug lord. Just a simple fishing trip in Key West, gone to hell in the crash of an airplane. Right on top of discovering a sunken treasure. Murphy’s Law gone insane. If we could escape the death squad, rescue the girl, and dig up that treasure, plus avoid the sharks, while cheating the Grim Reaper, we just may have a tale to tell.

Bar fights. They can come back to haunt you. A simple altercation - OK, one that did get out of hand a few years ago at Niagara Falls started this whole fiasco. How were we supposed to know those clowns were the Ukrainian mob? Well, they knew it was us and haunted us over the years. Now its become bombs and death threats and time to finish this vendetta. They blew up my boat. Tried to kill me. Blew up Ryan’s house and tried to kill him, too. They threatened our friends - all our friends.

Madcap mobsters intertwined in several underworld confrontations. Bad guys, dangerous dames, and bumbling local vagabonds all attempt to make it through one more day in the Florida Keys.

Evil is strong and damn cruel. A lawman is often all that stands between the innocent and certain death. But who among us is truly innocent? Fast horses, six-guns, and Sioux warriors. A cowboy’s life is never dull, even in the twenty-first century. Saddle up for a wild western rodeo of adventure. It’s a hard but beautiful land out here in Montana. One worth fighting to hold on to. Easy? No. Scary? Hell yes. But courage is loading up to do the right thing even when you’re frightened to death.

The warming sun’s reflection danced on the bushes mirrored in the pool water. Most never notice it. Fewer still ever appreciate it. Me, I love to watch it. And then I saw her.

Springtime in Montana. Cold, snowy, and chock full of danger. Depraved bandits ride into town during a snowsquall and hold several people hostage in a bank robbery suddenly gong terribly wrong. Cowboys and Indians attempt to help a tired Marshal free those terrified hostages. And hopefully keep them alive in a world of molten chaos.

Death is the inevitable end to all of us. Or is it? Perhaps, not everyone dies. Some come back from the dead. Over. And over. And over again. Just ask Juan Baltasar de Cristóbal la Roja. For he, like Gaius Longinus, the Roman Centurion, walks the Earth eternal. But Juan dances at the Reapers fickle demand. He has been cursed into becoming a plaything for El Muerto. These are the stories of a tortured man who the Reaper has decided to pay with before feasting on him. A came of eternal chess if you will. Ebb and flow of conflict and chaos. No rules, no goals, no victory.

Dangerous men tread the pathways of the underworld. Tough men. Wise guys. Killers and guys like us. The law is black and white. The boys, well, we live in the grey. Night was beginning to fall along the Florida Keys. A classic cobalt black El Dorado glided smoothly along those grey twilight roads. On that tranquil, pleasant evening, danger was stalking Shangri-La.

Presented for your approval is a collection of mob stories with a touch of lime. Florida crime tales of muscle, mayhem, and misadventure....

I am Mathieu Baptiste or at least what is still left of him. I am Chef de Bataillon, what the British call a Major. But as I walk, horseless through knee deep snow, rank is of no consequence. I started out on a fine ebony stallion commanding the 1st Squadron or the 1st "Elite". We rode on the blacks, 5th company on browns and blacks. But none of us ride now. All the horses are long gone in the army of Little Boney, Napoleon Bonaparte. We are on foot from now on. This is the story of a small French Calvary unit walking in retreat back out of Russia.

Old men. Perhaps outdated men. But, definitely not, men ready for the junkyard. Not by a long shot. Old but far from broken. Men with fire and zest for life. Dangerous, tough, unyielding wise guys. Mob hitmen, some who still have a soul. Fine food and great memories. Dinner with the mob. A real suppertime serenade. Put a bunch of older wise guys in a room with pasta, booze, and cigars, then watch the stories flow. Golden memories of murder and mayhem. Some memories that the Feds got. But most that Omerta never revealed. Sit back, relax.

Canada. The land of Canadian Club and round bacon. And bars. Lots of bars. Ryan and I went on an "International Road Trip" there once. If I knew then what I know now, things would have gone different. But you can’t go back, only in your memories. Bar fights, they can come back to haunt you. Russian Mob bar fights will kill you. Trust me on that. Club 9 turned into more than a simple bar fight. And the only thing that saved us was the cops showing up. We escaped in the mass exodus, but most of the Russian Mob didn't.

Treasure, tons of shiny gold and silver, and precious jewels. Greed, ravenous, and depraved. Deceit, dishonesty, and treachery. And of course, a beautiful woman. Cuba, Key West, and Mexico. There were a million places that treasure could be hidden. We're only here for a brief time. We want our time to last forever but know that’s just not going to happen. So, work for whatever treasure you seek. Dance while you still can. Excuses come later...You don’t like where you are, move. A lot of people start over in key west. I know because I'm one of them.

On April 30, 1945, Adolf Hitler killed himself. War was finally coming to an end. Germany was overrun with Allied and Red Army troops advancing on Berlin. Hitler’s last order, “Scorch and burn the earth. Let no man surrender.” Most regular German soldiers ignored the madness. But not the insanely demonic SS. Oh no, those death head bastards wanted to fight on to the last corpse. Nazis fanatics were holding French prisoners at Castle Kellenberg high on a hilltop near the small Austrian village of Waldbeerenberg.

I'm Bill Michaels. I'm 59-years old and have worked hard all my life. But I still ended up losing my job. That's life. What you do after it all falls apart, well, that makes the real story. I came down to the Keys for a long weekend and decided to stay forever. Or until my luck and money runs out. Like I said, I lost my job up north, but was it much of a loss?