Cradle of the Deep: A Crime Novel

Cradle of the Deep: A Crime Novel

by Dietrich Kalteis

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Available for Pre-Order. This item will be available on November 3, 2020

Overview

Getting into bed with the wrong guy can get you killed

Wanting to free herself from her boyfriend, aging gangster “Maddog” Palmieri, Bobbi Ricci concocts a misguided plan with Denny, Maddog’s ex-driver, a guy who’s bent on getting even with the gangster for the humiliating way in which he was sacked.

Helping themselves to the gangster’s secret money stash, along with his Cadillac, Bobbi and Denny slip out of town, expecting to lay low for a while before enjoying the spoils.

Realizing he’s been betrayed, an enraged Maddog calls in stone-cold killer Lee Trane. As Trane picks up their trail, plans quickly change for Bobbi and Denny, who now find themselves on a wild chase of misadventure through northern British Columbia and into Alaska. 

Time is running out for them once they find out that Trane’s been sent to do away with them, or worse, bring them back — either way, Maddog will make them pay.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781770415263
Publisher: ECW Press
Publication date: 11/03/2020
Pages: 312
Product dimensions: 5.00(w) x 7.75(h) x 0.81(d)

About the Author

Dietrich Kalteis is an award-winning author. Cradle of the Deep is his eighth published work. His debut, Ride the Lightning , was hailed as one of the best Vancouver crime novels. He lives on Canada’s west coast and spends as much time as possible in California.

Read an Excerpt

A styro in each hand, creamers, sugar packets and stir sticks on top, the Squamish Times wedged under his arm. Passing the Skylark, thinking of switching rides, Denny set the cups on the roof and tugged open the door. Getting behind the wheel, he set a styro on the dash, looking at Bobbi at the phone box, hoping this guy Carmen came through with the chalet, let them hide out a day or so. Denny fixed his coffee, thinking of a cozy fire, nice and warm, just the two of them counting out the cash, helping themselves to Carmen’s liquor.

If that didn’t work out, he knew this guy in Whistler, another hour north. Rubin Stevens grew some righteous weed — a friendly type of guy, the kind you could look up and drop in on — the guy who made the run to Vancouver every couple of weeks, dropping off a quarter pound of homegrown to Wilson and his flat-mates, each of them chipping in seventy-five bucks. Kept Denny’s head on right, with a good buzz, but needing to suck on his MediHaler, dealing with his asthma. Betting if he hadn’t dodged his uncle, the asthma would have kept him from conscription, his uncle putting him down as 4-F, like he told that job recruiter.

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