Bob is coming.
Bob is coming!
BOB is coming!!
Some may have heard the chants across social media over the last few weeks. Bob is coming. But who is Bob?
"Call me, Bob," he returned, rocking his weight from heel to toe, swinging his arms playfully.
"Bob? How the hell do you get Bob from Dimitri?" I asked, trying not to laugh.
"Bob is American, yes? I now American, so now am Bob."
Dimitri Rurik Petrova is hired to help veteran newspaper man, Peter Anderson, with a story. After 27 years, Peter is desperate to keep his career from being washed away by the incoming tide of younger news folks. One big story could make or break his career. He just has to convince his boss to stop sending him on nonsense stories, a fluff pieces as he calls them. But it's just one such fluff story that brings about some startling changes for Peter, not the least, meeting Bob. Lights in the sky in the Arizona desert, a woman held captive in a basement, strange happenings, and . . . well . . . Bob.
What more can I say about Tegon's storytelling ability that hasn't already been said? I love it. His stories are creative, his voice is unique, and one can't help but instantly like any character he writes. I'd love to sit beside him one day and watch him write. I want to see how he does it. This story is everything I look for in a fun read. It has action and adventure, some science fiction, some seat-edge drama, and some tummy ticklers. I mean, how can you not chuckle at some of those classic Tegon one-liners? Really, this book should be read by everyone who likes a great story and looking for something a bit outside the book box. Read it. Read it several times. The only thing you might be disappointed in is getting to the last page and Bob's story is over. Or is it?!
Before we get to the excerpt, Tegon stopped by with some insight into what's out there.
• • •
When I was twelve, I lived close to Norton Air Force base. They carried out training exercises on a regular basis, doing what was called a “sac run” -- Giant planes called Star Lifters that roared from the sky one after the other to have their wheels touch down for a brief moment and then take off again.
At that time there was a road at the end of the runway where you could park and the planes would pass no more than thirty feet overhead. Their power as they floated by shook me to the core. It filled me with fear, trepidation and excitement that has lasted a lifetime.
Then, late one afternoon as I sat on the hood of my father’s car, I saw it. It gleamed with the brightness of unimaginable silver. It was stunningly thin from tip to tip with a recognizable bulge at its center... a saucer. It floated silently in place, hanging stationary in the air like a balloon and my heart jumped to my throat in surprise. I stared in disbelief as several minutes crept by and it inched closer and closer, inching its way to the ground and to me.
My heart beat as never before and my mind filled with every cci-fi movie, every book, every abduction story I had ever been exposed too. I couldn’t breath; I couldn’t move. It was clear... they were coming for me.
At that instant as it was nearly overhead I crawled backward over the roof of the car to stand on the trunk. I was about to scream in terror and the craft turned slightly, banking to the right.
It glided softly toward the runway becoming a Star Lifter once more as it roared over head.
My father and I laughed wildly but to this day the image burns in my memory.
I saw it for myself and real or not I believe.
• • •
As always, there's a free book on offer today. All you need to do is comment with your email address to put your name into the draw for an ebook copy of BOB. If you can't wait, just click on the link to grab your copy.
And on special offer from Tirgearr Publishing, one of Tegon's previous books, My Grandfather's Pants, is available through August for just 99c at Kindle!
• • •
After 27 years as a newspaper man, Peter Anderson’s career is slipping away, at least it was, until he stumbled upon the story of a lifetime. Sent to do a fluff piece about lights in the night sky over Arizona, he discovers far more than he ever expected when he comes upon a mysterious young woman held prisoner in a basement. After helping her to escape, she disappears before he can learn the truth about who she is or where she came from. His search for her leads him back to the lights in the sky and leaves him with more questions than answers. The only thing he knows for certain . . . the only thing he can count on are the two words offered repeatedly by his friend and guide . . . “IS BELT.”The first time I heard it, I thought nothing of it…nothing. I've been in the newspaper game for more than twenty-seven years and that kind of experience gave a guy an edge but even that didn't prepare me for this.
I'd been beaten, shot at, even stabbed a couple of times over the years but I always got the story. Always. But this one was big. Too big perhaps. Maybe we were ready, maybe not. Either way, it wasn't my call.
None of which filled me with the fear, the trepidation, the anguish of five little words that still haunt me today…
"Is okay. I have cousin."
I felt as though I had been in a plane or a car for weeks sent from town to town, story to story without a break or at least a weekend to catch up. At the very least it was nice to return to a hotel I had been in several times before. Tired beyond words I was more than happy to have Carlos carry my bags to my room.
"Carlos, do you know where Payson is?" I asked as I slid the card, opening the door.
"Sure. It's about an hour and a half north of here, why?"
"I have an interview tomorrow at 10:00. I need a car and some directions," I said, tossing my laptop on the bed.
"I can arrange it for you. 7:00 AM good?"
"That would be great," I said, searching my pocket. "Thanks, Carlos," I said, holding out a five.
"Thanks, but that's not necessary," he answered, waving away my offering.
I shook his hand and he took his leave.
Alone at last, I collapsed on the bed, exhausted.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to control the personal demons that slowly began to chink away at my armor. I hated the quiet time, hated to be alone. I could only hope tomorrow proved to be less frustrating.
By 7:00 AM the following morning, I stood in the lobby, ready for the day. True to his word, Carlos arrived on time.
"Morning, sir," he said, offering his hand in greeting.
"Morning, Carlos," I returned, giving his hand a quick shake.
I followed him across the lobby and then outside to stand in the morning sun. We made small talk as the minutes slowly ticked away. I glanced at my watch several times, becoming more uncomfortable as each minute slipped by.
Carlos made no outward sign he noticed my discomfort. It was clear I was going to have to say something.
"Ah, here we are," he said cheerfully, raising his right hand to flag down a passing car.
I turned in surprise and disappointment as a faded blue sedan sputtered to a stop in front of us, belching out a small cloud of blue smoke with a sharp bang.
A mournful creak of metal pierced the air as the driver's door swung open.
Dressed in a rumpled black suit, a very large, heavyset man unfolded himself from behind the wheel, tucking his shirt into his slacks as he rounded the front of the car.
He ran his fingers through his hair frantically, trotting up the steps to the landing were we waited.
"Carlos, my friend," the man said loudly in a strong Slavic accent, throwing his arms around the young man, lifting him off the ground. At long last he set him down, patting him heavily on the back.
"Mr. Peter Anderson, this is Dimitri Rurik Petrova," Carlos said cheerfully, patting the large man affectionately on the chest as he spoke.
"Nice to meet you," I responded, offering my hand. "My friends call me Pete."
This close to me, Dimitri seemed even larger than I first thought. His face was square, his skin painfully pocked, but pleasant over all, giving him the appearance of an out of shape football player.
"You are friend to Carlos, you are friend to me. We are friends now. Yes?" he said before grabbing me, hugging me, giving me the same hello he had just given Carlos.
"We're late, Mr. Petrova," I admonished, now irritated with having been handled like a rag doll.
"Call me, Bob," he returned, rocking his weight from heel to toe, swinging his arms playfully.
"Bob? How the hell do you get Bob from Dimitri?" I asked, trying not to laugh.
"Bob is American, yes? I now American, so now am Bob."
• • •
Married forty-three years to a woman he calls Dearheart, Tegon Maus lives a contented life in a small town of 8,200 in Southern California. By day, Tegon is a successful home remodeling contractor, but his passion is storytelling.
Tegon's progatonists are frequently wedged between a rock and a hard place, but manage to work things out through the story. Like most when pushed into a corner, it only brings out the best in his characters and become the unstoppable force of a reluctant hero. Tegon's signature style is creating characters who are driven and believable, and who strive to find happiness.
Tegon is the author of The Chronicles Of Tucker Littlefield series.
Find Tegon online --
Tegon Maus - http://www.tegonmaus.com
Facebook - http://www.facebook.com/pages/Tegon-Maus/150255051766767
Twitter - https://twitter.com/TegonMaus
Amazon - http://www.amazon.com/Tegon-Maus/e/B009PFZILW
Goodreads - http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5808023.Tegon_Maus
Shelfari - http://www.shelfari.com/o1514811662
LinkedIn - http://www.linkedin.com/pub/tegon-maus/62/606/931
Pinterest - http://pinterest.com/tegon
Tirgearr Publishing - http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Maus_Tegon
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