BLURB:
A
PSYCHO-CRIMINAL EXTRATERRESTRIAL ON A SUBURBAN CUL-DE-SAC
A FAMILY ON THE BRINK
OF ALL-ENCOMPASSING INSOLVENCY
A TWELVE-YEAR-OLD
UBER-GENIUS DAUGHTER IN THE LINE OF FIRE
CAN SHE SAVE THE
FAMILY, NOT TO MENTION THE PLANET?
An extraterrestrial
crashes into a suburban cul-de-sac Colonial, absorbs every binary bit of
information ever chronicled in all of human history, rearranges its molecules
and presents itself as a couple of late and legendary film noir superstars,
then immediately displays an appetite for debauchery, depravity, decadence, and
destruction, seducing the family into its psychopathic criminal orbit with
irresistible Hollywood panache, alluring sexual charisma, and inconceivable
intergalactic powers.…all in the name of saving the family from their
emotional, marital, and financial ruin.
But
uber-genius-daughter Mike Devine figures out fast that the extraterrestrial’s
principal plan is to employ its unfathomable interplanetary muscle and implode
the planet. Which leaves the fate of her family, not to mention the world, in
her twelve-year-old hands.
Excerpt
Three:
“Forget the meteor,” Peter said. “Where’s the hole?”
“There it is,” Lazlo said. But he was pointing at the
ceiling, at the same size and shaped hole that ran in a line at a
forty-five-degree angle through the house. The cul-de-sac husbands all looked
up at the hole, through the dining room, the master bedroom, and the attic to
the sky. Only Maggie followed the path down to its conclusion.
“What in the world is that?” she said.
And then the room went silent, as if all the air had been
sucked out of the house through the succession of small rectangular holes.
Connie and Maggie had decided on white oak floors when
they’d finished the basement, and then covered them with colorful Karastan
rugs. Lying on a deep-red-and-brown rug, five feet in front of the giant
flat-screen television, surrounded by debris from the various ceilings and
floors that followed it down as it smashed through the house, was a silver
box.
It was, like the holes it created, the size and shape of a
Frye cowboy boot box, but smoother along the edges. Perfectly smooth, in fact.
It wasn’t particularly polished, more matte finish than shiny, and was
completely unmarked. There was simply no evidence whatsoever that it had burned
through the atmosphere and smashed through a suburban Colonial at a million
miles an hour.
“It’s like somebody bought a pair of boots and left the box
on the floor,” Bill said.
“Doesn’t look like it came crashing down,” Peter agreed.
“Looks like it came in for a landing,” Maggie said.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Rich
Leder has been a working writer for more than three decades. His credits
include eight novels for Laugh Riot Press and 19 produced movies—television
films for CBS, Lifetime, and Hallmark and feature films for Lionsgate,
Paramount Pictures, Tri-Star Pictures, Longridge Productions, and Left Bank
Films.
He’s
been the lead singer in a Detroit rock band, a restaurateur, a Little League
coach, an indie film director, a literacy tutor, a magazine editor, a
screenwriting coach, a wedding consultant (it’s true), a PTA board member, a
HOA president, a commercial real estate agent, and a visiting artist for the
UNCW Film Studies Department, all of which, it turns out, was grist for the
mill.
WEBSITE: https://www.richleder.com
BUY
LINKS
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FBLKSK2W
https://bookshop.org/p/books/extraterrestrial-noir-rich-leder/22774708
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