One Of The Top Ten All-Time Greatest Irish Mob Flicks?

You gotta hand it to Johnny Depp. Like Tom Cruise, he hasn't depended on his matinee idol looks to get his flicks over. Nor has he relied on genre to rake in the bucks (although the Pirates series has guaranteed his riches for ten lifetimes). Yet he does have an affinity for the crime category, as we've seen in his unforgettable Donnie Brasco and the not-so-unforgettable Public Enemies. He teamed up with Al Pacino to make Brasco one of the Ten Greatest All-Time Crime Flicks (IMHO), and overshadowed none other than Christian Bale in acing his role as John Dillinger in Enemies. Well, you ain't seen nothin' yet if you haven't seen Black Mass.

Scott Cooper (who?) does a masterful job in sailing this ship to shore, considering the fact that it depends far more on Depp's performance than anything else. Yet therein may lie the magic, letting the understatement build evil visions in the audience's mind. There's none of the Scarface blood splatter, no Goodfellas glitz and glamor, none of the high-styling and profiling of The Departed. Whitey Bulger (Depp)'s crew is a lunch pail pick and shovel gang of Boston Irishmen trying to earn an illegal dollar the hard way before getting propositioned by one of Bulger's neighborhood acquaintances. It just so happens that Joel Edgerton (the Pharoah in Exodus: Gods and Kings) is an FBI agent trying to take down the Italian Mob by any means necessary. He makes a deal with Bulger, who feeds the Feds enough intel to trample the Mafia so that the Bulger Gang can step into the power vacuum. It turns Bulger into the USA's most powerful Irish Godfather, ruling Boston with an iron hand until agent John Connolly (Edgerton) is indicted by the Massachusetts DA. Bulger, as is well-known, goes on the run and becomes America's second Most Wanted Man (behind Osama Bin Laden) until his capture at the turn of the century.

It's Depp's performance that truly makes this what the critics call 'mesmerizing'. His dead fish look is absolutely eerie, and his nickname is a most apropos nomenclature (you call him Whitey, he'll split your skull). Bulger's blue-eyed zombie gaze is enough to steal every scene, and every time he stares at someone you're expecting the worst to happen. So does everyone else, and the tension is bloodcurdling. It's hard to remember a baddie captivating the audience in such a manner --- unless you want to include Hannibal Lecter or The Joker.

Such over-the-top performances have a way of getting arbitrarily passed over by the Academy, so Depp may not get the Oscar nod he deserves for this. But you can be damn sure it's a crime flick you'll never forget. And you sure as hell won't forget the name Whitey Bulger.

"The Blight" - A Sneak Preview!

           The white Porsche cruised slowly down Goodfellow Boulevard near downtown St. Louis, boldly venturing where most strangers dared not go. The streetlights grew dimmer and the buildings more desolate, yet the vehicle continued along its path. There were few pedestrians on the street at that time of night, and most seemed up to no good. Eventually a couple of men stepped off the curb and waved at the luxury car. It slowed to a halt as the men approached on either side.

            “What you ladies looking for?” a tall black man asked as he hovered over the driver’s side.

            “We were trying to score some weed,” the driver replied crisply.

            “How much?” the man on the passenger side asked.               

            “About a half ounce, depending on the price.”

            “Hundred bucks?”

            “Yeah, I can do that.”

            “Good,” the man replied before sticking a .38 barrel against her temple. “Turn off the car and get out nice and easy.”

             She did as she was told, and both women exited the vehicle as their accosters pulled the doors open. The driver was prodded towards an abandoned two-story residence, her companion shoved along behind them by the second man wielding a knife. The women wore cocktail dresses and high heels, their footing unsure as they made their way across broken glass and scattered debris.

            “Where are you taking us?” the driver asked.

            “That’s for you to find out,” the gunman said as his companion dropped back to get the Porsche out of the middle of the street. “You just do what I tell you and you’ll come out of this alive.”

             “Please don’t hurt us,” the second woman pleaded.

             “Just shut the hell up and do what you told.”

             “All right, brother, nice catch,” a beefy gangster appeared on the porch accompanied by four other men. “We gonna do some partying.”

              The media was abuzz with news of the previous night’s incident along the boulevard. Two college girls had driven into the neighborhood looking to score drugs and had been abducted by thugs. They were dragged into a building where they were raped, tortured and nearly beaten to death. The gangsters were well aware of the event and considered themselves fortunate that such beautiful women as these two could be this foolhardy.                                                                                                              

              “All right, ladies, turn around and put your hands behind your backs,” the gunman shoved them into the house, sticking his pistol into his waistband.

               “What are you going to do?” the second woman cried as the driver’s wrists were bound behind her back with a plastic tie.

               “Shut the hell up, bitch!’ he snarled, grabbing the back of her dress and ripping it in half. She screamed as he grabbed her wrists and tied them, leaving her standing in her underwear.

                “C’mon, man, give us a break,” the driver pleaded. “You don’t need this kind of heat, not after last night. People are gonna look for us.”

                “Don’t you worry about it,” the gunman smirked as he headed for the door, his comrades ransacking the Porsche they parked out front. “We gonna be done here before you know it.”

                Once he stepped outside, the driver reached under her dress and produced a switchblade from her panty line. She flicked it open and held it tight as her companion spun around, cutting herself free of her bond. She took the knife and swiftly cut her partner loose.

               “Geez, Kirstie, here they come.”

               “Good.”

               The gunman returned with the husky man, both gangsters barreling through the door towards the women. Only as they reached for them, the women’s hands flew from behind their backs. Kirsten Streicher dropped back and launched a roundhouse kick with her stiletto heel that ripped across the gunman’s carotid artery and punctured his windpipe. Jenna Harm, in her underwear, drove the switchblade into the husky man’s right shoulder.

               “You’re right,” Kirsten told the sagging men. “We’re gonna be done here before you know it.”

             At once they could hear gunfire being exchanged outside as their teammates made their presence known. They also heard patrol car sirens on opposite ends of the street as the sound of helicopter blades descended over the roof. The women raced towards the parlor and stared up through a gaping hole in the ceiling.

             “St. Louis PD!” Kirsten showed her badge as she shot the bird at the spotlight glaring down at them. “Get that damn light off me!” 

Miika Hannila's Creativia Acquires Nightcrawler Series!!!

Spoiler Publishing Co. announced this week that Miika Hannila's Finnish-based company, Creativia, has acquired the rights to the Nightcrawler trilogy and is discussing the possibility of a fourth installment to the Sabrina Brooks suspense/thriller anthology.

Hannila has proven himself to be the most industrious of the small group of JRD brand publishers. Creativia sent the horror classic Vampir to the top of the Amazon vampire sales list last spring. They followed their success by catapulting Generations, the Sanders family saga, to Number 55 in Amazon's enormous historical fiction category.

"We couldn't be more excited about Miika taking over the helm in steering the JRD starship to its deserved position in the indie lit industry," a Spoiler Inc. spokesman commented. "He's shown tremendous faith in the JRD brand and we know that the Nightcrawler series couldn't have a better advocate going into 2016."

Creativia has earned a tremendous reputation in the horror publishing genre and is expanding its horizons with its new projects. Hannila has demonstrated prodigious energy and vision in doing so, and Spoiler Inc. is confident that bigger and better accomplishments lie on the road ahead.

"JRD's needed someone who believes in his work, with the determination to bring it to the next level," the Spoiler rep asserted. "It's a marriage made in heaven." 

"Redemption" --- Coming in Winter 2016?

          (Here's a beta sample of a possible Nightcrawler saga...send us your comments!)

Over a half century ago, New York Daily News columnist Jimmy Breslin ran a series on a mysterious Mob boss known as Il Occhio. Although Breslin attributed enormous power and frightening bloodlust to the man, there was no proof that he was anything but a fictitious character symbolizing the dark side of the Godfather mobs of the Seventies. It was not until the Eighties when brutal killers like John Gotti and Nicky Scarfo rose to power did the glamor and mystique of the Mob fade away.                                                                                                                       

Peter Ruggiero felt as if he was going to pick up where Breslin left off with his series on Al the Blond. It was a chilling look into the New York underworld, only social media left little conjecture as to the personage being discussed. After the incarceration of Angelo “The Blade” Vacirca, there was a power vacuum in the Rossini Mob that most felt was going to be filled by Alastair Piedmont. Al the Blond had never been arrested or charged with a crime, but his name was on numerous State and Federal lists of racketeering suspects. He was under the microscope, but his network was so impenetrable that no one could even determine who his lieutenants were. Vito Scafati and Guido Rovigo were mentioned, but even they seemed as occasional contacts at best.                                                                             

Ruggiero was a tall, attractive man who many thought of as effete. Yet he fancied himself an intellectual and was at home among the rich and famous and gangster types alike. His placid and sociable demeanor belied his incisive and sometimes scathing editorial style. He made more than a few enemies among those who were shredded by Peter after unwittingly taking him into their confidence. Some of these were acquaintances of Al the Blond who made the grievous blunder of sharing more than they should have.                                                                                

Shortly after the Thinker had left the office of Walt Tkaczuk, Peter Ruggiero was powering down his PC for the night. He was feeling pretty cocksure after his tenth installment featuring Al the Blond hit the presses. The editors of The Inquisitor were certain that sales would begin soaring when the column pieces gave way to a feature series. His Rugg Ratt column was already the talk of the town, and the new Ruggiero Rap was predicted to become the newspaper series of the year.                     

He had just buffed his gold-rimmed glasses and put them back on when he saw the two figures stepping through the doorway of his office. They looked like a couple of overdressed college teens with a strangely chilly demeanor. One of the last sights he would ever remember was their doll-like lifeless eyes.                                          

“This place is closed,” Peter said sternly though he broke a cold sweat upon realizing something was terribly wrong here. They walked in and leaned up against the wall, the black-dressed kids waiting for him to speak. “You can check in with security at the desk in the lobby. They can help get you where you need to be.”             

“They’re not there,” the blonde girl replied. “I think they’re kinda tied up in the ladies’ room.”                                                                                                           “Well, we’ve got roving security,” Peter switched on his desktop intercom. “They can come and escort you back downstairs.”                                                                   

“See, I told you,” the pale young man said softly.                                                         

“Yeah, so?” she replied nonchalantly.                                                                            

Peter watched with trepidation as the teens gazed down the hall through the doorway. They seemed as if waiting for a bus. Eventually they heard the elevator door in the hallway and the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.                              

“Everything okay, Mr. Ruggiero?”                                                                       

“These two appear to be lost. I told them you could escort them back to the lobby.”                                                                                                                             

“Sure can,” the strapping Puerto Rican guard replied. “Come on, we’ll take you back downstairs.”                                                                                                         

“Screw you,” the blonde said tersely.                                                                     

“Excuse me?” the hulking black guard asked.                                                          

At once the black-leathered blonde launched a lightning front kick into the Puerto Rican’s groin. The black man was startled but lunged for her, running right into a high-heeled roundhouse kick that nearly broke his jaw. She charged into them with a flurry of elbows and knees, dropping them to the carpet where she rendered them unconscious with a vicious stomping.                                                                         

“What the hell do you want?” Peter tried to appear belligerent.                                     

“That column you’ve been writing,” the blonde replied. “You’ve been printing lies that are hurting lots of good people. You need to go on vacation for a while. Maybe take a leave of absence.”                                                                      

“Look, you don’t realize how much trouble you’re already in,” Peter flared. “You’d better get out now before it gets any worse.”                                                    

“See, I told you he wouldn’t listen,” the blonde murmured.                                 

“Yeah, I was hoping he would.”                                                                           

“Okay, look, I’m gonna call an ambulance. It’ll probably take them about ten minutes to get here,” Peter picked his cell phone off the desk.                                       

“Don’t do that,” the raven-haired kid entreated him.                                           

Just as Peter raised the phone to his lips, the young man swung across the desk and smashed the device into his teeth. Peter dropped the phone as the kid grabbed his lapels and pulled him over the desk. The reporter landed painfully on his knees as his assailant grabbed his hair and slammed the back of his head against the edge of the desk.                                                                                                                             

“You would’ve probably lied to us anyway,” the kid produced a small vial from his inside jacket pocket and unscrewed the cap with one hand. “You wouldn’t have gone nowhere.”                                                                                                

Peter tried to rise but the attacker gave him an excruciating kick to the groin. The journalist was paralyzed with pain as the kid yanked his head back, pinning it to the top of the desk.                                                                                                  

“Sorry about this,” the young man said before pouring the contents of the vial into Peter’s eyes.                                                                                                                  

Peter let loose a deafening scream as the sulfuric acid burned through his eyeballs. The assailant pulled out a small sack into which he put the vial and the small cap.                                                                                                                           

“Wipe your fingers,” the blonde said as Peter began losing consciousness.   

                

“I’ll be okay,” the young man replied as they stepped past the fallen guards and headed for the elevator.

"Generations" by John Reinhard Dizon - A Sneak Preview!

            Anyone who had been in the vicinity of the Connor estate that night after Ioan’s coach rode off would have seen the four black-clad figures creeping across the lawn to the manor. They wore black-dyed long underwear and military boots along with a hairnet over their curlers. Their faces were black as night though white skin was visible above their black leather gloves.

            Edward Connor was going over the union proposals in his office in order to prepare a report for his partners. Sharon, among others, had convinced him that the conditions in the mine had to be corrected with all due urgency. Although they were fully prepared to make immediate changes, they wanted to choose the most expedient course of action possible to meet the greatest needs. They also wanted to ensure that, by bringing the union aboard, they would be given the best advice on how to make working conditions both as safe and cost-efficient as possible.

            He heard a noise in the parlor and thought to investigate, but shrugged it off as possibly an animal bumping against the house or a tree limb blown against it. His instincts made him think twice, especially with the notion of the Molly Maguires possibly lurking in the vicinity and committing an act of vandalism on the property. He was confident in the abilities of the Pottsville Police Department, as well as the resolve of the Coal and Iron Police and the Pinkertons in tracking down the Mollies. Yet he knew that there were a fair number of hooligans amongst their ranks who would slip through dragnets undetected and destroy property to establish themselves with their more dangerous counterparts.

            As he came down the stairs, he was shoved hard down the steps where he crashed into the banister and tumbled down to the floor. He sprained his wrist and banged up both knees, unable to offer serious resistance as two sets of hands grabbed his arms and dragged him to a wooden armchair. He was twisted around and dropped down, a third man coming over to help tie him to the chair as the fourth intruder came down from the stairwell.

            “Well, well, quite a setup you have here. Doing slightly better than in the Old Country, I see,” the leader chortled as he descended to the parlor. “Perhaps you’ll be a bit more generous to those less fortunate than you in this new environment.”

            “You’re making a mistake,” Connor warned him. “This property is under surveillance by the Coal and Iron Police and the Pinkertons. Just walk away and it’ll be as if nothing happened. Leave now before this gets out of hand.”

            “Don’t you think we would’ve been watching the house as well to see when those bunglers make their rounds?” The leader strolled across the carpet, admiring the tasteful Victorian furnishings. “They come by at five o’clock so they can beat the evening rush to the steak house. I’ve got six-thirty on my pocket watch.”

            “What do you want? I don’t keep much money in the house,” Edward bargained.

            “I’ve got a pen and paper. I want your signature on a document agreeing to allow your workers to form a chapter of the WBA here in Pottsville.”

            “That’s absurd! I’m a junior partner in the firm; it wouldn’t be worth the cost of the paper!”

            “It’s what they call a moral victory.” The leader walked over to stand before him. “It would signify a rift in leadership among the mine owners. The beginning of a petition, if you will.”

            “My name won’t be at the top of it,” Connor asserted. “I don’t know why you started here, but you picked the wrong fellow.”

            “Luck of the draw,” the leader produced a long-handled pair of pliers from a small sack tied to his belt. “Well, let’s see now. I’m sure you’ve heard the expression ‘pulling hen’s teeth’?”

            Connor did not answer, jerking at his bonds, and staring balefully at the three other men standing around him.

            “In your case, I can either knock them all out in one shot, or I can pull them one by one. Either way, I can assure you the pain will probably be more than a pencil-pusher like yourself could tolerate. I will give you a moment to consider, and should you choose to remain stubborn, then you can decide how we will proceed with the dental work.”

            “You infer principles, yet you fail to consider how you will strengthen the resolve of the mine owners to resist your demands! Do you not think they will declare war against you on principle? You defeat your own purpose with these acts of barbarism!”

            “I’m sure when they see how this dental work affects your job performance, they will surely reconsider.” The leader grinned, clicking the jaws of the pliers nonchalantly.

            Suddenly there was a great crash as a huge earthen pot from the outside patio was hurled through the framed glass door. Wood and glass flew through the room before the vase exploded on the tiled floor, sending shards of clay and dirt everywhere. Behind it hurtled a figure, which catapulted across the floor to the fireplace. Most of the men recognized Ioan, who yanked a poker from its stand and tumbled across the floor once again. He rolled to where two of the men stood and took vicious swings, cracking them across the knees and shins. They dropped to the floor in agony as he rose to his feet.

            “Okay, William, let us get on either side of him,” the leader rose to the balls of his feet, brandishing the pliers as a small club. “He can only take one of us; the other will catch him from behind.”

            “You know you’ll be the one I take out, and I’m sure your friend would be no match for me thereafter,” Ioan assured him. “Take these goons and get out while I attend to Mr. Connor.”

            “You strike a hard bargain,” the leader grinned. Both he and William helped their partners to their feet and out the broken glass door as Ioan took his time freeing Edward.

"Nightcrawler" Signing With Fountain Blue Publishing?

Sabrina Brooks may be about to make another deal. Not with the Mayor of New York City, or the White House administration. It looks like Fountain Blue Publishing, who may be interested in releasing The Plague along with <<<SPOILER ALERT>>> (no, not The Missouri Rock and Roll Champions)...a possible sequel to the Nightcrawler trilogy---Redemption.

JRD is expecting the deal to open up a new chapter in the Nightcrawler experience. Readers have been watching and waiting for their favorite super-heroine to become the next indie lit breakout star in 2015. Considering the fact that the so-called "Nightcrawler" movie (yeah, you probably haven't) was another flash-in-the-pan, the Nightcrawler comic book character hasn't done much better, and when you Google the name --- ta-da, there she is --- maybe Fountain Blue will make this happen.

No offers have been made or signed papers sent, but talks are in progress. The Nightcrawler Universe watches and waits...is this Sabrina's year at last?

Stay tuned, Crawlers. The best is yet to come.

Greatest Weight Loss/Energy Pill of the Decade?

I’ve been hanging and banging since I was thirteen years old. I tried Joe Weider’s Crash Weight Gain #7 as a 98-pound weakling and never looked back. After over four decades, I’ve tried just about everything on the market to boost my energy without having to resort to drugs. This product is the only one that continues to work. Every one without exception (including Xenadrine) gets old after a while. Your body builds up a resistance and you have to chug down five at a time just to get a rush. Well, not this stuff. Not by a long shot.

I posted my first review of Beldt last year in a swap with one of their marketing execs. He reviewed one of my novels and I tried his stuff. I proudly posted on Amazon that I overloaded on the pills and boosted my bench totals by one hundred pounds! Well, as I explained, I had taken a year off from lifting after having hit the 350-pound mark, so there was a lot of dormant muscle involved. Plus I started out with one hundred and worked back to two hundred, so it wasn’t all that miraculous. Still, I’m pretty sure your average pencil-neck geek would have been more than glad to have recorded such gains. Beldt is undoubtedly the place to start.

At the beginning of 2015 I decided to get back on track. I was using Beldt to keep my energy levels up after taking an a$$wipe job last summer and it was like a miracle tonic. I went from one every other day to two, and my bench totals began increasing. I ended up with 300 on the squat rack before a sprain put me on the sidelines. Still, it was all Beldt (along with perseverance and elbow grease). I’ve been on it for a year now and haven’t reached a tolerance level that has reduced its effectiveness. Beldt keeps me going…and going…and going.

I don’t hawk many products for the simple reason there’s nothing out there (well, maybe except for whey protein) that I’d put my rep behind. This stuff, though, is the real deal. If you want to pick up something that’ll make you feel brand new (and doesn’t have you run around humping bedposts, if you know what I mean)…Beldt is THE ONE!!!