Monday, August 07, 2006

Ta Daaaaa

FINALLY!!! It's here.

You can order A DEED OF TRUST from iUniverse. Go to www.iUniverse.com and click on the "book store" tab. You can search by title, or scroll down to the newly released section and click on the title. They also allow you to browse before you buy.

So for all of those of you that decide to help out, thank you. I hope you will enjoy the read, and please feel free to email me with any comments.

I'm looking forward to the next one. I hope you will too.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

The time is near...

Well, the final proofs have been sent in to the publisher. All is quiet here. I should have my copies in 10-14 days. I'm certain there will be some grammatical or punctuation errors, but hey, that's okay. The story is tight, and I am pleased.

I will be launching a website to support the sale of A DEED OF TRUST, and those to follow. The web address is going to be www.everettdfrazier.com .

I am getting started on the editing process of number 2, RETRIBUTION. Hopefully it will be out in nine months.
_________________________
Here's the story line:

The story is set in the Midwest. A high school hazing goes bad and a gang rape occurs. Later in life, the purpetrators start to die gruesome, masochistic deaths. All eyewitness testimony says it's a female; all forensic evidence says it's a male.

_________________________

Now, the person you think gets a sex change dies in a fiery car crash midway through the story and the murders continue.

Stay tuned boys and girls. An excerpt will be coming shortly.

Monday, June 05, 2006

New news

Hey all. I don't know if anyone is keeping up or not. But hey, I sent the MS to the publisher on Sunday. I have to say that I am very pleased with the way everything turned out. There was a ton of editng for flow. Very little content was altered.

Publisher says I'll have it back in 2 weeks. Then I have an additional 2 weeks to make any corrections, then we go to press to deliver our baby approximately 4 weeks later.

I am stoked.

Look for an excerpt soon from number 2: RETRIBUTION; a story of a high school hazing gone terribly wrong and the consequences incurred.

Wednesday, February 08, 2006


Possible Cover Design Posted by Picasa

Monday, January 30, 2006

Thanks...

...for all the positive feedback I have received. I hope I did not offend anyone with the color of the language in the previous piece. I am only trying to convey a certain grasp of the events taking place.

Now, for the other side. Here is a piece that is not as "colorful" in language or setting. Again, I hope you enjoy. Input would be appreciated.

This will be the last excerpt posted prior to publication.


........ Eric Ingle had watched a parade of retirees come through his office over the years. The stooped Charles Carey and his petite wife fit the profile: he was an engineer, she a teacher. They had been smart and they had been lucky. They could afford property in the luxurious beach community of Hilton Head. Hilton Head was a long way from the Knoxville suburb where they had raised their family. Its white sandy beaches and rich residents gave the place some of the swagger of Palm Beach, some of the natural beauty of Cape Hatteras. So why were they coming to them? Eric stood to greet them.

After the introductions, Charles handed Eric Ingle the letter he had received in the mail about the pending foreclosure on his home. He also handed Mr. Ingle a Warranty Deed that was stamped with all the proper notations such as, book number, page number, date recorded and a set of initials attesting that all the information had been properly recorded in the Beaufort County Registrar of Deeds office. The attorney quickly perused the bundled papers. All of the pertinent documentation appeared to be in order.

Mr. Ingle listened intently as Charles explained to him that the mortgage company in California had refused to listen to what he had to say.

Charles said, “This company out in California says I owe them over three hundred thousand dollars! I told them my home was paid for. I told them they must have made a mistake, had the wrong person, or they were just a bunch of damn fools!” Charles Carey was very animated as he paced quickly around the attorney’s office. Charles started to take a seat several times, but would immediately reverse his actions.

Noting his client’s agitation, the attorney suggested calmly that Charles sit down and gather his thoughts so they could begin examining the situation. Charles begrudgingly did as he was asked, taking a seat next to his wife. Taking his hand, Liz gave it a reassuring squeeze as the two of them waited for the attorney to begin.

Eric Ingle told the Careys that once they advised him of their situation, he had taken the liberty of doing a little research on their behalf. Eric opened his briefcase, took out the documents he acquired at the courthouse and slid them across his desk for Charles and Liz to review.

“What are these?” Charles and Liz both asked, almost in unison.

“You see, that’s what I’d like to know, Mr. Carey,” said Eric. “According to this mortgage instrument, you, Mr. Charles A. Carey, took out a mortgage on your home located at 171 Island Way, Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. You executed the contract on June 25, 2001. It was recorded in the Registrar of Deeds office four days later, after your right of rescission had expired. To date, eight months later, according to their records, you have failed to make the necessary payments to your mortgage service provider, and that is why the mortgage company in California is foreclosing on your property.”

Liz turned a ghostly pale and her mouth dropped open; she was speechless. She just stared at Charles with a look of utter confusion. Mr. Ingle offered her a glass of water, which she promptly accepted.

Charles, on the other hand, was not speechless. “That is a damn lie! I did no such thing! This is not right!” He turned to his wife. “Honey, I swear, I did not mortgage our house!” The desperation in Charles’ voice was becoming more obvious.

Eric Ingle held up a reassuring hand. A client lying dead on his office floor because of a heart attack or stroke was the last thing he needed.

Eric pleaded, “Charles, settle down. We’ll fix this,” he said trying to calm his client, “Here, take a closer look at these. Is that your signature on those documents?” he asked.

Charles looked at all the signatures carefully. He did not know why he was bothering to look at them. He knew there was no way he had ever signed those incriminating documents. “No, sir,” he said calmly, but with an air of confidence, “Those are not my signatures.” The attorney saw a ray of hope in Charles Carey’s eyes.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Eric Ingle said as he breathed a big sigh. “Did you bring something with your signature on it like I asked? I have heard of this kind of thing happening before, but I have never actually seen it,” remarked the attorney.

Charles turned to his wife and said, “Liz, did you bring the copies of those checks I wrote for the bills?”

“What kind of thing, Mr. Ingle?” asked Liz as she opened her handbag. “Yes, I did Charles; I brought them,” she replied. “Here you are, Mr. Ingle.” Liz handed the checks with the signatures to the attorney. Her hands and voice were both trembling.

Eric inspected the two sets of signatures carefully. They were not remotely close to matching the signatures in question. One set appeared to be right-handed; leaning to the right, and the other set appeared to be left-handed, leaning drastically to the left.

Eric Ingle turned both sets of documents so the Careys could examine one after the other. He sighed deeply again, “Mr. and Mrs. Carey,” he said, as he sank back into his chair, “In looking at those documents, do you see what I see?”

Charles and Liz stared at one another. The realization of what they were looking at apparently had taken its toll. Neither of them could speak.

“Not only that,” the attorney added as he opened another file, “but it was this office that handled the transaction. Do you know this man?” Eric Ingle slid a copy of a driver’s license of a man who appeared to be of Hispanic descent across the desk for the Careys to examine.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

As promised...

here is a paragraph or twelve from one of the subplots of A Deed of Trust. Please feel free to email me with any suggestions. However, PLEASE place -- Deed of Trust -- in the subject bar. I find it very difficult to open emails from someone I do not know.

Thanks

Diego, feeling a little embarrassed, reached into his front pants pocket and pulled out an envelope. He tossed it casually across the desk. Fat Pat took out the two checks. Each one was endorsed for $300,000.

Fat Pat looked up and asked, “Where’d you get these, Rodriguez?”

“What? I ain’t gonna tell you that shit, man. The fucking checks are good! Just gimme my money we agreed on so I can get the fuck outta here,” said Diego.

“Yeah, I know they’re good. You see, well, here’s the thing. We got a problem,” Fat Pat announced scratching his head.

Diego spouted back and pointed at Fat Pat. “Problem, I ain’t got no problem, motherfucker. You better not have no fucking problem either.”

“Well, you see, it ain’t my problem, it’s yours.” Fat Pat went on, “When you called, I thought that the paper you had was blank certified checks or money orders or registered checks, or some shit like that. You didn’t say that you was carrying checks from a fucking real estate title company trust account. I don’t know that I can move these. I damn sure can’t give you no fifty cents on the dollar. Hell, I won’t even be able to get twenty-five cents on the dollar for ‘em myself.”

Diego was outraged. “I knew it! What the fuck you talking about? Now you’re the one with the fucking problem. What’s the difference? A bank is a fucking bank, right? Now gimme my money and I wanna get the hell outta here.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken my friend. This ain’t no bank. It’s like a big, Goddamned check cashing place. If these things don’t clear these trust accounts soon, the title company’ll stop payment and/or report them stolen. I’d say you got about ten days max to move these. If it were those other kinds of checks that I mentioned, shit I could let those set forever. No one would give a rat’s ass. But these, these are different. Best I can do is give you ten cents on the dollar. That’s it.”

“Ten cents is a fucking insult man, and you know it. If you couldn’t move ‘em, you wouldn’t even be offering shit. So, I tell you what I’ll do, I’ll take twenty-five.”

Fat Pat held up both hands. “No can do, Rodriguez. Ten is the max. Take it or leave it.”

“Fuck you, I’ll leave it.” Diego stood up to leave.

Fat Pat leaned back in his chair again. “Hey man, that’s your choice. But, don’t be stupid dude. Everybody else is going to tell you the same fucking thing and you’re running out of time. Just remember that old saying, part of something is better than a whole lot of nothing.”

“Just remember that I offered them to you first.”

“Okay, Rodriguez, okay, fifteen cents, but that’s it. Turn that down and you can walk right out the fucking door.”

A small victory for Diego. He felt he had won the fight. Diego frowned, “Si, I will take the fifteen cents that you offer.”

Fat Pat opened his safe and counted out $90,000 cash. Diego stuffed the money in his paper bag then stuffed the bag into the front of his pants. He buttoned the bottom three buttons of his shirt so the bag would not show and hastily exited the pawn shop. Ricky smiled and waved goodbye as he left.

Diego waited at the Coastal Marina for almost an hour after their scheduled time to meet. He had tried to call Maria a couple of times, but there was no answer. Surely she hadn’t changed her mind. They had their whole future together ahead of them. He would be lost without her. Diego started to get worried. He headed back to their apartment. He needed to know how she felt before he left.

On his way home Diego tried her once again on his cell phone. This time she answered. She was crying. “Maria, what is wrong? Why are you not at the marina?”

“Diego, Miguel and Carmen are here. Please, you need to come home quickly.”

“I am on my way, Maria. Please don’t cry. I love you.”

“Please hurry. I love you, too, Diego.” Those were the last words that Maria would ever speak to Diego.

As Diego entered the apartment complex, nothing seemed to be out of place. Kids were playing and mothers were hanging clothes on the lines. The same group of men that was sitting on the stoop when he left were still there talking about nothing at all, a typical spring day in southern Florida.

Diego slowly opened the door and stepped inside the apartment. He called out for Maria, but there was no answer. Out of his right eye he saw a smattering of blood on the kitchen floor. Diego started to breathe hard. He reached into the back of his pants and pulled out his gun. Why doesn’t she answer, please God, he thought. He had just talked to her on the phone not ten minutes ago. Where could she be? Don’t let that be her blood. He slowly eased to the kitchen door. It took all he had to peek around the corner for fear of what he might see; what he was responsible for. What Diego saw there made him vomit. In separate chairs sat Miguel and Carmen, both were tied up with their hands behind them and their mouths were covered with duct tape; both had a single gunshot to the forehead. Small streams of fresh blood ran down the fronts of their faces, slowly dripping to their laps below. Their eyes not yet glazed, but empty. Both were dead. Diego’s eyes welled up and he started to sob as he sat shaking on the kitchen floor.

Sitting there, Diego started to panic. This time he yelled loudly for Maria. There was still no answer. He ran down the hallway to the lone bedroom with his gun drawn. He suddenly stopped outside the bedroom door. He hung his head, sniffled and took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to look inside. Once again, afraid of what he might find. That’s when he heard muffled, sobbing sounds coming from inside the room. As he slowly opened the door, with his gun in position, he saw Maria on the bed. Her wrists were outstretched above her shoulders tied to the headboard She was gagged. Her mouth too was covered with duct tape. Thank God she was still alive, he thought. Diego rushed to the bed and laid down his gun. He struggled to quickly untie her hands. Maria's eyes grew large as she started to jerk and scream, but beneath the tape her screams were barely audible. Diego was preoccupied with getting Maria untied. He never saw them. The last things Diego saw were Maria’s tears as they trickled down her cheeks, a small crimson dot that suddenly appeared on her forehead followed by a slow trickling of blood as her head jerked backward hitting the headboard of the bed. The smell wafting in the air made him realize that his grasp of the reality of what he saw was too late. The last thing he thought was, Miguel was right. The last thing Diego felt was the warm steel of a silencer at the end of a 9mm that had been placed firmly at the back of his head.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Identity Theft

Identity Theft is the fastest growing white-collar crime in the history of the United States, and is growing to global proportions.

That is why I decided to write a novel about this very subject. Soon to be released (Spring 2006) by iUniverse. It will be available on 25,000+ websites. Some of them include, but are not limited to, Amazon.com, Barnesandnoble.com, Waldenbooks.com, etc.

Keep an eye out for A Deed of Trust. Set in Charlotte, the 3rd largest banking center in the country, and based on the real estate finance industry, this book reveals just how susceptible we are to losing our two most prize possessions -- our identity, then our home.

When A Deed of Trust hits the market, upon purchase, you will also receive, at no additional charge, a DVD and book on how to protect your own identity. These are valued at $50. However, when it comes to your identity, it could be priceless. You will receive these at no additional charge.

I will post an excerpt later. I hope you enjoy it.