Concrete Pearl Virtual Book Publicity Tour September 2011

Concrete Pearl

Join Vincent Zandri, author of the thriller novel, Concrete Pearl (StoneGate Ink), as he virtually tours the blogosphere September 5 – 30 2011 on his fifth virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book!

About Vincent Zandri

Vincent Zandri 4

Vincent Zandri is the No. 1 International Bestselling author of the thrillers THE INNOCENT, GODCHILD, MOONLIGHT FALLS, THE REMAINS and CONCRETE PEARL. An MFA in Writing graduate of Vermont College, he has was a Stringer for The Albany Times Union Newspaper, and a contributor to New York Newsday, Hudson Valley Magazine, Game and Fish Magazine, and more. His short fiction has appeared in many of the leading journals and magazines, Orange County Magazine, Buffalo Spree, Negative Capability, The Maryland Review, Rosebud, The Best of Rosebud, Lost Creek Letters among them. His novels, stories, and journalism have been translated into many foreign languages including the Dutch, Japanese, French, Russian and Turkish. A freelance photo-journalist, foreign correspondent, and Blogger for RT, Globalspec and International Business Times, he divides his time between New York and Florence, Italy.

For more on the author, go to WWW.VINCENTZANDRI.COM.

About Concrete Pearl

Concrete Pearl Kindle Ava “Spike” Harrison might be a beautiful, classically schooled woman, but the single, 38 year old construction business owner is also plenty ballsy. Her late father taught her long ago how to handle the rough boys in an industry that’s almost entirely filled with hard-boiled men on the make. But now, with “the business dad built” from the ground up failing due to an unusual series of job-site injuries and just plain bad luck, Spike has no choice but to take on one last project she believes can pull the fledgling commercial firm from the depths of almost certain bankruptcy and family shame: The Renovation of Albany PS 20.

Problem is, Spike had no choice but to take the job on the cheap or, what’s known in the industry as, “at cost.” To make matters worse, she’s not only hired an asbestos removal contractor who, unbeknownst to her, low-balled his price, but she’s advanced him $10Gs from her own dwindling cash account as a “good faith” incentive to beat the project deadline.

Now, when that same asbestos contractor goes missing and it’s discovered by OSHA officials that he’s cheated on the project exposing more than 300 students to deadly asbestos fibers for months, the ever responsible Spike takes matters into her own callused hands and goes in search of him. What she discovers along the way however, is a path paved with deception, greed, murder, and eventually, her own ultimate demise.

LIMITED TIME ONLY!  PURCHASE CONCRETE PEARL AT AMAZON FOR ONLY 99 CENTS!  CLICK HERE FOR DETAILS!

Book Reviews:

“The story line is non-stop action and the flashback to Attica is eerily brilliant. If this debut is any indication of his work, readers will demand a lifetime sentence of novels by Vincent Zandri.”

–I Love a Mystery

“A tough-minded, involving novel…Zandri writes strong prose that rarely strains for effect, and some of his scenes…achieve a powerful hallucinatory horror.”

–Publishers Weekly

“A classic detective tale.”

–The Record (Troy, NY)

“[Zandri] demonstrates an uncanny knack for exposition, introducing new characters and narrative possibilities with the confidence of an old pro….Zandri does a superb job creating interlocking puzzle pieces.”

–San Diego Union-Tribune

“This is a tough, stylish, heartbreaking car accident of a book: You don’t want to look but you can’t look away. Zandri’s a terrific writer and he tells a terrific story.”

–Don Winslow, author of The Death and Life of Bobby Z

“Satisfying.”

–Kirkus Reviews

Book Excerpt:

The naked man lies on his side along the edge of a steep trench. The newly excavated trench reeks of exposed clay, the rich stench wafting up from the moist floor. To the naked man, the red clay smells like the worms that seep out of a storm sewer after a heavy downpour. Naked man’s got worms on the brain when he feels a boot-heel press down against his ribcage; when he hears the words, “You’re gonna love hell, Farrell.”
He tries hard to pick his head up off the ground, but he’s lost too much blood from the .9mm round that’s entered and exited his left shoulder. Once upon a time he was the most gifted athlete on his high school football team. But now, twenty-odd years later, he’s no longer got the strength to lift his head up off the dirt. He’s got no choice but to lie on his side and accept the steel-toed Red Wing work boot that digs down against skin and bone; no choice but to gaze into the empty trench, the beautiful summer sun spilling down onto the wormy moist clay.
When the boot-heel pushes him forward, the naked man feels himself going over the edge. But the fall is not immediate. It happens in a kind of slow motion—his wiry, six-foot-plus frame going over the side, dropping into space, spinning one complete revolution before finally he feels the squishy impact of flesh against clay. That’s when all breath gets knocked out of him. He feels the pain in his chest; the pain in his wounded shoulder; the constriction of his diaphragm.
But he’s not afraid.
Maybe his fearlessness has something to do with blood loss. Or maybe it has something to do with simple resignation…knowing there’s no possible way he’s going to make it out of this trench alive. Maybe it has something to do with the peace and clarity of mind that accompanies a sure death sentence.
The left side of his face lies on the cold clay floor. The clay is moist from the ground water that seeps out of it. Like the clay, the water smells rank. As the noise from a cement truck pulling into position begins to fill his one exposed ear, a small bird flies down into the trench. The bird perches itself only inches from his face. Just a small tweety bird or finch, as the bird watchers call them, with rust colored feathers, a small black beak and opaque eyes. The bird flutters its wings, stares at the man with curiosity.
The cement truck revs its engine. Then comes the clang-and-bang of the aluminum chute-extensions being constructed. Years ago the naked man might have been looked upon as a dumb jock. But he knows what’s coming, and he finds himself smiling. He doesn’t quite know why he’s smiling. But he knows it’s happening because he can feel his facial muscles constricting and contracting. He’s weak, nearly paralyzed from blood loss. But still he tries to reach his hand out to the little bird.
The cement truck above him roars and bucks. Its cylindrical holding tank spins counter-clockwise in order to spill its warm mud-like load. A sense of urgency grips the naked man. He feels an overwhelming desire for the bird to perch itself on his outstretched finger. If he can manage it, it will be his last act on God’s earth. As dumb as it seems, it would be a good, final dying act for a man who admittedly has lost his way in life.
When the raw ready mix begins pouring down on his bare feet in a warm white flow of gravel clumps and wet sandy lumps, the now frightened bird flies away to safety. The naked man however, has no where to go. He’s about to become a permanent fixture of this new construction.
It’s then that the realization sinks in, and along with it, the fear.
The concrete buries long legs. Lime burns pale skin. The naked man opens his mouth wide, lets out a scream. He screams for someone to save him. Anyone.
“Please! Help! Me!”
But this isn’t like the good old days. Now when he cries out there’s no one around to hear him; no one to attend to his dire need. No one who cares to save his life, that is.
There is quite simply nothing left for him—the former silver-spoon-fed-who-cares-about-school-books “golden boy” who had the world gripped by the short hairs.
Nothing left at all. Not even regret.
Only the smell of worms, a deep trench, and the soft concrete that entombs his living body, fills his gaping mouth.

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