Don't Write What You Know;
Write What You Care About -- Passionately!
A Harry Mickey Shorts Mystery
- Rich Kisielewski
Not long ago, Harry had moved back to the town where his ex-wife and kids reside and was trying to rebuild his life. The "work hard and play hard" attitude that carries Harry through life is balanced by the softness evidenced in his dealings with his children. Once again, he was going to have to be away from them and the new life he had been trying so hard to establish.
Going undercover at MechInsCo, Harry gets exposure to executives within the company including his lifer accounting boss, the psycho senior finance executive and a frantic company president. They all paint the same picture-a company losing money with no idea how, or why. His stint at MechInsCo supplies Harry with some raucous times: large amounts of information, booze and ladies provide him with much more than he signed on for.
da sticks, as seen through the eyes of Harry Mickey Shorts, ex-ballplayer turned street-smart private investigator, gives the reader a feel for what goes on in the corporate world of insurance plus a glimpse of life in the minor leagues, on and off the field. Elements of humor and tragedy, suspense and surprise twist and turn throughout. Together they keep the pace fast and provide Harry with a trip you will be glad you didn't miss.
Retail price $12.95
WolfSinger price $12.00
(Multiple eBook formats)
Eighteen years old. Only eighteen years old. You’re just beginning to really get a feel for the world around you, how it works, what it can give and how much it can take. It grabs you, sucks you in, and you’re off to the races. Life’s got you by the short hairs with no way out. But, and it’s a huge but, you’re hanging on for dear life and loving the ride for all it’s worth. Then someone turns on the fan and life gets the upper hand.
“Harry, it’s me. I need your help.”
“Tom, I already left.”
Maybe I should jump back a few steps and let you in on what’s going on here. My name is Harry because I’m told an aunt promised to lay some bread on me if my mom named me Harold. I don’t believe it one little bit because I didn’t see a single dime, and to my knowledge, neither did my moms.
Oh yeah, it’s Harry, or should I say Harold Mickey Shorts, which wasn’t my given name when I was ushered into this wonderful world of ours. My original name didn’t cut it in my eyes, and the Mick, Mister Mantle, is my all-time favorite ballplayer. Plus, my original last name was way too long. I believe wearing tee shirts and shorts is how God intended us to dress, so that’s how I came up with my new and improved name, ‘Shorts’, which just happens to be a great conversation topic for the ladies.
By trade, I guess you would call me a private investigator. But I’m not your ordinary run-of-the-mill, every day private dick. Kismet Incorporated is what my card would say if I had one. I owe what I am today to Tom, the guy who called me. He taught me the business for no reason whatsoever, never asked for squat in return. Squared my shoulders, showed me where my balls were, and taught me how to use them. When I had learned enough to be dangerous, he kicked me in the ass and sent me packing. That’s why I’m headed to Central Pennsylvania to do whatever it takes to help Tom, my friend.
And so the story begins…