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Publisher Vinny Vitali is at the top of an incredible number of hate lists. He is a bad guy and deserves to be whacked...at least that's what three of his disgruntled authors think. The problem is, Vinny won't die. It's as though he has a charmed life. What his would-be killers go through trying to get the job done will keep you laughing right up to the surprise ending. It’s like hiring the “Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight.”

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ARE YOU FOLLOWING THE EXCERPTS FROM "BUMPING OFF FAT VINNY" - HERE IS CHAPTER TWO

Remember, you can get "Bumping Off Fat Vinny" in Kindle, paperback or MP3 audio narrated by the wonderful Tom Lennon. 
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TWO

 Not a word was spoken on either side of the desk, while hostility hung in the air like a gun waiting to be fired. The standoff continued for a tense ten minutes, each side firmly committed to keeping their mouths shut, as though the one who talked first would be the loser.

As the minutes passed, Fat Vinny continued to slide the cigar around his lips, licking the tip until he was certain the soggy La Gloria Cubana looked utterly disgusting to Danny and Margaret. The only sound was the whoosh of the ceiling fan directly over Vinny’s head. He kept the fan swirling at high speed, because he perspired like a pig and the fan cooled him. He never wore dark shirts, afraid the inevitable patches of sweat under his arms would destroy the illusion of power.

Finally, Vinny broke the silence. “So, after I throw this piece of junk in the garbage, when am I gonna get my book with all the interviews? I say start with the brother first. If you can crack him, he probably has a load of information. Names, even contacts. This book is gonna nail what really happened to Tony ‘The Nose’. The—whadda ya call it, um, mystique, about how he got wasted and who done it—that’s still hot. I thought you guys were gonna go deep, since no one ever nailed who ordered the hit on Tony. Word is it was never sanctioned. I’m lookin’ for a best seller, and instead you bring me a broad’s sob story.”

Vinny squared his shoulders. Then, glaring at Danny like a sarcastic teacher, he taunted, “So, Mr. Hotshot FBI has-been, did ya ever think maybe the brother himself mighta got arrested once or twice?” He tapped his forehead. “Ya gotta use your noggin in this business.”

He took a deep breath before firing the next salvo. He pointed a stubby finger adorned with a garish three-carat diamond ring at the two authors. “I’ll bet you two jokers never checked that out.”

“Why would we?” Danny said through clenched teeth. That’s not what the book is about.”

Vinny threw his arms in the air. “I hire what I think are smart, professional writers to do my book, and what happens? You gotta depend on a thinking man, like me, to tell you what’s supposed to be in it.”

When Margaret tried to answer, the raging publisher shouted, “Did ya ever think maybe Sammy Mancuso’s brother Tony set him up to take a rap for him? Upstanding businessman like Sammy—who would ever suspect him? Maybe Sammy was so pissed off he blabbed to the FBI, or maybe he was the one who ordered the hit. You ain’t got the dirt that sells a book. Who cares about a broad that Tony ‘The Nose’ roughed up? So what if she says she had to run for her life? Whadda readers want? They want to read the kinda stuff like I’m talkin’ about.”

Margaret grabbed the handles of her Louis Vuitton purse as if she was getting ready to walk out, but Danny put a cautioning hand on her arm, and she let go of the handles.

She sat in the chair, her posture as rigid as a steel bar, lips set in a thin line of fury. Danny said in very measured tones, “Just who do you think you are to talk to us like that? You’re asking for something we never agreed to do.”

He glanced at Margaret, as though seeking confirmation. “You contacted us because you read our last book and liked it. You said Maria Mancuso had a story to tell and you wanted us to write it. It’s in the contract. We always talked about it being her story. Her life with Tony. You saw the outline. Now this demand to investigate the murder of Tony ‘The Nose’ comes out of the blue? Get this straight. We’re not going to do the kind of investigative reporting you’re talking about. For what? To write a book you didn’t request until now?”

Margaret added, “Look, you hooked us up with Maria, gave us a book to write, and that’s what we did. Get this through your head—it’s done! Maria’s story pulls at the heartstrings. She’s one brave woman, and there isn’t going to be a reader who isn’t mopping up their tears as they read. Not only that, but she’s ready to bare her soul in public to promote it. If you wanted investigative reporting, you should’ve contacted some hotshot reporters. Not award-winning authors like us.”

He tried to cut her off by raising one pudgy hand. “But—”

“But, nothing, Vinny. You have an obligation to publish what we brought you. Like we said, we’ll do minor changes or edits, but we sure as hell aren’t going back to square one to write a book that isn’t the one we agreed to do.”

If there was one thing Fat Vinny didn’t like it was a pushy, wiseass broad. He felt another hot flush travel from his double chins toward his receding hairline. Damn. My face is probably the color of a ripe tomato.

“You just made a big mistake, Girly. You don’t talk to me like that and get away with it.” He balled his right hand into a fist and raised it in her direction. Even though he wore a huge white Guayabera shirt that day, one of those loose jobs with bands of embroidery down the front, he felt perspiration patches developing under each armpit. Wheezing, he struggled for breath as droplets of sweat inched down his face.

Danny stood up and grabbed Margaret’s arm. He hauled her out of the chair, and said. “Vinny, this meeting is over. We’re not getting anywhere. We’ll talk more when you calm down.” He turned on his heel and guided Margaret toward the door.

“You dare to turn your back on me, you pissant? You don’t do that to Fat Vinny. You’re gonna be sorry. Wait until you see what happens to this shitty manuscript.”

Margaret and Danny walked out, the door slamming with a resounding “thunk” behind them.

His massive body quivering in rage, Vinny took the manuscript and threw it into a drawer in his file cabinet, banging the drawer shut. “Them high-falutin’ writers. I’ll show ’em, and that dumb broad Maria, too.” He opened the file that held the contract for the book and zipped through it.

One thing he could do was tie up the story. He could sit on it for at least eighteen months, and they wouldn’t get one more penny until it was accepted. Then he could drag his feet in publishing it. Not only that, but if he didn’t accept what they submitted, they’d even have to return the advance he’d given them. Oh yeah, he’d teach them.

NOW AVAILABLE IN KINDLE, PAPERBACK AND AUDIO

Wow, have we been lax in letting you know about Bumping Off Fat Vinny. Shame on us!

What in the world made three authors want to knock off their publisher?

May 2015 has come and gone, and this book is now available in Kindle, paperback and audio. Just check it out on Amazon  

You can listen to a sample audio track on Amazon.

Here is a sneak peek:

PROLOGUE

Los Angeles Times, Tuesday, April 5, 2011

    By John Grant, Organized Crime Reporter

Tony “The Nose” Mancuso, the top mobster in Los Angeles, answered the knock on his door at around 8:00 p.m. last Friday night, and it wasn’t an April Fools’ joke. He is believed to have invited his guest into the living room. Seconds later, the visitor shot Mancuso once in the back of the head with a .38 caliber pistol, killing him instantly. After he fell to the floor, face down, his killer rolled him over and fired five more rounds into his face, nearly obliterating it. In fact, the damage was so great he had to be identified by his fingerprints, and it will be a closed- casket funeral. This is the theory being put forward by the police, based upon their preliminary investigation and the coroner’s autopsy report.

So what we have is an apparent Mob hit. The cops should have no shortage of suspects. It has been widely known that there were a number of crime figures and organizations that wanted “The Nose” eliminated for one reason or another. Take Nose’s ambitious underling Brutali Bonano, for example. He didn’t agree with his bosses’ management style and thought he could do a better job. Was he behind a hostile takeover? Or how about the Bloods? I’ve reported in the past that the gang wasn’t happy about the amount of tribute Mancuso demanded for keeping his hands out of their drug operations.

The excessive violence used in the killing opens another possibility. But for his huge schnoz, Mancuso was considered handsome and had a swashbuckling image, much like the late Errol Flynn. Could the destruction of his face be a message from the husband or boyfriend of a woman he’d become too friendly with? Whoever pulled the trigger may have been sending a message. Because he certainly saw to it that the deceased gangster would as no longer be appealing to look at.

Yes, investigators will have plenty of avenues to pursue. One person who might be able to put the investigation on the right track is Mancuso’s wife, Maria, but it’s been rumored that she hasn’t been seen around their home or anywhere else, for some time. According to the police report, she wasn’t at the residence when officers arrived on Saturday in response to an anonymous call of shots fired. Was there marital discord? Is she being treated somewhere for a health issue? Nobody seems to know, or if they do, they aren’t saying. I’m sure the cops want to talk with Maria. Maybe her late husband’s associates would like to have a few words with her, as well.

The big question is, of course, who killed Tony “The Nose?” The second question is, where is Maria? If she can be found, she may very well have information that will be key in answering the first question.

ONE

June, 2015

Vincent Vitali, CEO of Vitali Publishing, opened the door of a compartment in the left pedestal of his fancy mahogany desk, pulled out an inlaid Spanish Cedar humidor and selected a Cuban cigar. He rolled it under his nose for a moment then, in one quick motion, clipped the end with his gold cutter.

Savoring the Havana, he tipped his leather desk chair back at a comfortable angle and actually managed to get his feet up on his desk. This was no simple maneuver for a guy his size, but he had learned that if he put his feet up, it made the people sitting opposite him feel insignificant.

Vinny tipped the scales at just over four hundred pounds, distributed evenly over his five-foot-seven frame, which had earned him the nickname Fat Vinny. As he sat there glaring at the man and woman seated across from him, he drew on the cigar and blew smoke in their direction. “You call this piece of crap finished? It’s not the book I thought it was going to be.” He rubbed the cigar around his frog-like lips and let out a disgusted sigh.

Danny Garrett leaned forward, his body language tight.

“Well, you thought wrong, then. This is the book we signed a contract to write. We’re willing to do some minor touchups, but you’re the one who gave us the assignment. You sat in on the development meetings. Now you have the nerve to say it’s crap? What exactly did you expect?”

Looking at Garrett, a former FBI agent with a string of successful books behind him, Vinny sensed he was not one to be bullied. The word was Garrett left the Bureau twenty years earlier after his cover had been blown, and he narrowly missed being taken out by a psycho mobster. Though from what Vinny heard, he was still a tough guy.

Danny’s co-author Margaret Stanton added, “Look, Vinny, you wanted the memoir of a Mob wife; you got the memoir of a Mob wife and, I might add, our proofreaders thought it was really good. They want a copy as soon as it comes out. We’ve even spoken to producers of a few of the hot talk shows and there’s a good possibility of national TV exposure. So what’s your problem?”

“My problem is—” Vinny paused, trying to look menacing, not realizing to Danny and Margaret he probably wound up looking like a frog puffing on a cigar.

He continued, “There are no investigative interviews. Did you contact Tony’s brother? There must have been bad blood there. Don’t you hacks know “The Nose” stopped talking to him in ‘95? A confidential source told me the brother turned Mancuso in to the FBI. What about the Mob bosses his widow rags about in this piece of garbage? Did you even make an effort to contact them? The way it stands now, it’s her word against theirs.”

“Exactly! A memoir is a person’s memory of events. This is what you asked for. Maria’s memoir,” Danny said.

Vinny felt a flush inch up its way from his neck to his face. He took his feet off the desk, leaned forward and snatched the thick manuscript from the desktop. Waving it at Danny and Margaret he countered, “Don’t try to confuse the issue with this memoir bullshit. You listen to me, and you listen good. I want you to talk to the first wife. The one he supposedly beat to a pulp. The one your Maria Mancuso says in here—”

He stopped for a moment and opened the manuscript to a bookmarked page, held it up and read, “After he clocked me on the side of my head, I swore someday I’d pull a gun on him just like first wife Concetta did. She shot him in the foot. I’d aim higher.”

He narrowed his eyes and continued to glare at the authors, then jabbed the page with a fleshy finger. “Why would anyone take her word for this? Who would believe this babe Concetta actually had the guts to plug a made man. Was there a police report? If there was, did you get a copy of it? Hearsay. It’s all just hearsay. This whole damned thing. I want interviews—forget this fuckin’ memoir business. Understand?”

After his tirade, Vinny threw the manuscript down with a thud and leaned back in his chair.

Fat Vinny delighted in the feeling of power over others, or as he called it, “the big impression.” Cuban cigars were part of the picture. Wanting to show Danny he could get anything he wanted, he reached into the humidor and offered him a cigar. “Bet you never smoked one of these.”

Danny smirked and said, “No I haven’t and never will. Thanks but no thanks. Don’t you know how bad they are for your health?”

Vinny’s fingers were in lots of pies including an auction business, a travel agency, a company that manufactured some kind of special glassware and stuff for the Las Vegas and Indian casinos, but nothing that gave him the prestige he wanted. He’d thought getting into the publishing business would make him look refined and give him what he craved, but this wasn’t prestige. This was shit. Who did this pissant think he was to talk to him like that!

It had seemed so easy. He’d hired a few people to do book designs and formatting, and a guy who claimed he knew how to manage everything related to promotion, but actually knew little or nothing when it came to selling books. With Vitali Publishing now a reality, Vinny was sure it would give him a classy image. That’s why he couldn’t accept that his blockbuster exposé of the guy who’d knocked off a notorious Mob boss had turned into a fuckin’ fairy tale cooked up by Tony ‘The Nose’s’ widow.

His voice dripped venom as he hissed, “Have it your way. Most people would fall all over themselves for a chance to get their hands on one of these.” He jammed the precious Cuban cigar back in the humidor. “Forget it. Let’s talk about what you’re here for. This fuckin’ manuscript.”

THE AUDIO BOOK IS CURRENTLY IN PRODUCTION

Just heard the first 15 minutes of the audio book now in production. Tom Lennon brings the characters to life in the perfect way. If you're one of those people who prefer audiobooks to eBooks or paperbacks, it will be available on Audible and Amazon - Target release date late July to early August.