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Killer Kink (A Dawson DC Metro Mystery Book 2) Kindle Edition

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Length: 165 pages Enhanced Typesetting: Enabled

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Editorial Reviews

About the Author

Fred Reed grew up in the rural South, swimming, shooting, fishing, driving too fast and drinking at least as much beer as he should have with the country boys. After a tour in Viet Nam with the Marines, during which he received more shrapnel in the face than he really wanted, he spent several years in the Sixties as long-haul hitchhiker, sleeping in ditches and meeting strange people. Later he fell into journalism almost accidentally, worked as international correspondent and scuba editor for Soldier of Fortune magazine, meeting yet stranger people. He then spent nine years as pólice writer for the Washington Times of Washington, D.C., riding with the cops for hundreds of nights in bad places populated by very bad people. He now lives near Guadalajara, Mexico, with his wife Violeta Gonzalez and several useless dogs.

Product Details

  • File Size: 411 KB
  • Print Length: 165 pages
  • Publication Date: February 14, 2012
  • Sold by: Amazon Digital Services, Inc.
  • Language: English
  • ASIN: B0079NEJNU
  • Text-to-Speech: Enabled
  • X-Ray:
  • Word Wise: Not Enabled
  • Lending: Enabled
  • Enhanced Typesetting: Enabled
  • Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #325,021 Paid in Kindle Store (See Top 100 Paid in Kindle Store)
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More About the Author

According to Fred, who is an occasionally reliable source (though he says his heart isn't in it): I was born in 1945 in Crumpler, West Virginia, an unincorporated coal camp near Bluefield where my maternal grandfather was the camp doctor, and steam locomotives chuffed spectacularly in to load coal at the tipple. (When someone got sick on the other side of the mountain, the miners would put Big Pat, as granddad was called, in a coal car and take him under the mountain. He had a robust conception of a house call.) My father was a mathematician, but then serving in the Pacific aboard the destroyer USS Franks. My paternal grandfather was dean and professor of mathematics at Hampden-Sydney College, a small and (then, and perhaps now) quite good liberal arts school in southwest Virginia. In general my family for many generations were among the most literate, the most productive, and the dullest people in the South. Presbyterians.
After the war I lived as a navy brat here and there--San Diego, Mississippi, the Virginia suburbs of Washington, Alabama, what have you, and briefly in Farmville, Virginia, while my father went on active duty for the Korean War as an artillery spotter. I was an absorptive and voracious reader, a terrible student, and had by age eleven an eye for elevation and windage with a BB gun that would have awed a missile engineer. I was also was a bit of a mad scientist. For example, I think I was ten when I discovered the formula for thermite in the Britannica at Athens College in Athens, Alabama, stole the ingredients from the college chemistry laboratory, and ignited a mound of perfectly adequate thermite in the prize frying pan of the mother of my friend Perry, whose father
was the college president. The resulting six-inch hole in the frying pan was hard to explain.
I went to high school in King George County, Virginia, while living aboard Dahlgren Naval Weapons Laboratory (my father was always a weapons-development sort of mathematician, although civilian by this time), where I was the kid other kids weren't supposed to play with. I spent my time canoeing, shooting, drinking unwise but memorable amounts of beer with the local country boys, attempting to be a French rake with only indifferent success, and driving in a manner that, if you are a country boy, I don't have to describe, and if you aren't, you wouldn't believe anyway. I remember trying to explain to my father why his station wagon was upside down at three in the morning after I had flipped it at seventy on a hairpin turn that would have intimidated an Alpine goat.
As usual I was a woeful student--if my friend Butch and I hadn't found the mimeograph stencil for the senior Government exam in the school's Dempster Dumpster, I wouldn't have graduated--but was a National Merit Finalist.
After two years at Hampden-Sydney, where I worked on a split major in chemistry and biology with an eye to oceanography, I was bored. After spending the summer thumbing across the continent and down into Mexico, hopping freight trains up and down the eastern seaboard, and generally confusing myself with Jack Kerouac, I enlisted in the Marines, in the belief that it would be more interesting than stirring unpleasant glops in laboratories and pulling apart innocent frogs. It was. On returning from Vietnam with a lot of stories, as well as a Purple Heart and more shrapnel in my eyes than I really wanted, I graduated from Hampden-Sydney with lousy grades and a bachelor-of-science degree with a major in history and a minor in computers. Really. My GREs were in the 99th percentile.
The years from 1970 to 1973 I spent in largely disreputable pursuits, a variety that has always come naturally to me. I wandered around Europe, Asia, and Mexico, and acquired the usual stock of implausible but true stories about odd back alleys and odder people.
When the 1973 war broke out in the Mid-East, I decided I ought to do something respectable, thought that journalism was, and told the editor of my 327
home-town paper, "Hi! I want to be a war correspondent." This was a sufficiently damn-fool thing to do that he let me go, probably to see what would happen. Writing, it turned out, was the only thing I was good for. Using my clips from Israel, I argued to the editors of Army Times that they needed my services to cover the war in Vietnam. They too let me do it. Editorial bad judgement is a valuable resource.
I spent the last year of the war between Phnom Penh and Saigon, leaving each with the evacuation. Those were heady days in which I lived in slums that would have horrified a New York alley cat, but they appealed to the Steinbeck in me, of which there is a lot. After the fall of Saigon I returned to Asia, resumed residence for six months in my old haunts in Taipei, and studied Chinese while waiting for the next war, which didn't come. Returning overland, I took up a career of magazine free-lancing, a colorful route to starvation, with stints on various staffs interspersed. For a year I worked in Boulder, Colorado, on the staff of Soldier of Fortune magazine, half zoo and half asylum, with the intention of writing a book about it. Publishing houses said, yes, Fred, this is great stuff, but you are obviously making it up. I wasn't. Playboy eventually published it, making me extremely persona non grata at Soldier of Fortune.
Having gotten married somewhere along the way, I am now the happily divorced father of the World's Finest Daughters. Until recently I worked as, among other things, a law-enforcement columnist for theWashington Times. It allowed me to take trips to big cities and to ride around in police cars with the siren going woowoowoo and kick in doors of drug dealers. Recently I changed the column from law enforcement to technology, and now live in Mexico in Jocotopec, near Guadalajara, having found burros preferable to bureaus. I now share my existence with Violeta Gonzales, who was what God had in mind when he created women but just hadn't quite perfected the idea until recently.
My hobbies are crawling South America, scuba, listening to blues, swing-dancing in dirt bars, associating with colorful maniacs, and writing seditious columns.
My principal accomplishment in life, aside from my children, is the discovery that it is possible to jitterbug to the Brandenburgs.

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

18 of 18 people found the following review helpful By J. Wolfe on February 18, 2012
Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase
I've only read the sample which amounts to the first 4 chapters and I know I'm going to LOVE the rest of it. So I bought it and his other book, "Triple Tap". I've been reading Fred's e-columns for quite a few years now and I find his views on society in general and American society in particular very refreshing. I don't always agree with him, but I know that he's told me like it is in his own words and doesn't really care whether I agree with him or not! I have every confidence these books are going to be written with the same honest grit that he brings to his coluimns, and I look forward to every word!

John in Texas
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10 of 10 people found the following review helpful By Jim Morris VINE VOICE on February 20, 2012
Format: Kindle Edition
In the days when Soldier of Fortune had a stable of terrific macho writers Fred Reed stood at the top of that pile. He's a combat vet with years of experience with the DCPD, not as a cop but as a reporter. Now he's fictionalized his experiences in an engrossing and compelling way. You'll like Dawson, and you'll like his cops. You'll like his car. You won't like his bad guys. This is tough guy fiction at it's very best. Worth more than you'll pay for it.
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8 of 9 people found the following review helpful By Bernard Brandt on February 22, 2012
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I have just finished the most intriguing crime novel that I have read since first rushing through Thomas Harris' The Silence of the Lambs, or John D. McDonald's The Lonely Silver Rain. It is Fred Reed's Killer Kink.

To tell truth, I'd gotten tired of most recent crime writing. Lately, it's been too much white wine and french cheese dining on or about Sensitive New Age Detectives of indeterminate gender, and the sneaking suspicion that the nearest the alleged writer got to a crime was watching CSI. Hell, if I wanted any of those unintended parodies, I'd listen to Garrison Keillor's Guy Noir, instead. At least Keillor is funny.

Fred Reed, though, is the genuine article. He's a crime reporter from way back, who has actually ridden and worked with the cops, and seen the sort of stuff they've had to deal with. He's also got a lapidary writing style as cold-chiseled as anything Rex Stout or John D. ever turned out. And speaking of those masters, Fred has managed to find or speak through a first-person narrator as hard-bitten and fascinating as Archie Goodwin or Travis McGee ever was. I'm not going to describe the plot, as I'm not into spoilers, but be assured that you are in for a wild ride.

So, if you like your crime-fic straight, no chaser, and double-plus-un-P.C., and prose as well-crafted as Chopin or Brubeck on piano, then Fred Reed's your man, and Killer Kink is your book.
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2 of 2 people found the following review helpful By James D. Hutchinson on January 23, 2013
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If you are looking for a detective story that has super heroes or a Sherlock Holmes saying ah ha that is the answer, or a psychic that looks in a crystle ball and sees the answer this book is for you. But if you want an insight on how real crime reporters and real police work this is for you. I was a cop this book put me back on the beat. With all of the fallible people. The Don Quexotes that daily tilt with the windmills of the law just to try and bring law and order to a corrupt and wicked world. The Crazy people that think there is some good in this society worth injury and even death. to protect. You will decend into the hell of the streets copliment of an author that has been there. As a police reporter himself he has walk where no sane TV talking head has ever gone. He takes you step by heart pounding step into the world of the junkie, pimps and hookers that make up the underbelly of a thing they call the real city - the sun down place where the up scaled WASP never go. Or if they do it is only to get the food for the monkey they carry on their backs. This book is a heart pounding page turner from the first sentence to the shocking ending, to the quiet last word. No other book has left me breathless as this one. It is shocking, humorous ,scary ride. Buy the book and get ready for a bumpy ride of your life
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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful By Amazon Customer on December 17, 2012
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I love Fred's blog, "Fred on Everything". I bought this book as a token of gratitude for the years of thought-provoking reading he's given me. This book is a product of the many hours Fred spent as a crime scene reporter, doing ride-alongs with the cops, mainly in D.C. The writing is pretty solid, though it could have used a bit more editing, and the plot was convoluted enough to satisfy. On the other hand, it just wasn't my cup of tea. I'm a fantasy, SF sort of guy and I even like some of the classics like Sherlock Holmes, or Hercule Poirot. This crime drama just never really engaged me and I didn't really care about the protagonist, the crime or the resolution.

In the future I may give some of Fred's books about his escapades in Southeast Asia a go, but not any more of the cop stories.

On the other hand, they might be just your cup of tea, so I suggest you try one and give Fred some support in the process, especially if you're a regular reader of his blog.
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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful By Catcher50 on August 26, 2013
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I did actually enjoy this whodunit. The characters, while not deeply explored were believable, in a noir sort of way. My main gripe is the amazing number of mistakes that the author made in dealing with the DC area. Maybe I'm nitpicking, and maybe it's just because I grew up and live in the area, but those bothered me. For most readers,it won't make any difference, just as mistakes in the geography of Key West wouldn't bother me in a book using that setting.
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