Shot of Tequila
Table of Contents
Foreword by Blake Crouch
Chicago: 1993
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Author’s Afterword
Excerpt of Inside Out by Barry Eisler
Exclusive Ebooks by JA Konrath
Shot of Tequila
J. A. Konrath Blake Crouch
(2009)
* * *
Rating: ★★★★☆
A GUTSY ROBBERY
Several million bucks, stolen from the mob...
A PERFECT FRAME
All caught on video, with no chance of redemption...
A RED HOT RECIPE FOR RAMPAGING REVENGE
Now one man must face the entire Chicago Outfit, a group of hardened Mafia enforcers, a psychotic bookie, the most dangerous hitman on earth, and Detective Jacqueline Daniels...
His name is Tequila. And he likes those odds.
SHOT OF TEQUILA by JA Konrath
This ebook also features an exclusive sneak-peak--three full chapters--of INSIDE OUT, the latest thriller by NYT bestselling author Barry Eisler.
Book Description:
Shot of Tequila takes place in the early 1990s, and is both an homage to and a re-envisioning of classic action novels by authors like Mickey Spillane, Ross MacDonald, Donald Westlake, and Elmore Leonard, but with a more modern twist.
The breakneck action is intercut with scenes featuring Konrath's series hero Jack Daniels, here as a supporting character chasing the main protagonist.
Edge-of-your-seat suspense, non-stop action, and dark humor punctuate this heist novel/fugitive-on-the-run thriller. Fans of Konrath's police procedurals will enjoy the slight departure from his normal writing style, while still finding familiarity with the setting and characters.
SHOT OF TEQUILA is approximately 75,000 words, and is specially formatted for Kindle with an active table of contents.
Praise for JA Konrath's thriller Fuzzy Navel:
"Fuzzy Navel is Konrath at his best – a hilariously heartstopping thriller." — Linda Fairstein
"This gripping novel is an adrenalin rush." — Library Journal
"This book moves so fast it was like having the words fired into my head by a machine gun." — Crimespree
Praise for Afraid (JA Konrath writing as Jack Kilborn):
"AFRAID is a masterpiece of unrelenting horror. And I'm not exaggerating. Masterpiece. It's the best piece of fiction I've read in several years. It simply NEVER lets up." — James Rollins, author of The Judas Strain
"A bloody, terrifying, hurtling assault across a landscape of non-stop mayhem. A guilty, guilty pleasure." — F. Paul Wilson, creator of Repairman Jack
“AFRAID is a true page turner, a novel that offers a million mile a minute action and suspense. Definitely, a must have with constant thrills and chills." — Heather Graham, author of Deadly Gift
"Never have I read a novel so gruesome and simultaneously relentless. This book throbs with unmitigated, inexorable. sheer friggin’ TERROR. You’ll probably need a shrink when you’re done.” — Edward Lee, author of Brides of the Impaler
"Fast and ferocious, this is a dangerous thriller that will take a bite out of you. An absolute must read for anyone who loves the adrenaline rush of a shocking story told with style, speed and savage grace." — Jonathan Maberry, author of Patient Zero
About the Author
JA Konrath is the author of eight novels in the Jack Daniels thriller series. They do not have to be read in chronological order to be enjoyed, but for those who want to know it is: Whiskey Sour, Bloody Mary, Rusty Nail, Dirty Martini, Fuzzy Navel, Cherry Bomb, Shaken, and Stirred.
Jack also appears in the novels Shot of Tequila, Flee, Spree, Three, Timecaster Supersymmetry, Banana Hammock, and Serial Killers Uncut, as well as the short story collection Jack Daniels Stories, and the novellas Floaters and Burners.
Last Call, the ninth Jack Daniels novel, will be available in spring of 2013.
Other novels include Origin, The List, Shot of Tequila, and Serial Killers Uncut.
Konrath writes horror under the name Jack Kilborn, including the bestsellers Afraid, Trapped, and Endurance.
Haunted House, the new Jack Kilborn novel of terror, will be available in mid 2013.
He has sold over a million ebooks
From the Author
There is some ambiguity about where Shot of Tequila fits into the Jack Daniels series.
Technically, it is the first book in the series, because it takes place before Jack becomes a Lieutenant. But it really isn't Jack's book. She's a supporting character, not the main one. The main character is a mobster named Tequila.
Tequila later appears in Serial Killers Uncut, Spree, and Last Call.
I purposely write each of my books so it can be read without any prior knowledge of any of the others. If you want to start on the last book and work backwards, or start in the middle, you can still enjoy the series without missing anything.
That said, some readers do want a chronological list of events in Jack's life. So here it is.
Besides the eight Jack Daniels novels, Jack and her cohorts have appeared as supporting characters in several other books and stories. Here's the order, from her years as a rookie cop, to the future.
SHOT OF TEQUILA by JA Konrath
SERIAL KILLERS UNCUT by JA Konrath and Blake Crouch
WHISKEY SOUR by JA Konrath
BLOODY MARY by JA Konrath
THE LIST by JA Konrath
RUSTY NAIL by JA Konrath
DIRTY MARTINI by JA Konrath
EXPOSED by JA Konrath and Ann Voss Peterson
HIT by JA Konrath and Ann Voss Peterson*
NAUGHTY by JA Konrath and Ann Voss Peterson*
JACK DANIELS STORIES by JA Konrath
PUSHED TOO FAR by Ann Voss Peterson
FLEE by JA Konrath and Ann Voss Peterson
SPREE by JA Konrath and Ann Voss Peterson
THREE by JA Konrath and Ann Voss Peterson*
FLOATERS by JA Konrath and Henry Perez
BURNERS by JA Konrath and Henry Perez
FUZZY NAVEL by JA Konrath
CHERRY BOMB by JA Konrath
SHAKEN by JA Konrath
STIRRED by JA Konrath and Blake Crouch
LAST CALL by JA Konrath and Blake Crouch*
TIMECASTER by JA Konrath
TIMESUPERSYMMETRY by JA Konrath
TIMECASTER STEAMPUNK by JA Konrath*
*coming soon
The Jack Daniels books also cross over with several books with my frequent collaborator Blake Crouch, and my pen name, Jack Kilborn. These include:
DESERT PLACES by Blake Crouch
LOCKED DOORS by Blake Crouch
BREAK YOU by Blake Crouch
TRAPPED by Jack Kilborn
ENDURANCE by Jack Kilborn
About the Author
J.A. Konrath is the author of the Jacqueline “Jack” Daniels series that includes “Whiskey Sour,” “Bloody Mary,” “Rusty Nail,” “Dirty Martini,” “Fuzzy Navel” and “Cherry Bomb.”
I got a bottle of tequila, baby, who needs friends?
—Concrete Blonde
Dear Reader:
I’m envious of you. You’re about to read the first novel in J.A. Konrath’s Jack Daniels’ universe. I remember the first time I read Konrath’s work. I was introduced to Joe by a mutual friend who said, “You’ve got to read this guy’s stuff…he’s twisted just like you!”
So I started his book, and about a third of the way in, I put it down for just a moment to enjoy that rare and wonderful realization that comes when you’ve discovered Something Entirely New. What Konrath does better than anyone in the business is to put horror, humor, thrills, and suspense into the same scene (often on the same page). How he achieves this perfect balance of intensities, I don’t know, and believe me, I’ve tried to find out so I can steal it.
But reading Konrath over the years, I’ve come to the conclusion that he has invented a new style of fiction, which I would call, for lack of a better word, “hyperfiction.” Joe presents life on steroids—the humor, the heartbreak, the scares, and the thrills—and there is no better place to start than SHOT OF TEQUILA.
This book has everything—some of the best action scenes I’ve ever read, a hardboiled gutpunch, a brilliant plot, mesmerizing characters across the board, and, of course, early cameos featuring one of the greatest detectives in modern fiction—Jacqueline “Jack” Daniels.
But please be warned…reading this book will be the start of a serious addiction.
Blake Crouch, author of Desert Places
Foreword by Blake Crouch
Chicago: 1993
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Author’s Afterword
Excerpt of Inside Out by Barry Eisler
Exclusive Ebooks by JA Konrath
Winter meant death in Chicago.
Death to the homeless, turned away from overcrowded shelters and forced to stuff their ragged clothes with day-old newspaper.
Death to the motorists, skidding on filthy, snow-covered highways into the paths of trucks and guard rails and head-crunching support posts.
Death to the elderly, slipping on sidewalks and shattering brittle bones, and to the poor, unable to pay both the food bill and the gas bill.
Death to Billy Chico.
Chico was a small-time hustler and big-time loser who liked to bet the ponies and hit women. He was more successful at the latter. On his more reflective days—and there weren’t many—Chico figured he’d lost more than eighty thousand dollars in the ten or so years he’d been placing bets. He would have lost even more if the puta he married hadn’t sent the Man after him for child support. Chico knew the kid wasn’t really his. That child was bug-eyed, bare-assed ugly, and couldn’t have had any of Chico’s genes in his roly-poly body. Chico often compared himself to the ponies he loved to throw money after; sleek and muscled and hung, with a mane of gorgeous black and eyes that could stare through you, sister. A thoroughbred if there ever was.
Unfortunately, the thoroughbred just caught a bad tip, and couldn’t cover the bet he’d made with his very connected bookie. Two thousand bucks worth of bad tip, baby, five weeks of factory wages. A debt he couldn’t pay, especially since he had to fork out cash for rent, the bills, and child support for that skank and her ugly brat.
Chico, in a word, was powerfucked. And getting more PFed by the minute, because his marker was due and Marty the Maniac had definitely alerted his goons to begin collection proceedings.
Collection proceedings didn’t involve friendly chit-chat over coffee. They involved hurt. Lots of hurt. And Chico was far too fine to have anything broken, scarred, burned, or severed.
So Billy Chico took his last sixty bucks, bought a piece from a runner with gang ties, and went out to rob Teddy’s Liquors on 23rd and Cal.
It was cold, cold enough to freeze the juice that your brain floats in. Chico wore his trademark black leather jacket with the fringes hanging from the sleeves and he looked fly, even though it kept him warm for shit. The liquor store he picked was three blocks from his apartment; one with late-night hours and a constant flow of business. Not a corner store that just sold beer by the bottle, but a classy joint that had all that expensive wine and gift packs and overpriced whiskey in ceramic jugs shaped like Corvettes. Fancy shit like that. Chico figured on one of the busiest liquor days of the year—Super Bowl Sunday—the place would have at least two k in green. He might even come out a couple bucks ahead on the deal.
Billy Chico stopped at the front door, his skinny ass cheeks knocking together like two frozen oranges, an icy hand wrapped around the butt of the .32 in his jacket pocket. He hesitated. Having grown up on the streets, fear was something common to Chico, so fear wasn’t what gave him pause. But staring at his reflection in the heavy glass door made him realize he’d forgotten to bring something to cover his face. The asshole in the store could identify him. Murder never occurred to Chico, because that was for psychos. He was too good-looking to do hard time. Prison scared him, almost more than that crazy bookie did.
Almost.
He considered turning back when he remembered the mesh hair net covering his wavy mane. With a nervous giggle he stretched it down over his face, staring out through fishnet.
In and out. Should be quick. He took a deep breath of cold city air and pushed the door open, rushing in with his weapon pointed.
“Gimme all the money! Now!”
The proprietor was an old white dude, skinny and small with tiny little Santa Claus glasses. He held up his hands and looked appropriately terrified.
“Move your ass, old man!”
Chico thrust the revolver into the prune’s face, letting him see death through the half-inch hole in the barrel.
The old man stood stock-still, not moving an inch.
“What the hell is your problem, Grandpa? You deaf? I said get the goddamn money pronto or I’ll shoot off your head!”
The old man remained where he was.
Chico stole a nervous glance at the door to see if any customers were coming in, then got closer to the old man, cocking his gun to show he wasn’t playing around.
“I can’t open the safe,” the old man said.
“What?”
The old man pointed to the large sign sticking to the counter. Chico backed away and read the oversized words silently, even though his lips moved.
THE SAFE HAS A TIME LOCK AND CANNOT BE OPENED.
“What the fuck is a time lock?”
“Magnetic lock. Can only be opened in the morning at eight a.m.” The old man swallowed. “You’re welcome to wait around, if you want.”
“Then gimme the cash register mon
ey!”
He pointed to another sign.
THE CASH REGISTER CONTAINS LESS THAN $50.
The .32 in Chico’s hand felt heavy and foreign. His heart was beating in his throat. Even if he took the fifty, the gun cost him sixty, so he came out behind in the deal. What the hell should he do now? Leave and rob someone else? Or beat this old bastard senseless to see if he was lying?
The answer came to him in the shape of a champagne bottle. All Chico had to do was conk him on the head a few times with a magnum of Totts, then we’d see what was up with this time lock bullshit. Chico used his free hand to grab the handy bottle neck, holding the champagne like a club.
“You want to play rough, old man? I’ll give you a punt-shaped head!”
A sound; the electronic bell attached to the front door, beeping when a customer left or came in. Billy Chico and the old man looked to see a short guy in a Blackhawks jacket enter.
“Get on the floor, corto!”
The short man gave Chico an even stare and stopped where he stood.
“On the goddamn floor or I’ll blow your little head off!”
The man remained standing where he was. Weren’t people afraid of guns anymore?
“Marty sent me to collect your debt, Billy,” The short man had the low, steady voice of a talk radio jock.