Blog Tour & Giveaway for The Travis Club

In the mood for a good mystery? Check out The Travis Club which is set in Texas, where I currently reside. I enjoy reading novels with familiar settings and a good plot, so I’ve added this book to my reading list.
Mark-Banner

The Travis Club

by Mark Rybczyk

Radio listeners in Dallas/Fort Worth may know Mark Louis Rybczyk better as ‘Hawkeye,’ the long time morning host on heritage country station, 96.3 FM KSCS. An award-winning disc jockey, Mark, along with his partner Terry Dorsey, have the longest-running morning show in Dallas. Mark is an avid skier, windsurfer and traveler. He is also the host of ‘Travel With Hawkeye’ a radio and television adventure feature that airs across the country. The Travis Club is the third book from Mark Louis Rybczyk.

Website | Metroplexing | San Antonio Uncovered | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Publisher: Self PublishedTTC

Genre: Mystery

Release Date: June 17, 2013

Amazon

In a cathedral in downtown San Antonio, just a few blocks from the Alamo, sits the tomb of Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie and the other Alamo Defenders. Or so we have been led to believe. What secrets really lie inside the tomb and what has a group of misguided activists known as The Travis Club stumbled upon? How far will the city’s power brokers go to protect those secrets?

What would happen if a group of slackers discovered San Antonio’s DaVinci Code? Find out in the new book by Mark Louis Rybczyk, The Travis Club.

 

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Noel Black sharpened a pencil and placed it neatly back in the top drawer of his glass-topped desk, right next to the other sharpened pencils. He glanced at the clock then straightened a few

paper clips and a calculator on the stark, polished surface.

11:08 p.m.

He knew he’d be leaving soon. So important to stay on schedule. Especially on a night like tonight, when a life would come to an end.

Among the abstract paintings of his office was one unframed black and white print. A picture of her. Not a picture of sentiment, but simply of record. A photo that would soon belong in a file.

Black fingered the yellowed photograph and could not help but think of childhood visits to his mother’s father, his abuelo. He remembered spending the hot San Antonio summers at a rickety west-side

duplex much different than his parents’ ranch house in Dallas. Abuelo’s home was filled with people, music, food and love.

As a child, Black would spend summer afternoons within earshot of the front window, waiting for the rumble of his grandfather’s old diesel engine. Then the home would fill with other workers, workers

who were grateful to the old lady. All immigrants, they had left Mexico hoping for a better life. The old lady offered them higher wages than the pecan shellers received.

With the promise of steady income came the chance to move into a house with plumbing, to send money home, and to send for other relatives. His grandfather loved the old lady and he did too.

More recently, Noel Black’s feelings about her had changed. She was a relic, an icon of a past era. Now in her final years of the 20th century, the old lady had outlived her usefulness and had no place in

the modern San Antonio that he envisioned. She was in his way. She needed to be eliminated.

Of course, this kind of work had to be contracted out. He usually relied on a local contact who understood the procedures. Anytime a life was extinguished, it must be done with precision in Noel Black’s

world.

11:22 p.m.

38 minutes to show time. His instructions were explicit: action not to be taken until midnight.

Not a second sooner. Not a moment later.

He locked the glass door behind him and walked briskly to his polished black BMW. He knew that he should stay and wait for a call. But tonight, waiting was too difficult.

11:37 p.m.

He eased the perfectly waxed sedan through the streets of downtown and into the fringes of the west side. “This land is way too valuable,” he mumbled aloud. He slowed down and parked across the

street, hoping to be inconspicuous, even though he knew that a European sedan was about as common in this South Texas barrio as a snowball.

Just a quick look,” he told himself.

He caught the eye of a shadowy figure in a black hooded sweatshirt. It was one of the locals he had hired to complete the job. Black flashed back the mal ojo, the evil eye. He knew he shouldn’t have

come. But deep inside he needed to see her one last time, not to pay his respects, but to make sure the job was done right.

11:46 p.m.

He started up his engine and allowed his eyes one final glance at her. It was one time too many. Immediately, he noticed something amiss. A glint behind a window pane that made him realize someone

must have been tipped off.

He felt a rock in his stomach. He knew there would be trouble.

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