Got an unusual cook and recipe today! James R Tuck is serving up his hero Deacon Chalk. What does bad-ass taste like? Grab some bourbon and let's find out...
Deacon Chalk (Occult-Bounty Hunter)
By James R. Tuck
Blood and Magic (Deacon Chalk book 3)
2 Cups of Southern Gentleman
1 Liter of Big Damn Hero
A GENEROUS Handful of Testosterone
Equal parts Death Wish and Devout Catholicism until Full Gallon
6 ounces of Righteous Anger finely chopped
¼ Cup of Gunpowder
100 hours of Tattoo Ink
4 heaping Tablespoons of Alpha Male
5 Shots of Bourbon
4 Quarts of Angel Blood
300 Pounds of Badass
4/3 Cup of Sarcasm
Okay, today you're cooking Southern style, so screw the apron and put on a comfy pair of jeans and a black t-shirt and turn up some good-old raw and rough Delta-style blues for a soundtrack. Got your mojo hand workin? Good for you, let's go.
Take your 2 Cups of Southern Gentleman, 4 heaping (and when we say heaping we mean let it mound up until it spills over the sides like an avalanche) Tablespoons of Alpha Male, and your 100 Hours of Tattoo Ink and pour them into the 300 Pounds of Badass.
Stir vigorously and set to the side. Mix will continue to set while you work.
Take your equal parts Death Wish and Devout Catholicism and pour into large pot on HIGH heat. Cover and let simmer.
Turn the pan with the Big Damn Hero/Righteous Anger/Testosterone reduction upside down over the Badass. Let it all fall out of the pan and into the mix.
Fold in all 4 Quarts of Angel blood. It may crackle and pop, but that's normal at this stage, just be careful.
Using your mitts remove the Death Wish/Devout Catholicism mix from heat and pour into Badass. This mixture will never stop boiling and will permeate the entire dish.
Sprinkle liberally with Gunpowder and Sarcasm.
And strapped to a stretcher.
I jerked against the straps, yanking at them. The metal gurney rattled and thumped against the inside of the ambulance. I hate waking up and finding myself tied down.
“Easy there, big fella. Easy.”
Rolling my head around, I found myself face-to-face with a young man. He was a good-looking young man, thin but built. Almond-shaped brown eyes looked at me from a face carved in angles and flat planes. A razor-thin mustache sat above full lips. Most people would look silly in a mustache that narrow, but it fit the face I was looking at. He put one wide hand on my arm, it was warm through the thin latex glove.
He spun around to face me, sitting on the low bench next to the stretcher. “It’s cool, man. Relax, I got you. I was just about to take out this big hunk of glass you’ve got stuck in your shoulder.”
“Why am I strapped down?”
He looked sheepish. “That isn’t my fault. I was just following orders.”
“Who the hell ordered me to be strapped down?”
A monotone voice came from outside the ambulance.
“I did.”
The man that stepped into my line of sight was normal. Completely and totally normal. Close-cropped sandy brown hair gelled close to his scalp. His face was unmarked; plain, but edging toward interesting. Completely clean-shaven, not one whisker to be seen. His eyes were wrapped in dark sunglasses. He was just shy of six foot, just shy of 200 pounds, and packaged in a black suit that didn’t quite fit right, complete with a skinny black tie.
“And who the hell do you think you are?”
His hand whipped up, slapping open a black wallet. Inside it flashed a gold badge and a small card with the man’s picture and some writing. “Special Agent Silas Heck, O.C.I.D.” He whipped the badge back into his jacket just slow enough for me to see the black semiautomatic holstered at his hip.
“You got something to tell me, Special Agent Heck? Like where the hell my friends are, and why the hell you have me strapped to this damn gurney?”
He pointed to the straps and then waved to the EMT. The young man began unbuckling me.
Special Agent Heck leaned against the open doors. “Your friends are fine. They’re finishing up questioning now. I had you strapped down because I didn’t want you disappearing before we had a chance to chat.” His voice had a hard tone to it, not quite an accent, but almost. Not so much the sound as the way he used his words.
The EMT finished unbuckling me and I sat up. My head brushed the roof of the ambulance. It took a second to realize that I felt pretty good. I still ached, but it was distant, one step removed from me. “Did you give me something?”
The EMT nodded. “Just a small shot of Demerol. It’ll wear off in a few hours. You might want to be in bed before that happens.”
Yeah right.
Turning to Special Agent Heck, I started to push off the gurney to leave. The EMT put his hand on my chest. He nodded toward my shoulder. “I still need to get that out.”
The piece of glass was sticking out of my skin. It jutted up about three quarters of an inch and was coated in thick, tacky blood. Looking at it brought the hurt to the front of my mind. The painkiller kept it from being too bad, wrapping it in a fuzzy warm blanket, softening the edges to something almost abstract.
My fingers closed on the sticky glass.
Deep breath in.
Let it out.
Yank.
The glass slid free, slick and smooth, leaving behind a hollow ache. Blood pulsed to the surface, bubbling out of the gash. I let the shard fall from my fingers. It shattered on the metal floor of the ambulance.
Special Agent Heck pushed off the door. “Patch him up, Doc. I’ll be right outside.” He turned and walked away.
The EMT shook his head at me.
“You are crazy.”
I waved my hand. “Not me. Just busy. Got sh*t to do.” Like track down some damn witches. “So suture me up and get me moving.”
“You sure you don’t want to do it yourself? I can give you the stuff.”
“Don’t be a smartass. Nobody likes a smartass.”
A GENEROUS Handful of Testosterone
Equal parts Death Wish and Devout Catholicism until Full Gallon
6 ounces of Righteous Anger finely chopped
¼ Cup of Gunpowder
100 hours of Tattoo Ink
4 heaping Tablespoons of Alpha Male
5 Shots of Bourbon
4 Quarts of Angel Blood
300 Pounds of Badass
4/3 Cup of Sarcasm
Okay, today you're cooking Southern style, so screw the apron and put on a comfy pair of jeans and a black t-shirt and turn up some good-old raw and rough Delta-style blues for a soundtrack. Got your mojo hand workin? Good for you, let's go.
Take your 2 Cups of Southern Gentleman, 4 heaping (and when we say heaping we mean let it mound up until it spills over the sides like an avalanche) Tablespoons of Alpha Male, and your 100 Hours of Tattoo Ink and pour them into the 300 Pounds of Badass.
Stir vigorously and set to the side. Mix will continue to set while you work.
Take first shot of Bourbon.
(You should have bought better Bourbon.)
Take your equal parts Death Wish and Devout Catholicism and pour into large pot on HIGH heat. Cover and let simmer.
Take second shot of Bourbon.
(Actually, that Bourbon's okay.)
In a pan on medium heat add the 1 Liter of Big Damn Hero. Bring to a low boil and toss in the 6 Ounces of Righteous Anger. Scatter over with the handful of Testosterone until the entire thing is cover. DO NOT STIR. Reduce heat and wait while Righteous Anger melts into nice sploogey bits and Testosterone forms a smooth crust.
Okay, return to the now settled 300 Pounds of Badass that you filled earlier. The mix should be set now and ready for the rest. Everything moves quickly from here. Use your oven mitts, things are gonna get hot.
Take third shot of Bourbon.
(Yep, this Bourbon is just fine.)
Okay, return to the now settled 300 Pounds of Badass that you filled earlier. The mix should be set now and ready for the rest. Everything moves quickly from here. Use your oven mitts, things are gonna get hot.
Turn the pan with the Big Damn Hero/Righteous Anger/Testosterone reduction upside down over the Badass. Let it all fall out of the pan and into the mix.
Slam the fourth shot of Bourbon.
(Say, you can really pick a good Bourbon!)
Using your mitts remove the Death Wish/Devout Catholicism mix from heat and pour into Badass. This mixture will never stop boiling and will permeate the entire dish.
Sprinkle liberally with Gunpowder and Sarcasm.
Take fifth shot of Bourbon and enjoy your meal!
(Best Bourbon ever!)
Taste Test
I came back in a snap. One second I was out, the next I was wide awake. And strapped to a stretcher.
I jerked against the straps, yanking at them. The metal gurney rattled and thumped against the inside of the ambulance. I hate waking up and finding myself tied down.
“Easy there, big fella. Easy.”
Rolling my head around, I found myself face-to-face with a young man. He was a good-looking young man, thin but built. Almond-shaped brown eyes looked at me from a face carved in angles and flat planes. A razor-thin mustache sat above full lips. Most people would look silly in a mustache that narrow, but it fit the face I was looking at. He put one wide hand on my arm, it was warm through the thin latex glove.
He spun around to face me, sitting on the low bench next to the stretcher. “It’s cool, man. Relax, I got you. I was just about to take out this big hunk of glass you’ve got stuck in your shoulder.”
“Why am I strapped down?”
He looked sheepish. “That isn’t my fault. I was just following orders.”
“Who the hell ordered me to be strapped down?”
A monotone voice came from outside the ambulance.
“I did.”
The man that stepped into my line of sight was normal. Completely and totally normal. Close-cropped sandy brown hair gelled close to his scalp. His face was unmarked; plain, but edging toward interesting. Completely clean-shaven, not one whisker to be seen. His eyes were wrapped in dark sunglasses. He was just shy of six foot, just shy of 200 pounds, and packaged in a black suit that didn’t quite fit right, complete with a skinny black tie.
“And who the hell do you think you are?”
His hand whipped up, slapping open a black wallet. Inside it flashed a gold badge and a small card with the man’s picture and some writing. “Special Agent Silas Heck, O.C.I.D.” He whipped the badge back into his jacket just slow enough for me to see the black semiautomatic holstered at his hip.
“You got something to tell me, Special Agent Heck? Like where the hell my friends are, and why the hell you have me strapped to this damn gurney?”
He pointed to the straps and then waved to the EMT. The young man began unbuckling me.
Special Agent Heck leaned against the open doors. “Your friends are fine. They’re finishing up questioning now. I had you strapped down because I didn’t want you disappearing before we had a chance to chat.” His voice had a hard tone to it, not quite an accent, but almost. Not so much the sound as the way he used his words.
The EMT finished unbuckling me and I sat up. My head brushed the roof of the ambulance. It took a second to realize that I felt pretty good. I still ached, but it was distant, one step removed from me. “Did you give me something?”
The EMT nodded. “Just a small shot of Demerol. It’ll wear off in a few hours. You might want to be in bed before that happens.”
Yeah right.
Turning to Special Agent Heck, I started to push off the gurney to leave. The EMT put his hand on my chest. He nodded toward my shoulder. “I still need to get that out.”
The piece of glass was sticking out of my skin. It jutted up about three quarters of an inch and was coated in thick, tacky blood. Looking at it brought the hurt to the front of my mind. The painkiller kept it from being too bad, wrapping it in a fuzzy warm blanket, softening the edges to something almost abstract.
My fingers closed on the sticky glass.
Deep breath in.
Let it out.
Yank.
The glass slid free, slick and smooth, leaving behind a hollow ache. Blood pulsed to the surface, bubbling out of the gash. I let the shard fall from my fingers. It shattered on the metal floor of the ambulance.
Special Agent Heck pushed off the door. “Patch him up, Doc. I’ll be right outside.” He turned and walked away.
The EMT shook his head at me.
“You are crazy.”
I waved my hand. “Not me. Just busy. Got sh*t to do.” Like track down some damn witches. “So suture me up and get me moving.”
“You sure you don’t want to do it yourself? I can give you the stuff.”
“Don’t be a smartass. Nobody likes a smartass.”
Blood and Magic: Deacon Chalk Book 3
Release Date: March 5, 2013
ISBN-10: 0758271492
ISBN-13: 978-0758271495
Release Date: March 5, 2013
ISBN-10: 0758271492
ISBN-13: 978-0758271495
Taking out hellish creatures—not a problem. Armed with blessed silver hollow-points and the ability to manipulate magick, he’s ready for anything—except betrayal he never saw coming…
Deacon Chalk knows the biggest danger in fighting monsters is becoming one. Just another day at the office for your friendly neighborhood occult bounty hunter. If keeping three helpless were-dog children safe means battling a malevolent trio of witches by any means necessary, so be it. If that means partnering with a ruthless government agent to stay one step ahead of the allies and friends he must now suspect, he’s not going to cry about it. The only way Deacon can save humans and shape-shifters alike is to embrace a power beyond his imagining, putting his team at stake—and his soul on the line…
“. . . Chalk takes his gory demon-slaying business dead seriously, allowing readers to have both fun and high-powered action. This exciting and charmingly ridiculous installment will appeal to fans of B-movies and urban fantasy.” Publishers Weekly
Deacon Chalk knows the biggest danger in fighting monsters is becoming one. Just another day at the office for your friendly neighborhood occult bounty hunter. If keeping three helpless were-dog children safe means battling a malevolent trio of witches by any means necessary, so be it. If that means partnering with a ruthless government agent to stay one step ahead of the allies and friends he must now suspect, he’s not going to cry about it. The only way Deacon can save humans and shape-shifters alike is to embrace a power beyond his imagining, putting his team at stake—and his soul on the line…
“. . . Chalk takes his gory demon-slaying business dead seriously, allowing readers to have both fun and high-powered action. This exciting and charmingly ridiculous installment will appeal to fans of B-movies and urban fantasy.” Publishers Weekly
About the Author:
James R. Tuck is a multi-published author of Dark Urban Fantasy, Crime Fiction, Horror, and Science Fiction/Fantasy. He owns Family Tradition Tattoo in Marietta, Ga and lives in the Atlanta area with his lovely wife, a cool son, a terrific daughter, and four kooky dogs.
He writes the stories that keep you up at night.
Buy:
Indiebound
Books-A-Million
Barnes&Noble
Amazon
GIVEAWAY
He writes the stories that keep you up at night.
Buy:
Indiebound
Books-A-Million
Barnes&Noble
Amazon
GIVEAWAY
Giving away a copy of one of Tuck's books. Not sure which one it will be yet! (bad, bad blogger didn't confirm) I will post it here as soon as I know which one <G> but go ahead and enter!
