No Sympathy for the Wicked blog tour



There’s a reason they call Las Vegas “Sin City”. There’s a reason tourists are reassured “what happens here, stays here.” Dark places and shadows are the natural counterpart to bright lights and boundless sunshine. Las Vegas has plenty of both.

Wherever there are shadows there is the potential for shadowy figures and shady dealings. No Sympathy for the Wicked shines a light on a side of life where seduction, betrayal, death and damage are business as usual. Step into the shadows if you wish but remember to always watch your back.

Enjoy this excerpt for Joseph Albert King’s new book:

Bernie, ‘Bar None,’ Bardot sat in front of the ‘Star Wars’ penny slots in the lavish South Point casino. He was nervous; his drug dealer was going to call him on the cell phone he had stolen from a tourist. The phone wouldn’t stop vibrating, and Bar None figured it was because the owner was trying to find it by calling it and listening for its ring. There was only one number he would answer for, Doc’s.

Doc Judd was his best friend. At least that’s how it felt when the man came through with Bernie’s medicine. The twenty-three year old small time crook sat and twitched nervously as he waited for his meds.

The phone buzzed in his pocket for about the hundredth time, and Bernie fumbled for it. Doc’s number flashed on the screen. “Hello,” Bernie said, with desperate anticipation.

“Hey,” was all that came across the line.

“Hey, Doc- um, w-what’s going on?”

“What the hell you want, Bernie?”

“Hey man- I got the money I owe you, plus some- you- you know?”

“Where you at?” Doc’s voice sounded impatient.

“I’ll come to you, Doc.”

“I don’t doubt that, but I want to know how long it’s going to take you to get here. I’m assuming your dumb ass doesn’t have a car.” Doc spoke harshly and with a quick tone.

“No, but I can get one,” Bernie said nervously.

“You fucking moron, how long is it going to take you? I got to take my family out to eat and to the show and shit.”

“Half an hour, swear to God,” Bernie said.

“All right mother-fucker, you got thirty minutes. You’re not here in thirty minutes, I’m not here in thirty minutes.”

“I’ll be there, man,” Bernie was already out the side door of the casino, and, with his luck, the number 117 bus was arriving at the casino. He ran down to the Silverado Ranch bus stop, and waited half a minute for the bus to make its way through the parking lot. Bernie thought it was stupid that it was against the law for the buses to drop off or pick up on Casino property.

The bus pulled up and Bernie jumped on it. He put in $2.50 and got his twenty-four hour pass to transfer for free to the other buses. He knew thirty minutes was enough time to get to Maryland Parkway and Serene. The bus pulled out and headed up Silverado Ranch Blvd., going past the neighborhood grocer Wal-Mart, and making its way to the final stop at Albertson’s on Maryland Parkway. Bernie finally felt a little relaxed; he was going to get well soon.

I hope you enjoyed that!

The book is available here:

Join us on a fun blog tour as well! The blog tour is happening now, lots of great prizes:


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