Boomsters: An Unexpected Adventure
by David Marks
Genre: Mystery, Detective Mystery, Amateur Sleuth, Cozy Mystery, Action Adventure, Thriller
Rating: PG-13
Synopsis:
In the heart of Chicago, where shadows conceal secrets and organized crime reigns, one retiree embarks on an extraordinary journey.
With a strong need to know what happened to the victim and why, David attends the funeral, where he discovers an unusual cast of characters in attendance: the FBI, the frontrunner candidate for Mayor of Chicago, disciples of Chicago’s two dirtiest crime lords, and dozens of police officers.
David begins to investigate why all these people cared about the victim and why no one was calling it a murder. In his search for truth and justice, he gets caught in a web of contentious situations, each filled with a mixture of humor and suspense.
The further his investigation goes, the more he realizes he shouldn’t be asking who killed the victim or why it was being covered up. As David ultimately is confronted with becoming a criminal himself, the real question he has to ask is how much bad can he justify in the name of good?
As one reviewer said, “This book has the many twists and turns that a great mystery will throw at the reader. It is a fun read, witty, and suspenseful with many surprises turning up throughout the story. If you think you have this story figured out, you don’t!”
Guest Post:
Have you ever asked a police officer how to commit a murder?
I have.
I was writing a key scene for Boomsters: An Unexpected Adventure, and without giving too much away, I'll just tell you that a character is murdered. I talked to a friend about the scene and explained how the character dies, and my friend looked at me, confused.
"David, that doesn't make sense," my friend said. "There's no way the character would die the way you explained it."
I thought my friend was just giving me a hard time, but as I started to tell more people about the scene, I realized I might have a problem. Some people agreed with how I set the scene, but just as many people agreed with my friend.
How was I going to solve this predicament? I didn't really want to ask Google if this scenario would kill someone.
One day I was doing some writing at a public cafe, and I noticed a police officer walk in. If anyone could help answer my question, I figured an officer of the law could. But what if he got the wrong idea? I wrote this book to help keep my creative mind fresh, not end up in the backseat of a squad car. I thought about it for a minute or so and decided to go for it.
I walked up to the officer and began by thanking him for his hard work. Then I got right to it.
"Officer," I said, "I have a rather unusual question for you."
"OK?" he said questioningly.
"You see, sir, I'm writing a mystery, and in it, there's a murder. I fortunately have never committed a crime or considered murdering anyone, but I have an active imagination. Anyway, I wrote out the whole scene and thought it worked out, but then I showed it to a buddy and he said it didn't make sense."
By this point the officer seemed captivated by my saga.
"I see," he responded. "Well, tell me what happens."
I went ahead and painted the whole scene for him. I explained how I thought the murder would happen and then shared how my friend thought it would go down. The officer listened intently. When I finished, he remained quiet. I prayed he wasn't considering whether my tale was a confession. Fortunately, he was apparently just deep in thought about the dilemma.
After a few seconds, he told me he agreed with my buddy.
I thanked him for his time and opinion, and I reiterated that this was only for a book and that I'd never consider following through and making this work of fiction a reality. He appreciated that and shook my hand.
"So, who's the killer," the officer asked as we began to go our separate ways.
"You'll have to read the book to find out," I said with a smile.
I packed up my things and headed home. On the way, I called my friend and said a cop agreed with him and that I'd fix the details the next morning.
When I woke up, before getting to the revisions, I scoured the local news, hoping no one committed a crime like the one I created. Once I confirmed I was in the clear, I went back to the scene and rewrote it to match the logistics the officer shared. Satisfied, I sat back and thought about the officer's last words.
"Who's the killer?"
I'd lost count of how many times I'd been asked that question from people who knew about the story. I'd usually give a light-hearted remark like what I shared with the officer, but from the moment I realized this was going to be a book, I knew I wanted it to be more than a whodunnit.
I wanted readers to get more than just that type of mystery.
I wanted readers to meet a cast of characters straight out of a Coen Brothers movie, each with their own distinctive backstory, and figure out how they fit together.
I wanted readers to be entertained with humor while being confronted with ethical and moral dilemmas.
I wanted readers to have to answer the question of how much bad could be justified in the name of good.
Thank you to the hundreds of readers who've told me I accomplished that goal.
Thank you for reading this far and considering reading Boomsters.
And thank you to the officer who helped me out. I never caught your name, but if you're reading this, reach out to me at contact@boomsters.com. I'd love to send you a signed copy of the book.
Read an excerpt:
Chapter 1
BOOMSTERS
“We are gathered here today before God and in the company of loved ones to celebrate life,” Rabbi Rabinowitz said. “The life of—” He paused. “The life of—” Another pause. Finally, he pulled a notecard from his pocket. “We are here to celebrate the life of Melvin Weinberg.”
I adjusted my tie as I leaned toward Mary. “More like celebrating his death,” I said. She rolled her eyes as she listened to the rabbi.
“Melvin, or Mel, as most of you probably knew him, was a husband and a father, a man whose life was cut short at the age of fifty-six. The world will not be the same without him.”
“Yeah, it will be safer now,” I whispered to Mary, who responded with an elbow to my left kidney. “What? Clearly this rabbi never met Mel.”
Candidly, I had never met Mel either, but I was confident I knew more about him than any of the two hundred or so people at the funeral. My guess was most were here not because Mel would be missed but because so many people wanted to confirm he was dead.
When you’re in your seventies like I am, you become familiar with funerals and the certain routine that comes with them, but it was easy to see nothing was routine about this one. Sure, the rabbi forgot the dead man’s name, but now he was extolling Mel’s virtues. Mel had no virtues. He was a murderer, a rapist, and a gambler. You can’t live life as a jerk and die a mensch. Clearly the rabbi was officiating as a favor to someone.
But that wasn’t all that was off. Those in attendance were also peculiar. First, a half-dozen FBI agents patrolled the room. Sarah Cutler—the woman expected to be Chicago’s next mayor—was sitting in the front row for all to see. Scattered throughout were members and employees from the West Coast Club, a fitness center I’ve worked out at for more than twenty years and a place I know Mel was no member of.
Then there was the crowd in the back row. On one side sat associates of Tony Santori, the head of the notorious Italian crime family. Santori expanded his family’s corrupt and dishonorable reign from New Jersey to the Midwest six years ago, and although he wasn’t in attendance, his presence was certainly felt. On the other side were members of the Deli Boys, a pack of Jews who’d owned Chicago’s streets for decades, at least until Santori arrived. Solomon Feldman was their leader, though he, too, was not present. A line of uniformed Chicago police officers blanketed the room’s back wall, there primarily to keep the peace between the two families.
Keep the peace? At a funeral? Like I said, the whole scene was bizarre. Then again, I guess it was fitting for the unique set of circumstances surrounding Mel Weinberg’s death. Why they were there was a legitimate question, as was this: As a retired businessman who spent fifty years selling trinkets like light-up Christmas necklaces and pens that sang “Yankee Doodle Dandy,” what the hell was I doing there?
To answer that question, I needed to take a step back.
—–
David Blazen is my name, born soon after World War II ended at eight pounds and who cares how many ounces. Growing up, I loved to watch Saturday morning television, where Superman stood for justice and Captain America defended our country from evil. All the shows I gravitated toward appealed to me because they focused on doing the right thing, no matter if the hero was a rifleman or a collie. I liked when bad people were caught and justice prevailed. When I couldn’t find the right story on our black-and-white TV, I’d find it in my piles of GI Joe comic books. Before I fantasized about girls, I dreamed about being GI Joe.
The best education I got came from my World War II-veteran dad, a navy man who was the smartest person I knew, even though he never made it past fifth grade. From him I learned how to be human. His motto was simple: “It’s nice to be important, but it’s more important to be nice.”
I went to Wright Junior College in Chicago, but saying I went there is a loose term. I only showed up when I wanted, which wasn’t often. I wanted to learn to be a salesman, so when I wasn’t in class, I was practicing my craft. At that time, I sold personalized pens. I decided I learned all the school could teach me three months into my freshman year when I sold Wright Junior College ten thousand pens emblazoned with the school’s name on them.
After my brief stint in college, I started my own business. I sold creative impulse merchandise of all kinds—things people decide they can’t live without, like an extendable back scratcher or holiday-themed ice trays. Those who knew me then would call me creative and fast-paced, and I would agree. I had a zest for being zestful. My creativity was not stymied by what others did or what books said, only by the limits of my imagination. Every day, I challenged my brain to think outside the norm.
I got married to an incredible woman, and we raised four incredible children. I lost her to cancer far too young, before she could see any of our ten adorable grandchildren.
I retired after five decades at the helm of my company and issued my declaration of independence—I call it that because I truly felt independent for the first time in my life. No parents or teachers telling me what to do. No customers to worry about. No colleagues to manage. When I got that gold watch at my farewell party, it wasn’t just a sign of gratitude; it meant I was on my own.
The irony was I didn’t have anything to do; who cared what time it was?
When people asked about my retirement plans, I joked I’d figure something out, but really I didn’t have a clue. One advantage was I wouldn’t be completely alone. My girlfriend, Mary, retired from her forty-year business career the day after I left mine, and we entered this new world enthusiastic to travel, relax, and enjoy our lives with one another, like those hokey life insurance commercials with aging couples hugging on a boat, grateful to have time together.
It took us four days to realize we didn’t like boats and there was only so much hugging to do.
We went from leadership positions where others counted on us for direction to spending virtually every waking minute together. It used to take only one of us to squeeze the tomatoes at the produce counter, but now it’s a two-person event complete with discussion and, in most cases, a concession on my part. I was no dummy, though; bigger decisions would be needed at the avocados. What used to be short trips now became extended outings. Lunch was another discussion, followed by a compromise. Everything we did was a discussion, then a compromise.
The one thing we agreed on was we needed a new plan.
***
Excerpt from BOOMSTERS by David Marks. Copyright 2024 by David Marks. Reproduced with permission from David Marks. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
David Marks launched DM Merchandising, a wholesale marketplace for business owners, in 1988. He spent 30 years relying on his creativity in the hopes of developing the world’s greatest impulse products. He retired in 2018, thrilled for a new chapter in life, only to discover his creativity had hit a brick wall. One day he was an innovative workaholic with a team of more than 200 employees, the next day he found himself with no forum to exercise his mind.
Desperate to do something creative, he imagined a fictitious character facing the same traumatic reality of retirement. Inspired by watching crime stoppers on TV, David began pondering the question of how much bad could be justified in the name of good. With no clerical staff and limited typing skills, he put his thumb to work and began tapping out a story on his iPhone. A book was never the goal. The exercise was simply meant to help keep his mind sharp. But in the process, Boomsters was born.
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