Call Me Sonny
About The Book
Call Me Sonny
In his page-turning debut novel "Call Me Sonny," acclaimed author Steve Lazarus invites readers on an unforgettable journey into a world shrouded in mystery, danger, and unyielding suspense. Drawing from his own real-life experiences, Lazarus weaves a masterful tale that will leave readers captivated from the first page to the last.
The story unfolds shortly after a corrupt attorney's clandestine visit to an inmate serving a life sentence in a federal supermax prison. A chilling sequence of events is set into motion when individuals from the inmate's shadowy past begin meeting grim fates, one after another. At the heart of this tumultuous storm stands Bryce Chandler, a retired FBI Agent eking out a living as a private investigator in the sun-soaked paradise of the Florida Keys.
As Bryce delves deeper into the perplexing web of killings, he links them to a secretive murder-for-hire organization operating on the Dark Web. Soon after, Bryce makes a startling discovery—his own name appears as the final entry on the list of victims.
Simultaneously, what begins as a seemingly routine divorce case takes an unforeseen twist, unraveling a complex tapestry of international drug smuggling, money laundering, and ruthless enforcers willing to do anything to ensure their secrets remain buried. Bryce's investigation into the defendant's secret life propels him down a treacherous path, where every step is fraught with peril and the line between survival and silence grows increasingly blurred.
These two gripping storylines, seemingly disparate at first, run parallel to one another, their narratives intertwining in an intricate dance of suspense and revelation. With each turn of the page, Lazarus skillfully builds tension, propelling readers toward an electrifying convergence where the destinies of the characters collide in a final, blood-soaked climax.
Written over the course of a year in evocative locations such as Abu Dhabi, the Florida Keys, and the picturesque hills of Texas, "Call Me Sonny" is infused with the essence of Lazarus' multifaceted FBI career, incorporating the vivid personalities, captivating anecdotes, and behind-the-curtain experiences that have shaped his journey.
With "Call Me Sonny," Lazarus sets the stage for a dark, exhilarating series of Bryce Chandler crime thrillers. Prepare to be ensnared by his storytelling prowess, as he skillfully crafts a tale that transcends the boundaries of the genre, immersing readers in a world where nothing is as it seems and the stakes have never been higher.
Excerpt
Call Me Sonny
In Atlanta, the name “Buckhead” was synonymous with luxury and affluence. The stylish
suburb due north of the city had long been known for its upscale shopping, fine dining, art
galleries, and trendy night life. Its residents laid claim to the highest median income in the
metropolitan area, and nothing said “I’ve arrived” quite like a Buckhead mailing address.
At 4:30 a.m. the gunman pulled onto a side street in a residential neighborhood off West Paces
Ferry Road, shut off the engine, and smoked a cigarette while he waited, watched, and listened.
It was his fourth visit to the area, and he was confident in his choice of time and location.
Buckhead didn’t come to life much before sunrise, with the exception of the occasional jogger or
dog walker. There were few street lights off the beaten path, and an abundance of places to lay
in wait.
He crushed out his cigarette and put the butt in his pocket, left his car and walked northwest
toward the Governor’s mansion, donning gloves along the way. When he reached Habersham
Road he turned right and disappeared into a stand of trees alongside the street, instantly
becoming invisible in the darkness and vegetation. He pulled the Glock nine millimeter pistol
from his waistband, checked the suppressor, and continued waiting.
At 4:45, a short, fat man in an Atlanta Braves t-shirt passed, half walking, half running,
wheezing as he went. He watched him until he disappeared from sight. Five minutes later, a
young Asian woman with a runner’s gait passed in the other direction, oblivious to his presence.
As the minutes ticked by, he began to have second thoughts; the target had always reached this
point between 4:45 and 5:00. At 5:01 he would leave and reevaluate his options for another day.
There. About 200 feet up the road, running along the sidewalk in his direction. The right height
and build, the familiar stride, the Adidas warmup pants he had seen twice before, their reflective
stripes catching the light from a nearby porch. He was 95 percent sure, but needed to be
Positive.
As the target passed, he stepped out of the trees and onto the sidewalk, calling out a name just
loud enough for the two of them to hear: “Julia.”
She turned, still running in place, and barely had time to register the presence of the stranger
before the first bullet struck the center of her chest. As she fell backward, another round tore
through her neck, paralyzing her as she collapsed in a heap on the sidewalk. He walked toward
her, pausing over her body just long enough to deliver a third and decisive shot to her temple,
then returned the Glock to his waistband and retraced his steps back to the car.
He made two stops on his way to the airport, disposing of the pistol in one dumpster and the
suppressor and gloves in another. By the time the Atlanta Police Department arrived at their
latest homicide scene, he was twenty miles away, and before they left he would be 30,000 feet in the air and halfway home.