Product Description
It’s tough being the King.
Which is why in 1977 Elvis fakes his own death and endures massive facial reconstruction surgery, disappearing from the limelight to live a normal life as the unassuming Aaron King. Unfortunately, leaving fame behind also meant leaving his fortune behind, and now Elvis finds himself broke, living in near poverty in a small apartment in Los Angeles. Luckily for him, it turns out he’s a pretty good private investigator. Not to mention, he misses his first love, music, and has thoughts of making a comeback. Discreetly, of course. But one thing at a time. First he has to solve a baffling missing person case, in which a young starlet, at the beginning of a promising career, has disappeared off the face of the earth.
As Elvis digs deeper, he finds himself surrounded by the seedier elements of Los Angeles, from nefarious Hollywood producers who prey on the young, to twin brothers with a dark secret. Ultimately, Elvis discovers a truth almost too horrible to imagine. And through it all, Elvis Presley slowly makes his singing comeback–only to be reunited on stage with someone even the King himself never dreamed possible.
READING SAMPLE
I was loosing my nerve. I downed my beer, ordered another, drank it right there in front of the bartender, who was grinning at me.
“You must be here for the audition?” he said.
“How can you tell?”
He grinned some more. “Nervous?”
“As hell.”
He laughed. “Bill can be a real asshole,” he said, “but don’t let him get to you. If you can sing, he’ll be your best friend.”
“Good to know. He the one with thee cool blue shades?”
“Yeah, that’s him, but I don’t know about cool. You can sing, right?”
“We’ll find out.”
I sat through three more auditions, all male. Most had very pleasant voices. All were clearly professionals and all were about thirty years younger than yours truly.
“You don’t think I’m too old, do you?” I asked the bartender.
He sized me up. The kid was handsome, and that grin of his probably had gotten him everything he wanted in life and more. I knew the feeling well.
“Naw, but to be safe, knock a few years off your age. No harm, no foul, right? Everyone does it. Remember that it’s all about the singing. Oh, and the performing.”
“Performing?”
“You know…” He jerked his hips a little. “Like Elvis. Bill loves Elvis.”
Oh, shit.
I nearly ordered another beer, but refrained. I performed better sober. As it stood now, I was already a little buzzed.
When the last singer stepped of the stage, Bill the Manager flipped up his cool blue shades and looked around. His slicked-back hair reflected some of the overhead lights.
“That it?” he asked no one in particular. He didn’t sound happy.
I said nothing and stayed rooted to the stool, my heart somewhere in my throat. I tried to give myself some positive self-talk, but my thoughts were scrambled and incoherent and I only knew one thing: fear. I couldn’t get myself to move. My chance was slipping away….
“Okay, then—” Bill began, but never finished.
Why? Because the good-looking kid behind the bar suddenly leaned across said bar and shouted loudly: “Hey, Bill. We’ve got another one back here.”
I didn’t know whether to hug the kid or run.
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