Smashwords

I decided that I will publish my latest book, Trouble in Trondheim: Bikers and Gangsters, through Smashwords (and Amazon, for Kindle).

Smashwords will publish authors’ books to all the largest retailers, including Apple’s iBooks, Barnes and Nobles’ Nook and Kobo.

They will also help you as an author with marketing, through an affiliate program where you can get paid to market other people’s books!

As if that wasn’t enough, you can launch your book as a preorder in multiple stores. Right now, my book is available on the iBooks store, but will eventually be available on Nook and many others. I will update the book’s page with links as they become available.

Reklamer

Release of Freedom

My first book, a collection of short stories, was originally published through Lulu, and has been unavailable for a long period of time.

However, I just decided to re-release it on Amazon’s Kindle Marketplace. As of tomorrow, it will be available for free for five days. I hope everyone with a Kindle reading this will get it, and vote. Everyone else: You can also get it on any Apple and/or Android device, thanks to Amazon’s Kindle app! 😀

Please write a review and vote. It means the world to me, thank you.

 

To celebrate, here is one of the short stories of the book.

Short story 10

Police chief Karl Frantzen was growing impatient. He stood planted in the family skiff, peering into the marina, where his daughter Eve came first, lifting a couple of beach chairs; followed by his wife, carrying their youngest son. «Are you coming,» he hollered with his powerful voice in a broad Kristiansand accent.

“Yes, yes!”

Eve sighed. «Why is it always me that has to lift the heavy stuff,» she thought to herself. Originally she’d planned to be alone this holiday, instead of going out to the cabin as they always did. But the thought of meeting Mark again made her warm inside.
Mark was an only child living with his parents in Oslo. Eve’s parents had lived there when she was little, but for as long as she could remember, she’d lived in Kristiansand.

“Was that it?”

Karl looked around the boat when Eve had eased the beach chairs on board.

“Yes, that was it. Come on, Mark and the others are probably waiting for us already!”

“Well, well, we best get going then.”

Eve had already gone to the front of the boat, throwing the mooring. Fifteen minutes later the skiff was chugging from the marina at Lund to the port of Kristiansand, where the Karlsen family was lined with all their rucksacks. The first person on land was Eve; she took the mooring, throwing herself in Markus’s arms immediately.

“Hey, good to see you again!”

They smiled at each other. Eve realized that she had missed the smell of his coal—black hair, which smelled faintly of orange, his slightly crooked mouth that seemed skewed when he smiled, and the sight of the dark brown of his eyes.
Soon all had come on board in the newly—stained skiff that slowly chugged out into the southern archipelago.

“My arms are freezing, look! Oh, how lovely it is to be out at sea!”

Eve stretched out her arm towards Mark, he touched it, nodding. She had goose bumps.

“What are you thinking? You’re so quiet.”

She was looking intently at him, as he was turning his head slowly away from the small window overlooking the ocean, and peering at her.
«I don’t know,» he said. «It’s so outrageously hot lately, I’ve felt as if the temperature’s been rising with every passing day.»

“Mark, Eve! Won’t you come up on deck? We have fresh shrimp and white wine here; you can get a glass each!”

“Not now Dad!”

Eve stood up. «I’m going up,» she said. «I’m tired of sitting here, we’re almost there.»
Mark continued staring out the window. «Maybe I’ll come up in a bit.»
Up on the deck of newly—stained skiff, the Frantzen and Karlsen families were seated around a small table eating shrimp. Eve’s father, a bearded, bespectacled man with clout and pipe was sitting with one hand on the wheel while picking up shrimp with the other.

“Hi Eve; won’t Mark come up?”

Eve’s mother looked at her in amazement.

“No, I think he wanted to be at peace.”

«He’s probably just tired,» replied Mark’s mother.
Eve sat on a small stool that stood close to her, picking up a shrimp and peering out at the sea. Along with the skiff’s chugging ever further out at sea, they were still surrounded by plenty of islets, reefs and islands of varying sizes. Here and there they passed by other boats, some with families looking like they were going on vacation, like themselves, others with a pair of lonely fishermen aboard.
Usually, she loved this life. She loved being on the southern coast, sunbathing, reading books, listening to the radio, and not having to worry about school; thus far, nothing could contradict that, but she couldn’t help feeling at an undercurrent of uncertainty.
In her mind she suspected that it had something to do with Mark, who was usually very excited to see her again, and now most of all seemed as if he wanted to be alone, immersed in his own thoughts. And then there was the heat; God, what a heat. It’d been supernaturally hot all month, but for the past two days the heat had been almost unbearable.
She turned to her father, who was delightedly puffing on his pipe and alternating between staring at the map that was taped to the wall next to him and watching out for oncoming traffic and unforeseen reefs.

“Are we almost there?”

“Soon, Eve; I guess we have half an hour left, approximately. It will be nice to get out to the cabin again, right?”

“Mm.”

The adults weren’t concerned about the heat at all, what they talked about was the Watergate scandal in the United States.
Eve concluded that they must’ve noticed it, but thought that it was normal, or had simply decided not to worry because they thought they could do nothing about it. And per se, they were right; aside from traveling out to the cabin, of course.
Eve’s mother was sitting with Little John on her lap, babbling; only partially involved in the conversation with the others. Little John was two years old; everyone called him Little John, as he was named after Eve’s grandfather.
When Eve had gone to the front of the boat to get ready to moor, Mark finally came up from below deck. «I’ll have the top bunk,» he shouted. «Fat chance,» Eve cried back, throwing herself to land, bringing the mooring with her, before hurriedly tying a quick reef knot, running as fast as she could after Mark, who was already a few yards ahead of her.
The sun was burning her face, but she paid it no mind. All her senses were too busy recognizing smells, sounds and visual stimuli as she ran through the warm grass.
The cabin was located on a small hill opposite the pier. As Eve had come at the very top of the hill Mark was already unlocking the cabin. Sprinting all she could, she threw herself under Mark’s arm just as he opened the door, ran through the living room and into the bedroom she and Mark would be sleeping in.
«Gotcha,» she cried triumphantly as Mark entered the room with a view of the sea just a few seconds later. «That was cheating,» he said, «but I’ll be kind and won’t cavil”.

“Haha, you must learn that it pays to not open the door.”

“I’ve fallen for that before, haven’t I?”

«You certainly did last year,» Eve replied, laughing.

“Could you open the window, by the way?”

Mark nodded in recognition.

“It feels like I’m about to melt!”

Mark’s father appeared outside the window, carrying bags.

“Come on down to the boat, both of you — you need to help with carrying stuff!”

«Yes, yes,» Mark cried, irritated. He reluctantly went out of the room, signaling to Eve that she should follow.

“Just go ahead, I’m coming,” she cried from the top bunk. With a yawn, Eve closed her eyes and fell asleep on the pillow behind her.

*

From inside the room, she could hear her name being called out. She jumped up from the bed, jumped down on the floor and went into the living room.

“Will you join us for a game of Monopoly?”

Her mother and father looked at her; Mark’s parents were placing pieces with their backs facing her.

“Not right now, do you know where Mark is?”

“He went out a few minutes ago, said he wasn’t able to play Monopoly right now.”

“Is it OK with you if I go and look for him?”

“Of course, just don’t go into the woods alone without a flashlight!”

She closed the door behind her, peering out into the darkness and began walking towards the sea. The feeling of grass under her feet was making her mildly euphoric, almost ecstatic. Mark was down by the pier, looking up at the starry sky. She quietly went and lay down beside him, without saying a word.
«Have you noticed something,» said Mark, without looking at her.
«No, but I’m doing it now,» she replied immediately with her eyes fixed on a red dot that had seemed like a mere trifle last night. By now, it had grown at least twice as big, looking as if it was fluttering along with the heat waves positively knocking against them.
«I wonder what it is,» she said, looking at him.

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it. Whatever it is, it gives me a bad feeling. Do you remember the way we used to sit here on the dock for hours and catch crabs when we were littler?”

He turned as he spoke, staring at her, smiling.

“Yes, I do. It was great fun; I remember that I always tried to get larger and larger crabs, for I wanted to catch one that I could eat!”

“Heheh.”

“Hehehe!”

Eve stood up. «I want to swim,» she said, taking Mark’s hand.

“Now? It’s eleven o’clock at night!”

“Yes, now. Did you think I meant tomorrow? It’s ridiculously hot out.”

Mark looked at her in amazement, but got up. He’d barely reached his feet before Eve pushed him into the water.

“Jerk!”

“Haha, you won’t have to change, your clothes will be dry in the morning when you wake up.”

Before any of them had time to think about it, Eve jumped into the water. The clothes made it difficult to move, but at least she had no shoes on. She opened her eyes; they burned a little; orienting herself, she found Mark’s legs, pulling him under, close. Holding his thin, almost frail body, she hesitated a moment before kissing him. Mark’s dark brown eyes were closed, and she could feel his tongue touching hers. Soon he opened his eyes, gave her a long and hard stare, before kicking his legs, pulling her to the surface and taking hold of her, pulling her even closer to him. The water lit by the dim glowing moon made her blonde, curly hair her twinkle as if coated with silver, complimenting her light skin. The smell of salt water, Marks’s dulcet body odors and pollen from the trees on land filled Eve’s stomach with butterflies. Soon, they both lay in the dry grass, embracing each other. «Touch me,» she whispered.
As they started walking toward the cabin, it was with the knowledge that what had just happened would never again happen for any of them.
Within the cabin, everyone had gone to sleep, and the total silence that prevailed created a sense of vacuum packed loneliness, enveloped in a pitch dark warm night. Exhausted, they fell asleep on the couch, counting each other’s heartbeats.

 

*

Eve woke up suddenly to sounds reminiscent of hissing and milling around the cabin.
She looked around, realizing that Mark still lay in the crook of her elbow. A quick glance out the living room window revealed a landscape on fire. The flames were licking up the tree trunks with seemingly unstoppable force, and the wind from the sea didn’t seem to make things better.
Mark was fast asleep, but she shook and struggled until he finally woke up.

“Mark, it’s burning!”

“Huh? Are you kidding me?”

“No, my God, look out!”

One look was enough — Mark threw himself off the couch, across the floor and into his parents’ bedroom.
Soon both families stood out in front of the cottage, with no clue what was happening. The landscape around them was riddled with rocks in all shapes and sizes; many of them still red hot.
Mark looked up; the sky above them was darkened by ash, the dot from the previous evening now occupying most of the sky. Mark kissed Eve as intensely as he could.

The others hugged each other, staring for a moment on the glowing sky, closing their eyes until they were surrounded by a deafening roar.

First chapter of Trouble in Trondheim

I’ve had a recent influx of likes for my Facebook page, and to celebrate I’m posting the first chapter from my forthcoming book, Trouble in Trondheim. It will be released on Amazon within the next few months. Watch this space!

Prologue

Chapter 1

Everything started at Trolla Brug in Trondheim. Outside the old, run down shipyard stood three trailers with Russian license plates. Each of them had a tail of people throwing bags containing heroin to each other in the rain.

Kurt Hammer stood on one of the trailers, relieved that ten tons of heroin were soon out of the cars. Out of the shipyard walked Padda, a bald man with a considerable frame and a flat face, which made up one half of the leadership in Trondheim Hells Angels.

— Lars?

Kurt looked questioningly at the bald face, planted between two enormous shoulders.

— You’re free to go, I’ll take it from here. The guys have done well, the trailers are almost empty!

— Sure?

— Unless you want to help us split the shit into bags?

— No thanks, I’ll pass on that, at least until tomorrow!

Kurt threw the bag in his hands to the russian behind him, before jumping down from the trailer and onto his Triumph Thunderbird. It originated from a police seizure, and this past month had barely seen him outdoors without it.
The drive to Ila took him all of six minutes, and three minutes later in front of Thon Hotell Prinsen he thought about making a detour to the police station to hand in his pistol and machinegun – the thought of seeing his fiancé Marte and hid newly born daughter again made him quickly ditch the idea.

He sped on past the old grey brick building with red details that was Prinsen cinema. When he passed Studentersamfundets red facade he was bombarded with raindrops the size of golf balls. Finally, outside his flat in Volveveien 11A at Nardo, water and sweat dripped off his entire body. The four room flat looked like a wooden square, painted white, with a small quadratic shed in front of it, which also served as a storage place for garbage containers. Coupled with the first flat was another flat, this one oblong and painted black, also with its own shed in front.

He jumped off the bike and gave it a clap on its seat, before walking across the gravel and putting his hand on the doorknob. Closed – perhaps she was sleeping in?
He found the key under the mat on which he stood before putting it in the keyhole and turning the lock.

— Hello, Marte? I’m home!

No one answered. Instinctively he went out the door again and picked up his gun from the bag on the bike.
Inside he could feel a cold breeze emanating from the kitchen. The living room window turned out to be shattered, but beyond that, he could find no signs of anything out of the ordinary. He couldn’t find any footprints. That should be impossible in this weather. The people who had broken in must have removed their shoes, he reasoned. With his pistol still in both hands, he entered the bedroom.

At once, all doubts about the unknown perpetrator’s identity faded. In the black double bed Fjell from Ikea, Marte lay chained with two handcuffs. Her long, curly tresses wound neatly down past her shoulders. A gaping grimace had melted itself onto her face as a sort of cruel last goodbye. A bullet hole had manifested itself in her forehead, another in her stomach. The duvet was steeped in blood. He could barely watch the cot in the other side of the room. What was there wasn’t so much the remains of a human being as a cadaver.

He turned on his heel and went back to his bike. Rationally speaking, he should have dialed 112 – rational thinking had just passed into another dimension.
He drove from Nardo to Trolla Brug in a blind, violent rage with an average speed of 80 kilometers an hour. When he arrived, the trailers were already gone, but he found most of the bikes still parked outside. The last thing he did before going in was to put on the bulletproof vest safely placed in his bike’s bag. Inside the warehouse stood Padda, Martin, Ramberg, Flisa and several others. Some were opening bags; others were splitting the heroin into small zip lock bags. “If my colleagues had been here, they’d have laughed at the entire operation – how extremely careless,” he thought.
However, they weren’t here, it was just him and his machinegun. It turned into a real battle – heroin and blood squirted everywhere, like paint onto the misty grey relief outside.

Half an hour later it was all finished – twenty or so bodies were scattered on the grey concrete floor, on wooden tables and behind boxes.

Without a word, he hoisted himself up from a crouching position, went outside, positioned himself on the bike and drove home.
A few hours later, he turned on the television in Volveveien 11A.

— Trolla Brug has seen what looks to be a gang war. Trolla Brug is the headquarters of Hells Angels in Trondheim. Seventeen people were murdered and three people severely injured in what police describes as the worst shootout in the history of Trondheim.

Kurt Hammer opened another bottle of Jack Daniels and waited for the sirens.

Trouble in Trondheim – Prologue

Finally, it’s time to reveal the prologue for my upcoming book Trouble in Trondheim: Bikers and Gangsters, which will be released exclusively on Amazon Kindle in English and Norwegian versions. I don’t have an exact date yet, but more on that later.

For now, here’s the prologue – I hope you like it!

Prologue

In that moment, the way he was posed in front of her told her there was no going back.

His eyes popping out of his head, they reminded her of ones she’d seen on frogs they were about to dissect in elementary school. Sticking out of his mouth was a swollen tongue; the hue of his skin had turned a sickly green. A tailor made suit clung stiffly and lifelessly to his body; all its former glory now nothing but a vague memory.

Why had he called her a whore? It wasn’t so much the word, but its associations which brought out her inner devil. Before leaving, she had promised herself that this land would mean a fresh start. Sighing, she turned, exited the booth and closed its door behind her. «I couldn’t help it, it was her fault,» she told herself while entering the entrance hall on Værnes airport.

Outside, the rain had settled in. She firmly entered the first and best taxi she could find.

«Where’re you going?»

«Brothel,» she answered.

Unsettled by the welcome, she still decided this country had potential.

*

«Hammer, you idiot, wake up, a guy was murdered in a toilet booth!»

«Hm, zzz.. what?»

Looking down on his most unreliable employee was Editor in Chief Karlsen.

«On Værnes, to be precise. I guess I ought to let you sleep on, but there aren’t anyone around else around right now.»

«Relax, boss, Hansen and I will take care of this.»

Karlsen sighed.

«That’s what I was afraid you’d say. Just don’t drink any more beer!»

«I won’t, he mumbled, grabbing his tweed coat from his chair, haplessly putting the coat on over his yellow suit»

«Hansen, let’s go, We’re going to Værnes!»

The young journalist Frank Hansen looked up from his monitor, throwing a sceptic look at the tall figure. Who was it Felicia in Culture had said he looked like? Jeff Bridges! Even with a fedora and a cigarette constantly hanging out of his mouth there was no mistaking the comparison. Looks wise they couldn’t have been more different: Frank Hansen was of medium build with slightly too much fat around his abdomen. He had short, brown hair and blue eyes sitting closely together that appeared to be blinking a lot.

«Fine, but I don’t drink at work, just so you know!»

«That’s only cos you’re still new to the game, Hansen!»

«Relax, Hammer, I know what happened. Everyone knows, it made the national headlines, damnit.»

Hammer snorted, and didn’t say anything else until they’d entered one of Aftenbladet’s cars.

«Listen, you little piece of shit, that’s not why I drink, just so we’re clear about that! It’s been two years, I’m past that by now.»

«Okay. If it’d been me I’d probably taken out early retirement and gone to the Bahamas – I think you’ve handled the situation well. But I still don’t drink at work!»

Hammer leaned into his seat and pulled his fedora down over his forehehad as they sped towards Værnes.