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Kyle Colbert just wants to go home for Christmas. He savors his train commutes from Manhattan to his idyllic hometown. But as he arrives on Christmas Eve, his family tries to murder him. His neighbors and entire community suddenly want him dead. He can’t run to the authorities, because the FBI is also in a deadly pursuit. With a $1,000,000 reward for his “Death or Whereabouts," Kyle is running out of time to discover what's really going on to stop an even greater tragedy.

Mercury Media llc

Donovan Discography Grid $2.00

These information documents for each of the official Trade Mark of Quality releases includes the known details for each genuine TMQ title. This includes the TMQ catalogue number, artist, record title, track list, musicians, venue, recording date, master tape and record matrix info and the other particulars for each album.

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Josh Pachter

Dutch Threat $17.50

All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. But when one of his professors offers to send American grad student Jack Farmer to Europe to do historical research in Amsterdam’s Begijnhof—a peaceful closed community in the heart of the bustling Dutch capital—Jack looks forward to a summer of mostly play and not much work. Then he meets Jet Schilders, an attractive young nurse who takes care of the elderly woman next door, and realizes that his summer in The Netherlands might just turn out to be even more fun than he'd hoped.When the woman next door is brutally murdered, though, and her nurse turns out to be the prime suspect, Jack and Jet join forces in an attempt to find the real killer and clear her name. But their investigation puts them in Dutch with the local police, and a second murder raises the stakes … and paints a target on both of their backs.“Dutch Threat has wit, charm, and lovely crisp prose—everything that’s great about Josh Pachter’s short fiction. His debut novel was a long time coming, and it was well worth the wait!" —Tom Mead, author of Death and the Conjuror and The Murder Wheel

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Mercury Media llc

Eric Clapton Derek and the Dominos Discography Grid $2.00

These information documents for each of the official Trade Mark of Quality releases includes the known details for each genuine TMQ title. This includes the TMQ catalogue number, artist, record title, track list, musicians, venue, recording date, master tape and record matrix info and the other particulars for each album.

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sale

Evil Desire: Recollections of a Sex Crimes Detective

Dean T. Olson

Evil Desire: Recollections of a Crimes Detective $14.36 $17.95

Sexual predators exist in our society and their evil desire leads them to commit heinous, brutal crimes with little concern for their victims or the toll it takes on the community. Violent sociopaths have no interest in the needs or safety of anyone else and see ordinary people as either targets or competitors. They have no hesitation taking what they want from their victims. Whether they are rapists, pedophiles, or murderers, these monsters will do whatever it takes to get their needs met and their evil desires satisfied. Captain Dean T. Olson (retired) is a veteran crimes detective with the Douglas County (Nebraska) Sheriff’s Office, serving the Omaha area. In his 30-year law enforcement career he has seen some of the most horrible crimes committed by one person against another and he has arrested some of the worst sexual predators the nation has ever seen.

Mark G. Hewitt DBA

Exposed: The Zodiac Revealed $18.95

The solution to the Zodiac serial killer case is both clear and controversial. There's one man who fits the puzzle: a letter writer, bomb maker, and code creator who lived in the area during the Zodiac murders. He had easy access to the crime scenes and had a psychotic break around the time the Zodiac's terrible killing spree began. This man was not only a genius-level mathematician but also skilled at disguising his handwriting, leaving no fingerprints, and crafting incredibly difficult ciphers to tease the police and the public with his hidden identity. His name is Theodore J. Kaczynski. Kaczynski was shaped by the MK Ultra project at Harvard University and became one of UC Berkeley's youngest math professors, a job he detested. He committed his first Zodiac murder during the winter break of 1968 and struck again just after resigning from his teaching position in July 1969. His criminal signature, which included writing letters and creating codes, continued in both his criminal careers as the Zodiac and Unabomber. "EXPOSED" takes you through all the evidence presented in the first two books, "HUNTED" and "PROFILED," and methodically links the Zodiac and Unabomber cases using handwriting, codes, locations, literature, cultural references, and other unexpected details. It makes a compelling case that Kaczynski cannot be dismissed as the Zodiac, one of the most notorious serial killers in history. If you're a fan of crime thriller books, this is a gripping exploration of a controversial theory about the Zodiac killer's identity.

<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> <!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> <html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> <head> <title>Untitled</title> <meta http-equiv="content-type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"/> <style> /* ePub CSS */ h1 {padding-top: 15%;} .indent {text-indent: 5%;} .center {text-align: center;} .right {text-align: right;} .margin {margin: 0 5%;} .margin-indent {margin: 0 5%; text-indent: 5%;} .bigmargin {margin: 0 5% 0 10%;} .bigmargin-indent {margin: 0 5% 0 10%; text-indent: 5%;} .hugemargin {margin: 0 5% 0 15%;} .hugemargin-indent {margin: 0 5% 0 15%; text-indent: 5%;} img {max-width: 94%;} body {margin: 0 3%; text-align: justify;} .spacer {padding-bottom: 1em;} </style> </head> <body> <h1 class="center" id="c1">PROLOGUE:<br/>Brookline, Massachusetts 1960</h1> <div class="spacer"></div> <div class="indent">“Mrs. Simon, can Billy come out and play?”</div> <div class="indent">Kathy and Lizzie Napolitano lived directly across the street from the Simon Family. Beautiful twin blondes, the girls were four years older than Billy, age five. But since there were no other young boys for him to play with in their neighborhood at that time, June Simon replied, “Sure, of course. Billy! Your little girlfriends are here!”</div> <div class="indent">The Brookline, Massachusetts, suburbia that housed the Simons, the Napolitanos, and dozens of other similar middle-class families living within a stone’s throw of Boston proper was an idyllic setting for young parents planning to start their families within range of several, top-notch elementary schools. With the region serving as a commuter’s mecca for teachers working at Boston’s myriad colleges and universities, the setting made for the ideal location for Jeremy and June Simon – science and art teachers, respectively, at Boston University – to raise their only child in peaceful surroundings.</div> <div class="indent">“Billy, stay close to Kathy and Lizzie, now, okay?” June advised. “Girls, be sure to keep an eye on him. And don’t run off too far from our street… no further than the corner, okay?”</div> <div class="indent">“Yes, Mrs. Simon, of course,” Lizzie responded.</div> <div class="indent">The three children proceeded down the steps in front of the Simon house, then began walking west on the sidewalk. Billy turned to wave. “Bye, Mommy!” he shouted. “I’ll see you soon!”</div> <div class="indent">Robbins Rexall was the popular drugstore at the corner of Adams Street and Poplar Place. Not only did the neighborhood adults get their prescriptions filled there, but the store also offered an aisle of small, rather inexpensive toys for the area’s kids. Lizzie, Kathy, and Billy made their way inside the store, browsed the toy aisle, then strolled along to the candy shelves. “Let’s take these!” Kathy whispered, grabbing three sticks of strawberry Turkish Taffy, then handing one each to her sister and Billy.</div> <div class="indent">“Hey you kids! I see what you’re doing!” shouted Scott Robbins, owner of Robbins Rexall, from behind the pharmacy counter. “Put those back immediately!”</div> <div class="indent">Thrilled but concurrently frightened to death, Kathy, Lizzie, and Billy quickly fled the store and ran outside. Turning around, Lizzie saw that Mr. Robbins was bringing up the rear. “Kathy, he’s coming!” she cried to her sister, now in a panic. Kathy, the craftiest of the lot, said, “Come on… follow me!”</div> <div class="indent">Kathy led the others outside to the enormous, three-story tall billboard sign that promoted Robbins Rexall. The trio scurried behind the public-facing side of the sign—entering the interior wooden lattice comprising the sign’s skeleton. “Up here! Hurry!” Kathy called to her cohorts as she began climbing the dozens of cross-beams that suspended the sign, moving at the speed of a Doberman Pincher chasing a squirrel. Lizzie and Kathy were world champion climbers—there wasn’t a fence, tree, or post anywhere in sight they hadn’t previously conquered with their mountaineering skills. And not wanting to be caught by the angry pharmacist, Lizzie and Billy began to climb the wooden beams on the opposite side of the billboard from where Kathy had perched.</div> <div class="indent">And thus, the entirety of the remainder of Billy’s life was decided in that moment.</div> <div class="indent">Now livid, Mr. Robbins scurried behind his own sign and looked up at the three thieves who’d just robbed him of 15 cents worth of Turkish Taffy. “You kids are in BIG trouble, do you understand me?” he shouted. “I know your parents, and believe me they’re going to be hearing about this!”</div> <div class="indent">Billy and Lizzie began trembling in fear, while Kathy simply scoffed. “Mr. Robbins, my mom says you always stare at her big boobies every time you see her! She calls you a ‘perv,’” the child shouted mockingly. Now mortified, Robbins slid his proverbial tail between his legs and silently slithered away from the scene. The kids laughed.</div> <div class="indent">“Kathy that was so cool!” Lizzie called to her sister. “That should take care of old man Robbins for a while.” The three kids were now comfortably situated nearly thirty feet off the ground, sitting on prominent sections of wood where the beams naturally presented logical seating.</div> <div class="indent">“I’m hungry. Can we eat this now?” Billy asked his co-conspirators, his stomach growling. “Sure, that’s a good idea,” Kathy responded.</div> <div class="indent">The children sat inside the billboard sign for a good ten minutes, chewing their taffies and rejoicing in their victory over the scary Mr. Robbins. After they finished eating, they sat in silence for a little while longer.</div> <div class="indent">“Hey, Billy. You wanna hear a secret?” called Kathy. “Okay,” the young lad responded innocently. Lizzie, however, had a quizzical look on her face.</div> <div class="indent">Kathy smiled broadly and blew a kiss in his direction. “I love you so, so much, Billy! You are SO cute! I’m gonna marry you one day and you’re gonna make babies inside my belly!”</div> <div class="indent">Startled, shocked, and embarrassed beyond measure, Billy began to slip from the static position he’d secured on the crossbeams. Realizing he was going to fall, he reached up to grab a lower beam with his right hand, but the pull of gravity quickly overcame him. His hand never made the connection.</div> <div class="indent">Kathy and Lizzie screamed while they watched their closest, dearest friend, delightful little Billy Simon, plummeting to the ground. His face looking skyward, Billy silently realized there was nothing his girlfriends could do now to save him.</div> <div class="indent">He hit the dirt with a loud, sickening thud.</div> <div class="indent">The girls quickly made their way back down to Earth, and simply stood over Billy’s now limp, lifeless body. Raised as strict Catholics, Kathy and Lizzie each kneeled beside their friend and began to pray. “Dear Sweet Baby Jesus, please help our friend Billy in his moment of darkness. Please don’t let him die. He’s our special little friend and we love him. Please bring him back to us. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen.”</div> <div class="indent">The girls crossed themselves, stood, held hands, then slowly began to walk back home in silence.</div> <div class="spacer"></div> <div class="spacer"></div> <div class="spacer"></div> </body> </html>

Dan Harary

FIVE: A Novella $14.95

Meet Billy Sorrows, the gifted young singer who makes women cry... An orphan living in 1860s London, Feival Vados, has been taken in by an ogre of a man after the young boy’s parents—famed Hungarian actors—perish in a mysterious fire. When ten-year-old Feival, nicknamed “Five,” is summoned to the deathbed of his charge, the heinous old man orders the young boy to become his sin-eater. What Five learns that day will change the course of his adult life, giving rise to a monstrous thirst that even his own death does not quench.One hundred years later, young Boston native Billy Simon, a music prodigy, makes his way into Manhattan, where he is soon discovered. Through the machinations of his legendary talent agent, Billy quickly becomes a pop music superstar. However, after Billy’s beloved girlfriend is brutally murdered by one of his female fans, he is devastated to his core. Billy’s overwhelming sorrow leads him to commit a series of brutal murders, mysteriously connecting him to the late Feival Vados in ways the gifted singer/songwriter could never possibly come to understand.

Mercury Media llc

Frank Zappa Discography Grids $2.00

These information documents for each of the official Trade Mark of Quality releases includes the known details for each genuine TMQ title. This includes the TMQ catalogue number, artist, record title, track list, musicians, venue, recording date, master tape and record matrix info and the other particulars for each album.

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Genius Books

Genius Books Gift Cards from $10.00

📚 Discover the Perfect Gift: Genius Books Gift Cards! 🎁 Looking for the ultimate gift for the bookworm in your life? Look no further! Genius Books is your go-to destination for gripping true crime stories, electrifying rock 'n' roll biographies, and captivating fiction that will transport you to new worlds. With our Gift Cards, you can give the gift of endless literary adventures to your loved ones. 🕵️‍♀️ Dive into the Darkest Mysteries: Uncover the chilling secrets of real-life crimes with our extensive collection of true crime books. From unsolved mysteries to infamous cases, our titles will keep you on the edge of your seat, craving for more. 🎸 Rock On with Legends: Get up close and personal with rock 'n' roll icons! Our rock 'n' roll books delve into the lives of music legends, offering a backstage pass to their wild journeys, struggles, and successes. From Elvis to The Rolling Stones, we've got it all. 📖 Immerse Yourself in Fiction: Escape into a world of imagination with our captivating fiction books. Whether you're into romance, fantasy, or thrillers, our diverse fiction collection has something for every reader. Lose yourself in gripping narratives and unforgettable characters. 🎉 The Gift of Choice: Our Gift Cards give your loved ones the power to choose their next literary adventure. With a wide range of titles across different genres, they can explore their interests and discover new passions. It's the perfect gift for birthdays, holidays, or just because! 🌟 Why Choose Genius Books Gift Cards? - Thoughtful and versatile: Ideal for any occasion. - Access to a world of books: Our catalog caters to diverse tastes. - Easy to redeem: Seamless online shopping experience. - Delivered straight to their inbox: Perfect for last-minute gifting. 🎯 Ready to Give the Gift of Reading? Purchase your Genius Books Gift Card today and make someone's day a little more extraordinary. Let their reading journey begin! 🛍️ Click the "Add to Cart" button now and share the joy of books with your loved ones. Gift-giving has never been this exciting! 📚🎉

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Mercury Media llc

Grateful Dead Discography Grids $2.00

These information documents for each of the official Trade Mark of Quality releases includes the known details for each genuine TMQ title. This includes the TMQ catalogue number, artist, record title, track list, musicians, venue, recording date, master tape and record matrix info and the other particulars for each album.

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Ralph Sutherland and Harold Sherrick

Great White Wonder Discography Poster $25.00

This beautiful, full color poster includes all 16 albums in the Great White Wonder discography from Trade Mark of Quality. The poster is 18x24 inches, and is available for shipping most places in the world.

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padding-bottom: 1.4em; } p.alignment-block-content { text-indent: 0px; margin-top: 0em; } p.alignment-block-content-left { text-align: left; } p.alignment-block-content-center { text-align: center; } p.alignment-block-content-right { text-align: right; } </style> </head> <body> <div id="chapter-1" class="element element-bodymatter element-container-single element-type-chapter element-with-heading" role="doc-chapter" epub:type="chapter"> <div class="heading heading-container-single heading-size-full heading-format-full heading-alignment-flexible heading-without-image"> <div class="heading-contents"> <div class="title-subtitle-block title-block-title-is-element-number"> <div class="element-number-block"> </div> <div class="title-block"> <h1 class="element-title case-upper">ONE</h1> </div> </div> </div> </div> <div class="text" id="chapter-1-text"> <h2 id="subhead-1" class="section-title subhead keep-with-next paragraph-follows case-upper">FINDING MY FOOTING</h2> <p class="first first-in-chapter first-full-width first-after-subhead"><span class="first-phrase">I grew</span> up about two miles from Possum Trot, a rural community in Western Kentucky. I was a shy, awkward kid who was not particularly good at sports, nor was I a good student. I was average at best. I didn’t have a lot of friends in school. I just tried to blend in. It was 1970 when I graduated from North Marshall High School. Most of us were just hanging out waiting to see if we would be drafted. My first job out of high school was as a riverboat deckhand. It was good money, but it wasn’t for me. In fact, the job was not the adventure I thought it would be. It wasn’t long before I decided I needed to do something else with my life just in case I wasn’t drafted. I enrolled in a community college where I had to really study and apply myself just to make average grades. I guess this was because I had not learned much in high school.</p> <p class="subsq">After two years in community college, I enrolled in Murray State University, where I earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology. I attended one year of graduate school, but I was burned out. I was tired of being so poor and living on student loans. When I finally got my draft notice, I went for my physical and was turned down because I had flat feet.</p> <p class="subsq">Probably the biggest influence in my life was my practice of Karate while I was in college. I had a knack for it. I would practice every day for hours. I became obsessed. When I earned my black belt in Wado Ryu–style Karate, I started entering tournaments. One of my instructors was Sensei Vic Milner. I became an instructor and taught Karate at the university. I also taught in several local Dojos. I had won tournaments in the black belt division in Kentucky, Tennessee, and Arkansas. I only lost two times, once in a full-contact event in Alabama and once in a “Battle of Champions.” Some of my students were guards and supervisors from KSP. I had a standing offer as a guard if I ever needed a job.</p> <p class="subsq">I graduated from college in the Jimmy Carter years while the economy was stalled. There were no jobs. Finally, I decided to give the prison a try. What did I have to lose? I didn’t have any other prospects for a job unless I wanted to go back on a riverboat or go back to graduate school. So I applied for the job and was hired as a correctional officer. I never looked back.</p> <h2 id="subhead-2" class="section-title subhead keep-with-next paragraph-follows case-upper">THE BELLY OF THE BEAST</h2> <p class="first first-after-subhead">My first day at KSP (Kentucky State Prison) was July 3, 1978. And I was nervous. As I rounded the curve and drove down the road from Pea Ridge, there it was, looming like a medieval fortress on the banks of Lake Barkley. The Castle on the Cumberland River. What had I gotten myself into? I could only imagine what convicted inmates might think when they see the Castle for the first time. The prison itself resembles something out of the Middle Ages, with its soaring walls, stone parapets, and heavily guarded watchtowers. An imposing place, with a reputation to match.</p> <p class="subsq">As I started up the crumbling steps to the main entrance, I heard a grumpy voice say, “HALT! State your business.” I stopped dead in my tracks. The command to halt sounded threatening—as if I might be shot if I didn’t obey.</p> <p class="subsq">I looked up and saw a middle-aged man peering down at me from the gun tower. I responded, “I am Philip Parker, and I am reporting to work.”</p> <p class="subsq">“Go ahead,” was all he said. I didn’t know what to think about this first encounter, but I knew I was about to enter a strange, new world.</p> <p class="subsq">As I approached the front gate, I stepped aside as several uniformed men with shotguns came running from the armory located at just off the top of the steps. Startled, I stepped aside and froze as they passed. I thought to myself, <i>What in the hell is this about?</i></p> <p class="subsq">I learned later that there had been a mass escape from Four Cell House. My very first day. Three inmates, Joe Craig, James Hatfield, and Charles Murphy, had cut through their cell bars and made their way down the short distance from the opening to the ground using bedsheets fashioned into a braided rope. As with every prison escape, their luck was fleeting; the men were apprehended a few days later. As first impressions go, this was a lot to take in for a new corrections officer.</p> <p class="subsq">I stood at the entrance, waiting to be ushered in. There was no control center at the time to automatically open prison doors. After the front gate officer keyed the lock, I crossed the threshold and entered the belly of the beast. One of the things I never quite became accustomed to after all my years in the Castle was the smell. The Castle has an odor unlike anything I have ever experienced: an ungodly combination of cigarette smoke, body odor, sewer gas, death, and history. It still smells that way to me. Some five decades later, I still notice that odor as I walk up to the prison gates. Half-jokingly, I always say it is the smell of the Castle Beast, the one that trolls the front entrance, taunting all those who sense its presence.</p> <p class="subsq">After filling out employment paperwork with two other new hires, we were told to go to the receiver’s basement to get our uniforms. I thought to myself, <i>What the hell is the receiver’s basement?</i> Turns out it was a warehouse in the basement of Five Cell House with an outside entrance. I learned my first lesson on the job: prison workers have their own language to describe the Castle’s twisty, cavernous interior. I knew we had to learn fast or we would not find our way around. KSP is enormous, with five large cell blocks that housed 1,200 inmates in 1978. In subsequent years, two new cell blocks were added, even as the overall population decreased to around 980, because inmates no longer shared cells.</p> <p class="subsq">With uniforms in hand, the new hires were directed to report to the hospital for a physical. The hospital, I later learned, was a state-licensed facility complete with infirmary beds, a surgical wing, a pharmacy, and an emergency room. But we had no idea how to get there. After wandering around the sprawling prison yard for what seemed like an eternity, one of the older guards took pity on us and pointed to where we had to go.</p> <p class="subsq">A man in a lab coat with a stethoscope led me into an exam room and asked some standard questions about my health. I filled out a medical history as he listened to my heart and lungs, took my blood pressure, pulse, and temperature. I thought he was a doctor. Several weeks later, I saw him in the canteen line and realized the man I mistook for a doctor was actually a convict.</p> <h2 id="subhead-3" class="section-title subhead keep-with-next paragraph-follows case-upper">SOMETHING FISHY</h2> <p class="first first-after-subhead">A “fish” is a term used to describe a newly hired officer or a new inmate who just got off the bus. Why, I don’t know. It is just prison slang. The “fish tank” was a row of cells in One Cell House used to house inmates until they had been given an orientation and a list of the rules. They would also meet the Classification Committee to be assigned a job and a cell.</p> <p class="subsq">A fish <i>officer</i> is a new hire who has not attended the academy or learned the ropes. These rookie officers are basically useless and treated accordingly. You remained a fish officer until you became familiar with all the ins-and-outs of daily prison operations and earned a small degree of respect. You had to prove yourself, meaning you would not run from trouble and you would back up your fellow officers. You also had to follow orders to the letter.</p> <p class="subsq">I was hired in with two middle-aged female employees, Betty Blackwell and Rosy Mitchell. In the late 1970s, only a handful of females were hired as correctional officers. It was still a man’s world, but that was rapidly changing for the better. Nora Aldridge was the first female hired as a correctional officer sometime around 1976. Soon after, Judy Groves was hired and had already made sergeant by the time I came aboard. I try to imagine how they must have felt entering such a hostile, male-dominated environment, where danger and violence were the norm. These were courageous and brave women.</p> <p class="subsq">As the three of us made our way out to the receiver’s basement, we had to traverse a sidewalk just below Four Cell House then Five Cell House. Inmates could stand at the barred windows in the hallways of Five Cell House and look down at the walkway we were on, the cars in the parking lot, and the boat traffic on Lake Barkley. We were about to learn our next lesson.</p> <p class="subsq">Betty Blackwell, walking next to me on the winding sidewalk, was a middle-aged blond with an attractive figure, and Rosie Mitchell, a middle-aged person of color, strode alongside Betty as we made our way to the receiver’s basement. As we passed under Five Cell House, we could hear a whistle and catcall from somewhere above us on one of the four floors of Five Cell House. “Shake it, baby, shake it!” I was street smart and did not look toward the direction of the voice. Betty reflexively glanced up, however, and that same voice yelled, “Not you, Bitch. HIM.” I thought, <i>Oh my God, they are talking to me!</i> Another lesson for a fish guard.</p> <h2 id="subhead-4" class="section-title subhead keep-with-next paragraph-follows case-upper">TRAINING</h2> <p class="first first-after-subhead">Training consisted of a two-week academy at Eastern Kentucky University, the training center for all correctional officers and police officers in Kentucky. After the academy, we endured a week of firearms training at KSP, followed by on-the-job training. Before could be scheduled for the academy, I had to shadow more experienced officers. I was not allowed to work by myself until I graduated from the academy.</p> </div> </div> </body> </html>

Philip W. Parker

Guard $22.95

Guard: A True Story of Duty, Sacrifice, and Leadership in Kentucky's Maximum Security Penitentiary In 1978, Philip Parker started his decades-long career as a prison guard at the Kentucky State Penitentiary, a place known as "The Castle" for its medieval look. On his first day, a mass escape set the tone for the dangerous and intense journey ahead. Over the years, Parker faced numerous challenges, from federal court allegations to life-threatening situations, including a dramatic hostage crisis with a notorious inmate. Parker's memoir takes readers through the emotions and realities of prison life. From handling daily violence and suicides to witnessing murders caused by racial tension and other conflicts, Parker describes the harsh environment of the prison. Guard includes detailed accounts of harrowing events, like the highway crime spree where two of his colleagues were shot. The book also covers the evolution of the prison itself, from its early days with medieval punishments to modern-day improvements. Parker shares his experiences as a warden, dealing with staff corruption, inmate violence, and the heavy responsibility of carrying out court-ordered executions. Guard is a vivid and honest account of a life spent managing the worst in human behavior while finding moments of compassion and redemption. It highlights the dedication and resilience required to maintain order in such a challenging environment, and offers a unique perspective on the sacrifices made by those who work in the prison system.

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I was a shy, awkward kid who was not particularly good at sports, nor was I a good student. I was average at best. I didn’t have a lot of friends in school. I just tried to blend in. It was 1970 when I graduated from North Marshall High School. Most of us were just hanging out waiting to see if we would be drafted. My first job out of high school was as a riverboat deckhand. It was good money, but it wasn’t for me. In fact, the job was not the adventure I thought it would be. It wasn’t long before I decided I needed to do something else with my life just in case I wasn’t drafted. I enrolled in a community college where I had to really study and apply myself just to make average grades. I guess this was because I had not learned much in high school.</p> <p class="subsq">After two years in community college, I enrolled in Murray State University, where I earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology. I attended one year of graduate school, but I was burned out. I was tired of being so poor and living on student loans. When I finally got my draft notice, I went for my physical and was turned down because I had flat feet.</p> <p class="subsq">Probably the biggest influence in my life was my practice of Karate while I was in college. I had a knack for it. I would practice every day for hours. I became obsessed. When I earned my black belt in Wado Ryu–style Karate, I started entering tournaments. One of my instructors was Sensei Vic Milner. I became an instructor and taught Karate at the university. I also taught in several local Dojos. I had won tournaments in the black belt division in Kentucky, Tennessee, and Arkansas. I only lost two times, once in a full-contact event in Alabama and once in a “Battle of Champions.” Some of my students were guards and supervisors from KSP. I had a standing offer as a guard if I ever needed a job.</p> <p class="subsq">I graduated from college in the Jimmy Carter years while the economy was stalled. There were no jobs. Finally, I decided to give the prison a try. What did I have to lose? I didn’t have any other prospects for a job unless I wanted to go back on a riverboat or go back to graduate school. So I applied for the job and was hired as a correctional officer. I never looked back.</p> <h2 id="subhead-2" class="section-title subhead keep-with-next paragraph-follows case-upper">THE BELLY OF THE BEAST</h2> <p class="first first-after-subhead">My first day at KSP (Kentucky State Prison) was July 3, 1978. And I was nervous. As I rounded the curve and drove down the road from Pea Ridge, there it was, looming like a medieval fortress on the banks of Lake Barkley. The Castle on the Cumberland River. What had I gotten myself into? I could only imagine what convicted inmates might think when they see the Castle for the first time. The prison itself resembles something out of the Middle Ages, with its soaring walls, stone parapets, and heavily guarded watchtowers. An imposing place, with a reputation to match.</p> <p class="subsq">As I started up the crumbling steps to the main entrance, I heard a grumpy voice say, “HALT! State your business.” I stopped dead in my tracks. The command to halt sounded threatening—as if I might be shot if I didn’t obey.</p> <p class="subsq">I looked up and saw a middle-aged man peering down at me from the gun tower. I responded, “I am Philip Parker, and I am reporting to work.”</p> <p class="subsq">“Go ahead,” was all he said. I didn’t know what to think about this first encounter, but I knew I was about to enter a strange, new world.</p> <p class="subsq">As I approached the front gate, I stepped aside as several uniformed men with shotguns came running from the armory located at just off the top of the steps. Startled, I stepped aside and froze as they passed. I thought to myself, <i>What in the hell is this about?</i></p> <p class="subsq">I learned later that there had been a mass escape from Four Cell House. My very first day. Three inmates, Joe Craig, James Hatfield, and Charles Murphy, had cut through their cell bars and made their way down the short distance from the opening to the ground using bedsheets fashioned into a braided rope. As with every prison escape, their luck was fleeting; the men were apprehended a few days later. As first impressions go, this was a lot to take in for a new corrections officer.</p> <p class="subsq">I stood at the entrance, waiting to be ushered in. There was no control center at the time to automatically open prison doors. After the front gate officer keyed the lock, I crossed the threshold and entered the belly of the beast. One of the things I never quite became accustomed to after all my years in the Castle was the smell. The Castle has an odor unlike anything I have ever experienced: an ungodly combination of cigarette smoke, body odor, sewer gas, death, and history. It still smells that way to me. Some five decades later, I still notice that odor as I walk up to the prison gates. Half-jokingly, I always say it is the smell of the Castle Beast, the one that trolls the front entrance, taunting all those who sense its presence.</p> <p class="subsq">After filling out employment paperwork with two other new hires, we were told to go to the receiver’s basement to get our uniforms. I thought to myself, <i>What the hell is the receiver’s basement?</i> Turns out it was a warehouse in the basement of Five Cell House with an outside entrance. I learned my first lesson on the job: prison workers have their own language to describe the Castle’s twisty, cavernous interior. I knew we had to learn fast or we would not find our way around. KSP is enormous, with five large cell blocks that housed 1,200 inmates in 1978. In subsequent years, two new cell blocks were added, even as the overall population decreased to around 980, because inmates no longer shared cells.</p> <p class="subsq">With uniforms in hand, the new hires were directed to report to the hospital for a physical. The hospital, I later learned, was a state-licensed facility complete with infirmary beds, a surgical wing, a pharmacy, and an emergency room. But we had no idea how to get there. After wandering around the sprawling prison yard for what seemed like an eternity, one of the older guards took pity on us and pointed to where we had to go.</p> <p class="subsq">A man in a lab coat with a stethoscope led me into an exam room and asked some standard questions about my health. I filled out a medical history as he listened to my heart and lungs, took my blood pressure, pulse, and temperature. I thought he was a doctor. Several weeks later, I saw him in the canteen line and realized the man I mistook for a doctor was actually a convict.</p> <h2 id="subhead-3" class="section-title subhead keep-with-next paragraph-follows case-upper">SOMETHING FISHY</h2> <p class="first first-after-subhead">A “fish” is a term used to describe a newly hired officer or a new inmate who just got off the bus. Why, I don’t know. It is just prison slang. The “fish tank” was a row of cells in One Cell House used to house inmates until they had been given an orientation and a list of the rules. They would also meet the Classification Committee to be assigned a job and a cell.</p> <p class="subsq">A fish <i>officer</i> is a new hire who has not attended the academy or learned the ropes. These rookie officers are basically useless and treated accordingly. You remained a fish officer until you became familiar with all the ins-and-outs of daily prison operations and earned a small degree of respect. You had to prove yourself, meaning you would not run from trouble and you would back up your fellow officers. You also had to follow orders to the letter.</p> <p class="subsq">I was hired in with two middle-aged female employees, Betty Blackwell and Rosy Mitchell. In the late 1970s, only a handful of females were hired as correctional officers. It was still a man’s world, but that was rapidly changing for the better. Nora Aldridge was the first female hired as a correctional officer sometime around 1976. Soon after, Judy Groves was hired and had already made sergeant by the time I came aboard. I try to imagine how they must have felt entering such a hostile, male-dominated environment, where danger and violence were the norm. These were courageous and brave women.</p> <p class="subsq">As the three of us made our way out to the receiver’s basement, we had to traverse a sidewalk just below Four Cell House then Five Cell House. Inmates could stand at the barred windows in the hallways of Five Cell House and look down at the walkway we were on, the cars in the parking lot, and the boat traffic on Lake Barkley. We were about to learn our next lesson.</p> <p class="subsq">Betty Blackwell, walking next to me on the winding sidewalk, was a middle-aged blond with an attractive figure, and Rosie Mitchell, a middle-aged person of color, strode alongside Betty as we made our way to the receiver’s basement. As we passed under Five Cell House, we could hear a whistle and catcall from somewhere above us on one of the four floors of Five Cell House. “Shake it, baby, shake it!” I was street smart and did not look toward the direction of the voice. Betty reflexively glanced up, however, and that same voice yelled, “Not you, Bitch. HIM.” I thought, <i>Oh my God, they are talking to me!</i> Another lesson for a fish guard.</p> <h2 id="subhead-4" class="section-title subhead keep-with-next paragraph-follows case-upper">TRAINING</h2> <p class="first first-after-subhead">Training consisted of a two-week academy at Eastern Kentucky University, the training center for all correctional officers and police officers in Kentucky. After the academy, we endured a week of firearms training at KSP, followed by on-the-job training. Before could be scheduled for the academy, I had to shadow more experienced officers. I was not allowed to work by myself until I graduated from the academy.</p> </div> </div> </body> </html>

Philip W. Parker

Guard (Hardcover) $32.95

Guard: A True Story of Duty, Sacrifice, and Leadership in Kentucky's Maximum Security Penitentiary In 1978, Philip Parker started his decades-long career as a prison guard at the Kentucky State Penitentiary, a place known as "The Castle" for its medieval look. On his first day, a mass escape set the tone for the dangerous and intense journey ahead. Over the years, Parker faced numerous challenges, from federal court allegations to life-threatening situations, including a dramatic hostage crisis with a notorious inmate. Parker's memoir takes readers through the emotions and realities of prison life. From handling daily violence and suicides to witnessing murders caused by racial tension and other conflicts, Parker describes the harsh environment of the prison. Guard includes detailed accounts of harrowing events, like the highway crime spree where two of his colleagues were shot. The book also covers the evolution of the prison itself, from its early days with medieval punishments to modern-day improvements. Parker shares his experiences as a warden, dealing with staff corruption, inmate violence, and the heavy responsibility of carrying out court-ordered executions. Guard is a vivid and honest account of a life spent managing the worst in human behavior while finding moments of compassion and redemption. It highlights the dedication and resilience required to maintain order in such a challenging environment, and offers a unique perspective on the sacrifices made by those who work in the prison system.

Ted Prichard

Head Bangin' Radio $14.95

Every hero has a beginning, and for Ted Prichard, his was on a tiny 10-watt college radio station in Southside, Virginia. Known to his fans as Thrashpie, Thrasher, Rock ‘N’ Roll Ted, Uncle Lee, or the Dream Merchant, Ted’s career led him from overnight weekend air shifts broadcasting to the “night people” of the deep South to standing on stage at the Los Angeles Coliseum in front of 80,000 screaming metalheads as one of the most beloved radio personalities in the 1980s and ‘90s. Head Bangin’ Radio is an exciting memoir of the era of FM rock radio at Los Angeles’s flagship heavy metal station, KNAC-FM, through the days of Pirate Radio and beyond. For fans of heavy metal, those nostalgic for the great days of rock radio, or anyone who wants a good laugh at the absurdity of show business (and Thrasher himself!), Head Bangin’ Radio delivers. If you ever wondered what it was like to be on the radio, or just what the heck those people were really doing “in there” as you listened, Ted lets it all hang out, blemishes and all, with humor and love for a medium that is all but gone today.

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David Dean

Her Terrible Beauty $15.50

In this chilling collection, prolific short story writer David Dean turns his talents to tales of suspense and the supernatural. Nominated for Edgar, Derringer, and Barry Awards, as well as twice winning Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine’s prestigious Readers Award, Dean proves here that he’s no stranger to an even darker world than that of crime fiction. Her Terrible Beauty and Other Tales of Terror and the Supernatural offers a variety of stories that will amply demonstrate his talent for the terrifying. A writer who decides to winter over at his family’s lake cottage discovers that an unsettling local legend contains much more than a kernel of truth, in war-torn Bosnia a company of Serbian soldiers happen upon a village like no other they have encountered… and wish they hadn’t, and a student of Edgar Allan Poe’s literature uncovers the real reason why three roses and a bottle of Cognac are left on his grave every January 19th. Her Terrible Beauty and Other Tales of Terror and the Supernatural is the third volume in the collected short fiction of David Dean.

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Mark G. Hewitt DBA

Hunted: The Zodiac Murders $22.95

The Zodiac serial killer claimed the lives of at least five young victims between 1966 and 1974, and mocked the police with telephone calls, taunting letters, and encrypted messages. Thousands of men have been accused; nearly 2,500 have been investigated. Yet the Zodiac has never been identified. This painstakingly researched and meticulously detailed compendium to the Zodiac serial killer case by True Crime author Mark Hewitt presents the crimes and their effect on a community, including the various sides of the many disputed issues within the case. HUNTED: The Zodiac Murders is the true story of America's greatest criminal mystery. This indispensable companion book is accessible to anyone interested in joining the pursuit, exploring a mystery, or witnessing the police response to an appalling crime spree.

Mark G. Hewitt DBA

Hunted: The Zodiac Murders (Iceland) $18.95

The Zodiac serial killer claimed the lives of at least five young victims between 1966 and 1974, and mocked the police with telephone calls, taunting letters, and encrypted messages. Thousands of men have been accused; nearly 2,500 have been investigated. Yet the Zodiac has never been identified. This painstakingly researched and meticulously detailed compendium to the Zodiac serial killer case by True Crime author Mark Hewitt presents the crimes and their effect on a community, including the various sides of the many disputed issues within the case. HUNTED: The Zodiac Murders is the true story of America's greatest criminal mystery. This indispensable companion book is accessible to anyone interested in joining the pursuit, exploring a mystery, or witnessing the police response to an appalling crime spree.

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Chris Westphal

Huttle to the Rescue $15.50

The Emperor of Japan is a pyromaniac, living in the orange groves of Echo Valley as he plots revenge against Tom Huttle, who he believes has ruined his life. Meanwhile, Tom is in Baltimore to collect a writing award, while his wife and her bawdy traveling companion have been kidnapped by terrorists in Cairo. It’s up to Tom to save the day. The third book in The Chronicles of Huttle is an intricately constructed black comedy that skewers everything from post-Cold War paranoia to sexual taboos to our fascination with youth, beauty, and celebrity. Huttle to the Rescue is book three in the Chronicles of Huttle.

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Robert Harwood

I Went Down To St. James Infirmary $17.95 $19.95

“I Went Down to St. James Infirmary” is the quintessential jazz-blues song of the early twentieth century. Many major performing and recording artists have covered it, from Louis Armstrong and Jimmie Rodgers to Van Morrison and the White Stripes. Infused with ego-driven angst and once considered obscene because of the song's stark depiction of death and the portrayal of a seedy underworld inhabited by gamblers, pimps, loose women, and every sort of rounder, it has been adapted, rewritten, borrowed, stolen, attacked, revered, and cherished. In its heyday of the 1920s and ‘30s, when recordings and sheet music of St. James Infirmary were first packaged and marketed, the public could not get enough of it. Nearly a hundred years later, its allure remains. Author Robert W. Harwood follows the song as it travels from its folk origins into the recording studios, performance stages, and law courts of America's jazz era. Along the way he picks up a retinue of fascinating characters whose stories are as fascinating as the song itself. Infused with humor and supported by meticulous research, this groundbreaking book explores the turbulent and mysterious history of one of the most important and influential songs of the twentieth century.

Chris Westphal

In Huttle We Trust $15.50

It’s the early 1990s, and Tom Huttle has abandoned film and television writing for a more stable, although far less glamorous, career as a business writer. When he finally sells his first book—Garbage—he believes that wealth and celebrity are just around the corner. With his wife and son, he moves to tiny, isolated Echo Valley. The place seems ideal, until Tom learns that life there is dominated by Bagnoosianism, a crackpot religion presided over by the enigmatic Swami Bagnoose. Tom’s wife soon succumbs to the cult’s allure, while his fragile son falls under the spell of a shifty conman from long ago in Tom’s life. Meanwhile, Tom’s agent makes increasingly bizarre demands for the book, and Tom nurtures a maniacal fondness for pink lemonade. And then things began to get weird. In Huttle We Trust is book two in the Chronicles of Huttle.

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