This is an action tale set in the village where I lived for a couple of years. Of course everything has changed since I was there. Gone is the tin roof market where every dog in town would stand slobbering on the burning hot sidewalk, staring at the butcher as he carved up a side of beef twice a month, winking at any woman who happened to be waiting. Gone too is the palapa of jungle poles that housed pool tables shipped from Mexico city, where the owner had been a pool hustler. He used to walk among the tables, shoving wads of paper under a table leg here and there to keep the tables from wobbling, and say, as he chalked up his precious cue, "Now I'm going to give you a lesson," as he cleared the table. It was a time of innocence, when couples strolled with toddlers around the square in the evening, and if you wanted fresh fish for dinner, you just looked through a beach facing window, to see if the frigate birds still glided high above the surf. For, if they did, that meant the fishermen had not returned yet with the days catch. And if a party lasted into the wee hours and you ran out of booze, no problem. You just drove to Francisco's house, and he opened the back door of the Licoreria, passed out enough libations to keep the festivities going until morning.
Discription: Forced to flee the men stalking him, a cop named Cody Brannon moves to a Caribbean beach town and tries to escape a violent past by rekindling a dream and opening a food cart. But ritual murders push him to investigate the theft of a Mayan artifact, said to possess supernatural powers, stolen decades ago.