{"product_id":"dirty-20-isbn-9781368114578","title":"Dirty 20","description":"\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Sopranos\u003c\/i\u003e meets \u003ci\u003eDungeons \u0026amp; Dragons\u003c\/i\u003e when the son of a crime boss accidentally becomes a crowdfunding superstar and disrupts business on the streets with his RPG.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eBill Schweigart (The Fatal Folklore Trilogy) game masters a crime fiction novel that will make you finally get that THACO LIFE abs tattoo.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTommy Fugue never cared for the family business. But when his father—aka Big Al, aka King of the Denver Streets—assigns him the “summer job” of laundering money online, Tommy figures he can list some fake projects on FunFunder, pledge them with zombie accounts, and clean a dirty $20,000 in time for college in the fall.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUnfortunately for Tommy, he’s more creative than he thought. Just as he’s about to give his father’s capos a progress report, he sees that a roleplaying game he mocked up using his mom’s old artwork has been funded to the tune of $650,000… and counting. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe only thing scarier than an angry Big Al is a Big Al that smells cash and family bonding time. Voluntold by their mercurial boss to assist, various criminals and killers help playtest and produce Tommy’s \u003ci\u003e1,000 Blades of Tergivers\u003c\/i\u003e RPG in the hopes they can truly turn a dirty twenty into legit millions.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt first Tommy sees game sessions with brothel owners, hit women, and a street captain with OCD as yet another example of why he needs to get out from under his father. But when Tommy realizes that being game master might help him uncover what these criminals know about his mother’s disappearance, it’s \u003ci\u003eGame On\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePlaying a game while making a game is tricky—especially when elements of the fantasy world keep blending into the players’ real lives. And when the streets declare the Family Fugue slipping, Big Al starts playing a new game, with rules only \u003ci\u003ehe \u003c\/i\u003eknows.“A fun, tightly plotted crime novel that blends the best elements of gangster sagas like \u003ci\u003eThe Sopranos\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eGoodfellas\u003c\/i\u003e with the wild world of roleplaying games and geek culture. Schweigart’s knack for fleshed-out characters and knowledge of the ins and outs of the RPG world combine for a unique, memorable read that I couldn’t put down.” \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Alex Segura, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eSecret Identity\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eAlter Ego\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eEnemy of My Enemy: A Daredevil Marvel Crime Novel\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“A sharp, funny tale of crime, gaming, and high fantasy. Fans of crime fiction, TTRPGs, and budding romance: \u003ci\u003eDirty 20 \u003c\/i\u003ewill keep you glued to the page.” \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Stephen Schleicher, Major Spoilers\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePraise for Bill Schweigart's \u003ci\u003eThe Beast of Bancroft\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A vicious otherworldly creature terrorizes a neighborhood in Schweigart’s swift and breezy suburban creature feature. . . . Readers who appreciate a B-movie sensibility, affable characters, and a sense of fun along with their scares will find much to enjoy.” \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Publishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“The Beast of Barcroft is a page-turner, seizing the reader and demanding he keep his nose buried in the book until that last page is reached.”\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e—New York Journal of Books\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e“The action is fun, the pace is quick, and the imagery is great. I’d highly recommend this to anyone who loves a good afternoon horror story.”\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e—Scifi and Scary Book Reviews\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eBill Schweigart\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of \u003ci\u003eThe Guilty One\u003c\/i\u003e and “Women and Children First,” a story co-written with James Patterson in \u003ci\u003eThree Days to Live\u003c\/i\u003e. He is also the author of The Fatal Folklore Trilogy, which includes \u003ci\u003eThe Beast of Barcroft\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eNorthwoods\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eThe Devil’s Colony\u003c\/i\u003e. He is a former Coast Guard officer who drew from his experiences at sea to write the nautical thriller, \u003ci\u003eSlipping the Cable\u003c\/i\u003e and the romantic comedy, \u003ci\u003eRunning Light.\u003c\/i\u003e Bill currently lives in Arlington, VA with his family, who along with their monstrous Newfoundland and too many cats, provide him with all the adventure he can handle.Tommy looked back to his father, sitting at the head of the table, immaculate in his dark suit, the only pops of color a lavender tie and matching pocket square, tucked and folded so crisply it looked like it could draw blood. Tommy shook his head, then gave his father a comic, exaggerated stare.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Sorry, Pop. Like seeing a teacher at a restaurant. Took a second to compute when I walked in.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePorks helped him with an awkward smile. Jo looked warily from father to son and back again, reading their micro expressions for signs of impending violence. Nine stared straight down at the tabletop, like he was waiting for the executioner’s axe.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Take a seat,” said Don Fugue.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You’re in my chair,” joked Tommy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Oh, \u003ci\u003eforgive me\u003c\/i\u003e,” said Don Fugue, standing with mock contrition. “Force of habit. You see, I never sit with my back to a door. I always want to keep an eye out for threats. But I guess that\u003cbr\u003edoesn’t apply here, right?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTommy didn’t like this at all. His father’s drop-ins were rare, but not unheard of. It was the cold smiles, the ambiguous speech, the subtle mockery.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis father was playing with him. Teasing him. Like a cat with a mouse.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOr testing the fences like a velociraptor in Jurassic Park.\u003cbr\u003eMoments ago, Tommy had felt like a shroud had settled around his soul. Now, he felt like he had touched a live wire. The depression lifted instantly, replaced with the electric current of fear coursing through his body. Fight-or-flight.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe took his usual seat, tried not to show his fear.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I wanted to see my investment in person,” said Don Fugue. “A million and a half for this?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe looked around at the littered game table: soda cans, half-eaten bags of chips, stats sheets, dice, slips of scribbled-on paper, and beta versions of 3D-printed miniatures of the characters. “Not much to it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnother slight. At the party celebrating the game, Tommy had never seen his father so proud of him. In the wild fear that galloped through his chest like a band of horses, a tiny fire started. He was angry. He was tired of ambushes. And after all the work he had put in, and the danger and heartbreak and loss, he didn’t appreciate anyone running down One Thousand Blades of Tergivers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNot even his father.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Maybe you just don’t get it.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTommy half expected his father to launch across the table.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“So, deal me in.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTommy cleared his throat. “It doesn’t work like that.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“No cards?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Not how you’re thinking.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDon Fugue thought on this, nodded. He pointed at one of the mini-figs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Are the Star Wars figures required?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTommy took a breath. Explaining, once again, that every action figure or miniature was not Star Wars–related was a battle for another time. Big Al came of age when it was that or G.I. Joe.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“They’re called mini-figs. But nothing is required. All you really need is a good imagination and a set of dice.” He touched his temples and then held his hands aloft. “\u003ci\u003eTheater of the mind\u003c\/i\u003e.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m not a theater kind of guy.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“The figures help you orient yourself. Where you are in relation to the rest of your party . . . It helps to calculate distances for spells. Combat can be difficult to picture.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“For some.” Big Al picked up a mini-fig, held it up to the diminished light, and examined it. “Can you sell them?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“One can.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Can \u003ci\u003eyou\u003c\/i\u003e?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePorks chuckled like a good little boy. The pimp would always be on his father’s side, not matter what.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“It could be a potential revenue stream. We haven’t gotten there yet.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I thought this game was about imagination. . . .”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eJo offered a wan smile, like she’d swallowed something that didn’t agree with her, then looked over at SuperChenz, the don’s bodyguard, who stood in the corner, as immovable and immutable as the Rockies.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Anyway,” continued Big Al, reaching into his dark jacket, “I didn’t bring a figure. Will this do?”\u003cbr\u003eBig Al placed a 9 millimeter pistol on the table.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePorks stopped grinning. Tommy fought not to glance at Nine to gauge his reaction. It would be a tell, a sign of guilt. His father was trying to intimidate them. The only course of action Tommy\u003cbr\u003esaw was to pretend it wasn’t working.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“That’s not permitted.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“That’s the funny thing about guns: They don’t ask permission.” His father laughed amiably. He looked at the other players, saw they were not laughing along. “Wait, is he for real?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“They’re not in charge,” said Tommy. “I am.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Is that so?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I’m the lead storyteller. I’m the GM. I run the game.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“You may run the game, but I own the table.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“My game, my rules.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBig Al pursed his lips. He nodded slowly, appearing to consider this.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Storyteller,” he said finally, “I have a story. A gangster and a priest walk into the woods at night. The priest turns to the gangster and says, ‘I don’t like this. I don’t like the woods. I’m afraid of the dark.’ And the gangster turns to him and says, ‘How do you think I feel? I have to walk out of here alone.’ ”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen no one at the table laughed, Don Fugue slammed his palm on the table. The mini-figs danced. The empty soda cans toppled. The players jumped.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Lighten up,” he bellowed. “It’s a joke! It’s funny, right?”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStill, no one laughed. The new player fixed his gaze on Tommy, but the smile had left his face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Guess you had to be there.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTommy glanced at Jo. She met his gaze, which was as much as an acknowledgment as she could offer. Alongside the stampede of fear, the small wildfire of anger grew.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTommy fought to keep his voice steady and calm. Firm yet respectful. Cheerful even.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This a fantasy game, Pop. Whoever you are does not matter. Whatever you’ve done does not matter. Because at this table—in my game—you can be whoever you want, do whatever you want. You can even be a hero.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTommy’s father smirked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“But it’s hard to imagine you’re a cleric battling a horde of monsters when there’s a real piece on the table. It kind of shatters the illusion, locks everyone up. No disrespect.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Don’t get constipated on my account.” The don gestured toward the weapon. “Go ahead.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTommy, holding eye contact with his father, reached for the gun. Big Al smiled as Tommy removed it and set it on the floor beside him.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“What now?” Big Al smiled derisively. He had mastered saying a lot with very little. Those two simple words were both a question and a taunt.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTommy reached back across the table and placed a d20 of the same gunmetal black color as the pistol in front of his father.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Roll for initiative.”","brand":"Hyperion Avenue","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233088483557,"sku":"NP9781368114578","price":18.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781368114578.jpg?v=1767725168","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/dirty-20-isbn-9781368114578","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}