This week we are featuring a Romance, Science Fiction and Fantasy author Jenn Nixon. Lets hear from her directly about her favorite cocktail:
My characters drink much more than I do. I’ve never really warmed up to the taste of alcohol. If it doesn’t takes like alcohol, I’m more likely to drink it. One of my favorite drinks is the Jolly Rancher-Jenn Style. I make it with Sour Apple Schnapps, Peach Schnapps, Cranberry Juice and a splash of Orange Juice. I make mine on the light side, so they never really do anything but give me a slight buzz. LOL
Most of my characters like wine. Why? No clue. I hate it. It’s possible that someone will crack open a beer, too, and I know that Lucky likes Gin and tonic. I try to remember that other people DO like to drink when I’m creating my characters, it helps make them realistic to me. I think the next character I create will be more like me and not drink at all or very rarely at special occasions like Weddings and parties! J
Thanks for having me on your blog, Eden!
- 1 oz. Sour Apple Pucker schnapps
- 1 oz. peach schnapps
- 4 oz. cranberry juice
- splash of orange juice
Combine all ingredients in a shaker with ice, and shake until icy cold. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass. You can garnish with a slice of apple, or a lemon wheel
Now that we heard from the author, lest grab a glass of this delicious sounding Jenn style- Jolly Rancher and indulge in an excerpt from her “Lucky” book series. In particular from “Lucky’s Charm.”
Through a small gap in the grimy motel curtains, Lucky watched Conrad Andersen pull a hooker over his lap and playfully spank her ass. The woman shook her bleached head and kicked her legs in false protest, shaking the entire bed. She slithered against his portly belly and gave him an exaggerated kiss before vanishing from the scope.
Andersen wiped his mouth, and traces of bright red lipstick smeared across his face. Frowning, he got up and moved out of view.
Two hundred yards away, Lucky shifted on the rooftop, using the free time to ease the tension built up after an hour-long stakeout. First, a stretch and twist sideways popped a few vertebrae. Flexing both hands and then rotating both ankles brought the circulation back.
Wonder if military snipers do this shit when stalking a target. Doubt any of them ever had to endure an Olympic, Viagra-induced sexcapade.
Lucky eased back into position just in time to see Andersen appear in the rifle’s scope again. Even with the obstructed view into the room, she saw him dressed in a blue pinstriped suit with a white shirt. A decent-looking older man but knowing everything he’d done made him vile enough to eliminate.
The woman reappeared and gathered her belongings off the ratty nightstand. The lights dimmed; Lucky took deep breaths to maintain a slow, steady heart rate.
Lucky directed the scope three feet to the right and targeted ten inches below the top of the motel room’s door frame: the perfect height to hit the man. Once she had a clear shot, the window of opportunity would last five seconds. She already calculated the wind factor, distance, and bullet drop. The door opened. Lucky let out one last breath and then counted in her head.
One. The hooker emerged laughing.
Andersen appeared and draped his arm around the woman’s shoulders. Two.
She glanced up at him. Three. Lucky eased the crosshairs of the scope on his head.
Four. He leaned down and kissed his escort.
The mark lifted his head to search the parking lot.
In the fifth second, the bullet penetrated his skull. His eyes popped upon exit. Pink bits of his brain spattered on the door behind him. Andersen’s body slumped against the door frame.
The hooker’s scream filled the air. Other rooms instantly sprang to life with commotion. A dog even barked in the distance.
The remnants of his face stared back into the scope, confirming the kill.
Burn in hell, bastard.
The brass catcher on the rifle trapped the bullet casing. Lucky removed the silencer and popped off the shoulder stock. Then she packed the Heckler and Koch MSG90 in the trombone-shaped case in record time.
She rolled up the blanket and surveyed the roof for noticeable evidence before slipping down the side of the house. The quiet development she found behind the motel provided excellent cover. However, the occupants and their neighbors might be home any moment, and she had to move.
Lucky pulled the worn French beatnik beret down her forehead before weaving through the backyard. She hopped over the fence of the adjoining property, emerging on Margo Drive. She walked the length of the street, listening for any sign of the police behind her.
Though her heart pumped as if she just rode a roller coaster, she felt completely at ease. Yet another sign she’d been doing this job too long. Less than a mile from the scene and she didn’t have a stitch of worry about the cops catching her.
She was getting that good at killing.
Rounding the corner, Lucky noticed a young girl crying in front of a makeshift lemonade stand that her father was tearing down. The dollar sign, forgotten on the parched grass, had drops of tears streaking through the lettering. She slowed, feeling her stomach tighten as the sobs grew louder.
“We’ll try again tomorrow, honey,” the father said, ruffling the girl’s blonde head.
“But I dinnit sell anything, Daddy,” she squeaked.
Lucky had thirty seconds, maybe less, before someone called about Andersen. Response time in Vegas, at dusk, was never routine. Even if LVPD arrived within the next two minutes, she’d be long gone. She had to walk past them. Can’t let the poor girl go to bed sad and disappointed. Lucky knew how that felt. Fishing out two dollars from her jeans, she approached the stand.
“I need something to drink,” she said, clutching the trombone case tightly, her attention on the child “Think I can have one before you close?”
“Really?” The girl’s eyes bugged wide like little swimming pools.
“Get a cup, Daisy,” the father suggested and glanced up from his work on the wooden stand. The kid filled the cup all the way to the rim and decorated the lip with two cut lemons.
“I made it myself,” she announced proudly.
Lucky took the cup, guzzled half, and smiled. “Ahh, that’s very good lemonade.” She placed the two dollars in the girl’s hand. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you,” the father and daughter said simultaneously. That fatherly tone warmed her for a moment, but she didn’t make eye contact.
“Welcome. Gotta go,” she said, swinging the trombone case. “Gonna be late. Bye.”
“Bye! Come back tomorrow.” Daisy waved.
A minute after finishing her lemonade, Lucky found her rental car on Pacyna Street. The smell of Vegas, sex, booze, and money lingered in the air. Streetlights sparkled, waiting for the last of the sunlight to vanish from the horizon.
Lucky opened the trunk, secured the case, and slipped into the car. She sighed. Her boss wanted her to get rid of the sniper rifle despite pleas to keep the weapon for sentimental value. She knew he was right; she used the execution method several times. Still, it was a great gun—one she had for years—and she hated to melt it down.
Sirens screamed in the distance, breaking into her head. Not wanting to push her luck any further by sticking around, she took off, traveled south to E. Tropicana Avenue, and picked up her cell phone when she turned onto the main drag.
“It’s done,” she said while checking the rearview mirror. “Our boy had a thing for working girls, apparently.”
“Leave the package where I told you, he’ll take care of it for us. I’ll see you when you land, okay?” the man on the other end replied.
“Sure, Phen. Tell Bet she owes me dinner.”
“She does? Why?” He huffed. “Don’t tell me you two are wagering over your jobs.”
“No, she owes me because I told her you’d make me get rid of Heckle today.”
“Don’t be sore, you still have the other rifle.”
“Yeah, yeah. Talk to ya.” Lucky clicked off the phone. Annoyed and physically high from the adrenaline rush, she went to drop off her weapon at the butcher’s lock box, hoping to find a way to work through the pending madness that followed her jobs.
* * * *
Two days later, Lucky Fascino sat at the back of the plane, flipping through the complimentary magazine. She smiled up at the male flight attendant when he stopped the beverage cart.
“Drinks?” he asked.
“Gin and tonic, thanks,” she said.
“Make it two,” her neighbor added.
Her row mate, a pink-skinned, gray-haired man, had curiosity etched on his face. Next to Lucky, any Caucasian looked pale so she understood their interest. Being naturally bronzed, due in part to an unknown, mixed heredity, gave her an all-year color most women would kill to have. As part of her normally disguised travels, she hid her curly, honey-brown hair and slight almond-shaped, amber eyes—now considered exotic instead of strange—behind a jet-black wig and brown contacts.
Talking to a stranger was the last thing she wanted to do. Getting far away from the job was the only thing on her mind. She’d been in Vegas for nine days, watching the target, learning his habits, hangouts, and daily rituals. During the last five, she’d seen him with three women in two different motels.
Gotta love Vegas.
Afterward, she had worked off the adrenaline high from the job in the hotel gym, while waiting for news of the target’s death. It came in the form of a small article in the local newspaper. The city had well over a hundred murders so far this year. One more, under seedy circumstances, didn’t get much attention.
The man beside her tried to make conversation while she nursed her drink. Mundane chitchat mostly. I really don’t care where you live. It was natural for normal people to want some type of contact to ease the boring flight. Thanks to her second cocktail, she felt more social. Besides, she didn’t have a choice. He wouldn’t shut up.
“So, what do you do for a living?” Frank asked after the exchange of names and destinations.
Kill people like you. Well, she didn’t really kill people like him, unless he had some sordid history of crime. Unlike Andersen, who used his corporate success to embezzle, commit fraud, and murder, Frank seemed like just another guy.
“I’m the Comptroller for an international furniture company.” Lucky watched the man’s eyes glaze over when she described what she did for “work.” Accountant types never impressed anyone. During long jobs, she made up a personal history and itinerary to go along with whichever fake ID she used for cases like this. Today she played Lucille Summers from Baltimore, Maryland. It was one part of the job she still enjoyed.
“Sounds lucrative.” He rubbed the side of his gin-reddened face and covertly tried to ogle her legs. “In Vegas for business or pleasure?” The way he enunciated the latter made her skin crawl. She wouldn’t give him the time of day if he were the last man on the planet able to donate sperm to keep the species alive.
“Business meetings, you know how it goes, have to get those fiscal reports in order for the CFO,” she said, smiling, mostly to suppress the gag reflex.
He laughed, continually eyeballing her and gabbing about his trip. The trite, one-sided conversation continued until the plane began its descent.
About Lucky’s Charm:
To protect her family and find a killer, Felicia “Lucky” Fascino assumed her adoptive father’s identity and joined the network of moral assassins to finish the job he began. Eliminating the man responsible for murdering her mother has consumed her for the last five years. Completing the job is the only way Lucky and her family can return to a safe and normal life. Lucky’s uncle, Stephen Chambers, hasn’t come close to tracking the killer. He announces he’s stepping down as her handler to concentrate on the investigation and names Elizabeth, his daughter, as successor.
Keeping secrets is a family trait, and Elizabeth’s addition to the business tests Lucky’s ability to maintain the pretense that the job doesn’t affect her despite the fact that all network hits are hardened criminals. While keeping her family at arm’s length, Lucky begins to feel the weight of her career choice and reclusive lifestyle. Then a chance encounter with an enigmatic hit man during one of her jobs turns into a provocative and dangerous affair. Distracted by the secret trysts with Kenji Zinn and mounting tension within her family, Lucky starts to make mistakes that threaten her livelihood and almost claim her life. When her family is targeted, Lucky must make several rash decisions she believes can save them and preserve her own sanity.
Jenn often adds a thriller and suspense element to anything she writes be it Romance, Science Fiction, or Fantasy. When not writing, she spends her time reading, observing pop culture, playing with her two dogs, and working on various charitable projects in her home state of New Jersey.
Lucky’s Charm Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B008RG8V4Q
Author website: http://www.jennnixon.com
Author contact email: firstname.lastname@example.org