Is it [exceptional] bad luck or being in the wrong place at the [dreadfully] wrong time? Or a question of both? One fateful day, Clarice Carter and her hubby, Ace, are conducting business as usual at their shop, Custom Ace, and the next they’re both in correctional facilities—for the long haul. Who do they have to thank? A couple of nasty, dirty cops with ties to The Teacher and a no-holds-barred cartel.
Speaking of holds, Clarice “Shocker the Fighter” Carter is a bantam-weight pugilist with numerous wins under her belt. Being a skilled boxer comes in handy when you’re behind bars, living under conditions that go beyond trying. But this gal’s strong and determined, and she’ll do what’s necessary to survive—and escape.
When you have cellmates with names like Death Punch, Boogerilla and Tattoo Face, you know trouble can’t be far off. With Her Fists, Henry Roi’s gritty and raw debut novel surges like a whitewater river. The action is intense, and the details and descriptions are so thorough that you can effortlessly visualize settings and characters (some in all their scary, unsavory splendor).
The facts re boxing and tattooing create an additional layer of realness, and there’s humor, too, which helps alleviate the ugliness of correctional life (and death).
“So peanut butter and jelly with sweat pants and a side order of hand towelettes,” Eddy said. “Thank you for choosing Fugitive King. Please drive around to the window.”
“I want fries and a divorce with that,” Ace added. “I’m citing ‘irreconcilable driving differences’.”
“He screamed like a girl,” Clarice informed them. Eddy merely chuckled. Bobby sounded like he was choking to death.
While they waited on delivery service from Fugitive King, Ace and Clarice walked down to the water. Held hands and sat on the sand bar, fully exposed in all its smelly glory, low tide waters lapping gently against the small beach and bank connected to it. An early morning fisherman motored his skiff out around the marsh islands a couple hundred yards in the distance, sea gulls hovering over him, man and boat silhouetted from the rising sun 93,000,000 miles behind him.
Ace gripped her hand. “Should I moon that guy?” he said.
Clarice looked at him, shocked, and gasped, “No! What’s wrong with you? Act your age, dude.”
He just smirked. Stood and offered her his hand. Clarice took it and gained her feet. He bowed and kissed her fingers.
Then they turned around and exposed their glowing rear-ends to the fisherman.
With Her Fists receives a 4.5 rating (the editor in me has to deduct ½ point because of typos and inconsistencies like italics usage).
The author, Henry Roi, was born and raised on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, and finds inspiration in its places and people. As a GED tutor and fitness instructor, and advocate of adult education in all forms, he works one-on-one as well as on-line. Personal interests, not surprisingly, include: tattoo art, prison reform, and auto mechanics.
This talented writer also focuses on promoting indie writers by arranging reviews, delivering media campaigns, and running blog tours.
You can find Henry on Twitter and Facebook @HenryRoiPR.