Bruin's Wake

By Chris Casey

Once upon a time, there hailed a man from Memphis, a modern day adventurer with a Confederacy of Dunces aiming to bring him down. His enemies:a former high school friend turned cokehead, a lie-mongering newswoman who fiends for sex and unearned money, a pistol-packing homosexual with a badge and a deadly axe to grind and an escaped convict lusting for revenge.

Bruin's Wake is the story of Paul Bruin, an enigmatic character who trapses from one adventure to the next. Horseshoe Lake, Arkansas. 201 Poplar. Florida State University. Oxford, Mississippi. They're all stops on the road leading back to Memphis. But will pride,his greatest nemesis of all, finally get the best of him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 27, 2008
• ISBN: 9781449079192

Chris Casey

Chris Casey is originally from Memphis, Tennessee.  Bruin's Wake is his first novel.

Book preview

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive, Suite 200

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the

product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons,

living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

© 2009 Chris Casey. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 4/10/2009

ISBN: 978-1-4343-8126-2 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2008903249

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Warning

Words and Music by Brandon Boyd, Michael Einziger, Alex Katunich, Jose Pasillas II and Chris Kilmore   

(c) 2001 EMI APRIL MUSIC INC. and HUNGLIKEYORA MUSIC  

All Rights Controlled and Administered by EMI APRIL MUSIC INC.  

All Rights Reserved   International Copyright Secured   Used by Permission    

Contents

Prologue

Saturday, May 19, 2001Tunica, Mississippi

BOOK ONE THE SUMMER OF 1997

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

BOOK TWO THE FALL OF 1999

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

BOOK THREE MEMPHIS IN May 2001

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

THREE HOURS LATER

Chapter 76

Epilogue

About the Author

Prologue

Saturday, May 19, 2001

Tunica, Mississippi

The car sped toward the lights straddling the horizon. Paul Bruin gripped the wheel tensely, eyes straight ahead. Impassive. He shuttered his eyes as the dizzying lights of Tunica, Mississippi twinkled in the distance.

The Horseshoe Hotel and Casino was a very special place in Tunica, as both novice gamblers and experienced high rollers called it home. Paul Bruin was not a gambler, though. Instead of a weekend of fun, necessity had brought him to this other little city of sin, tucked neatly along the seams of the Mississippi Delta. And tonight, he wasn’t going to score one for the house… the house had to score for him.

Paul walked into the Horseshoe with all the confidence and aplomb of a comped high roller. The roulette tables in the corner of the casino caught his eyes briefly, and right then, he knew that was to be his one stop to gain all or lose all.

Paul Bruin… Five hundred thousand, please. Paul coughed, clearing his throat.

The cashier at the cages was a thin, wiry man with hollowed-out cheekbones and a face that had seen better days. After checking his computer screen, he counted out the appropriate chips and slid them over to Paul’s anxious hands. Paul did not look at the cashier; instead, he turned and focused his fierce brown eyes toward the first roulette table he saw.

He approached it with caution and tried to breathe evenly and deeply. Tried to remain calm. To concentrate. To think only optimistic thoughts. He finally spoke up. Five hundred thousand.

Paul placed his chips neatly on the green baize table.

The greasy-haired croupier manning the table eyed him nonchalantly and said, Red or black, sir?

Black… always bet on black. Right? Right?

Black, Paul said.

The croupier nodded his head and set the ball in motion.

Shit! This can’t happen. It can’t land on red. The group’ll be ruined… the laughing stock of Memphis. No! Not now…

Paul held his head high, bloodshot eyes steady as the ball bounced. Jiggled. Skipped its way back and forth. Finally finding its spot on…

Paul held his breath…

Always bet on black, right?

BOOK ONE

THE

SUMMER

OF

1997

Chapter 1

April Durham looked out the plane window. She hadn’t seen Memphis in more than a year. Federal Express loomed in the distance, planes landing and leaving simultaneously. It was all too familiar.

She had not seen Paul Bruin in more than a year either. For a moment, she felt a rush of excitement. Paul Bruin. Sexy. Smart. Funny. And definitely great in bed. But then she remembered. Paul Bruin. Arrogant. Conceited. And definitely an asshole. She had missed so much of their love-hate relationship. The fights and truces. Joys and agonies. The makeup sex had always been worth it, though. Was that why she was coming back? To have one final fling with Paul Bruin and then throw him to the heap like the rest of them? It didn’t matter, she thought. He had been the one to call her, and she needed a little vacation.

Paul was waiting at the airport to greet her. Six feet tall and muscular, he had a supreme arrogance in his walk. It’s what turned the women on. Or so he had said. He always figured April liked his strut as well, even though she would never dare admit it. Paul had been infatuated with April ever since meeting her last summer among mutual friends at his Midtown apartment.

The odd couple they were not. Paul, thick and bulky, with sandy brown hair and deep brown eyes...he had the physique of a toned athlete with just a touch of James Dean’s rebellious graces. And April, olive skin, short dark hair, and a pair of eyes that resembled two Greek olives set perfectly behind a finely etched porcelain face. Paul and April fit together like football player and homecoming queen.

Idly, Paul looked down the long terminal and saw her coming. Cutting through the crowd like she owned the place, she had a style all her own. She wore a black jersey matte dress from Banana Republic and a silky white top from Express. Diamond drop earrings and a sapphire blue diamond on her right hand completed her look. Same Angel perfume. Same steely confidence.

Hey, stranger, April said with a laugh, jabbing Paul hard in the stomach.

Is that how you greet all your ex-boyfriends? Paul grimaced with a smile as he wrenched the large carry-on bag from her hand.

I missed you, big man, she murmured softly. She always knew how to push his buttons.

I knew you’d come, Paul said confidently. Although secretly, he hadn’t known at all. It had been nearly a year since he had last seen her, and they had not exactly parted as friends. After finally passing her real-estate exam on her third try, she had moved to south Florida, selling luxury homes in Miami, Fort Lauderdale, and Boca Raton. While Paul had been stuck in Memphis, selling cars for his uncle Lonnie. Paul shuddered to think that April was now more successful than he. That was the one thing he had prided their relationship on.

They made their way through the terminal toward the escalators and down to the baggage-claim area. The early-morning rush of businessmen in suits, and women with small children filled the hallways of the large airport. In the restaurants, sad-sacked Southern-fried asses draped over bar stools, their fat cheeks smothering hard cushion as airport patrons stuffed their faces with world-famous Memphis barbeque. April grabbed Paul’s arm. So… who’ve you been banging these days?

Hey, if I told you, I think you’d never talk to me again.

So what else is new? she laughed.

April spotted her luggage and ordered Paul toward it.

Goodness gracious! What have you got in here, bricks? Paul exclaimed, lugging the large Vuitton suitcases and trailing April outside through the large sliding glass doors. I thought you were just staying for the weekend.

You never know, she chirped. I just might have a fashion emergency this weekend.

Paul laughed. So what else is new?

Now they were outside, and the dense Memphis humidity saturated them.

Fuck! she exclaimed. April was never one to be ladylike with her words. It’s hotter here than Florida.

Aw, quit your bitchin’, Paul snapped. At least you’ve got the beach down there.

They approached a silver convertible Mercedes-Benz in the parking lot.

I see you’re still working for your uncle, she commented, sizing up the sleek car.

Yeah… how’d you guess? Paul asked sarcastically.

April smiled insolently and thought of how stupid his uncle Lonnie was for letting Paul drive a fifty-thousand-dollar car. She wanted to tell him this, but for now, she let him throw her bags into the trunk as she took the passenger’s side and Paul took the driver’s. Soon they were speeding out of the parking lot of the airport as both Paul and April wondered what exciting adventures the weekend would bring.

The sun streamed through the plate-glass windows of George Bruin’s house on Horseshoe Lake, as George sat up in his king-size bed. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and still felt disoriented. At fifty-two, one could safely say George Bruin was quickly approaching his golden years. But his clear complexion and absence of gray hair made him look years younger. He felt younger, too. Especially since Allison Tressle had been sharing his bed for the last five nights in a row. Who could deny the sheer passion and youthful charm of Allison Tressle?

Allison Tressle. Young, beautiful, and career-oriented. A talented newswoman, she had started her career as a stewardess for Noreastern Airlines. But after graduating from the University of Memphis with a degree in broadcast journalism, she had started her news career as a support anchorwoman for Channel Nine News. Recently, she had been promoted to chief reporter of the I-team, Channel Nine’s investigative reporting unit. Her God-given talent for putting people on the spot, coupled with her killer good looks, had made her Queen Bitch of Memphis Television. It was a title she took great pride in. She and George had met informally two weeks before at a rooftop party atop the Peabody Hotel in downtown Memphis. And just last night, they had attended a charity blues ball held at the Gibson guitar factory.

As if she knew George was thinking sweet thoughts of her, Allison strolled into the bedroom holding a tray of goodies—a ham-and-egg sandwich, orange juice, and a bowl of freshly cut cantaloupe. To the side of the plate sat George’s cholesterol pill. George might look young, but his appetite over the years had definitely pushed his cholesterol over the hill.

Here’s breakfast, she whispered softly.

George ran his hand through his faded brown hair and positioned himself for the tray to sit in his lap. Allison propped herself next to him on the bed. She was completely naked under a large University of Mississippi sweatshirt. George downed the tiny white pill with a large gulp of orange juice. Then he pulled Allison’s hand under the sheets, letting her feel his now-solid erection. Certainly don’t need Viagra, do I? he grinned.

George! she admonished. You’re such a naughty old man!

Lightly, she began stroking him. George moaned in pleasure as he let Allison’s experienced hands lead him to ecstasy. For Allison, she did not mind. For him, it was pleasure. For her, it was business. Sensing the urgency of his release, she pulled the sheets back and took him in her mouth. After a long swallow, she licked her lips, bounced toward the bathroom, and shut the door hard behind her.

Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she admired what she saw—a twenty-nine-year-old, five-foot-six, very attractive young woman with the best silicone tits money could buy and an abundance of shoulder-length, silky brown hair that sharply contrasted her pale blue eyes. Her small pug nose and Bianca Jagger-like lips fit perfectly with the contours of her slightly tanned face… it was definitely a mug made for television. This more than made up for the deep Arkansas twang that she was able to cover up while conducting interviews on the news. And thank the Good Lord for that. For she didn’t want anyone knowing that her roots could easily be traced back to poor ol’ trailer trash from East Arkansas. Not even George. Yes… George Bruin. She patted herself on the back for picking a man like him. Old. Rich. Gullible. But certainly horny for an old man. For now, she did not mind catering to his sexual needs. Not one bit. For soon, she would have him tightly in her clutches. And she would not be letting go until half of his money was hers. Then and only then would the fucking and sucking stop. She glanced at her watch—11:00. She had to be back at the station at noon. She better get a move on it, she thought, or she was going to be late.

She heard a pounding at the door. Are you all right in there?

Of course she was! What did he think? That she fell in the fucking toilet?

It’s open, she said.

George flung open the door and faced Allison with yet another hard-on at full attention.

She sighed.

Did this man not get enough sex? Eagerly, she dropped to her knees and began bringing him to climax again.

Paul’s rented duplex sat on the corner of Central and Patterson, cater-cornered and directly across the street from the University of Memphis campus. Paul shared it with Russ Hemmings, an old buddy from high school. Russ ran a thriving landscape business out of the large garage adjacent to the house. At night, Russ would often wake up the entire street, sharpening the blades of his mowers or crunching his large, eighteen-foot trailer onto the gravel driveway that made up most of the back yard. Paul had put up with it like he put up with most things in life, as long as Russ helped to pay the rent, which wasn’t much, considering the fact that Russ’s dad owned the property. But others weren’t as understanding as Paul. Like the old bag who lived two doors down. She had taken Russ to court over the noise. Fines and threats of shutting down Russ’s business soon silenced the offending sounds, much to Paul’s and everyone else’s relief.

Russ’s large trailer, with the words HEMMINGS LAWNSCAPES emblazoned on the back, sat idly in the driveway. Mud and dirt caked the walkway leading up to the front door, as unplanted trees and shrubs were lined up in front of the hedge bushes surrounding the house. Russ was rearranging the yard again, and it looked like hell.

Paul stopped the car on Patterson, failing to cut the engine. He took April’s luggage inside, and minutes later, returned to the car.

Paul gunned the sleek Benz down Central Avenue. Cruising through three red lights, Paul narrowly missed and honked at several pedestrians, including a nun walking across the street from Christian Brothers University and a homeless man, rolling a shopping cart full of cans across East Parkway. Paul silently cursed himself for missing the vagrant. Do Memphis a favor, he thought.

We’re meeting everybody at Fino’s for lunch, Paul announced.

And who’s everybody? April groaned, secretly hoping it was not some of Paul’s obnoxious and immature friends. She remembered the first time she had met Paul. He was living in some rat-infested Midtown shit-hole with a bunch of roving, filthy animals. It looked like something straight out of Animal House. She also remembered Paul as having the only clean room in the entire apartment. That was last summer, she thought. Let’s just hope he’s outgrown that crowd.

Just Uncle Lonnie and his girlfriend, Paul replied.

Oh, April said, relieved.

Paul screeched the car loudly into a vacant parking spot across the street from Fino’s and killed the engine.

Always drive like a madman? April huffed, rearranging her hair from the mangled web the convertible had left it.

Only when I’m under the influence, Paul joked, both of them fully aware of Paul’s reckless-driving record.

They strolled into Fino’s and immediately spotted Paul’s uncle and his girlfriend.

Lonnie Bruin was a forty-four-year-old car salesman with a large, prominent nose and thinning, dark hair with tinges of gray hovering just above his temples. His car dealership—Bruin Imports—was the largest volume dealer of luxury cars in Memphis and the surrounding Mid-south. Located on South Third Street in downtown Memphis, Bruin Imports had been in business for close to twenty years, and its closest competitor—Smith Imports—was located just down the street. Lonnie’s ruthless business tactics always enabled him to stay one step ahead of the competition. This may have been one of the reasons the IRS had begun an investigation on him for tax evasion just eight months earlier. Apparently, Lonnie owed six hundred thousand dollars in back taxes. The charges were still pending, and it didn’t seem to cramp Lonnie’s style one bit. Lonnie loved being in the spotlight. Just like his brother George and his nephew Paul. Attention seekers.

You remember April, don’t you? Paul asked Lonnie with a grin.

Yes… and again, the pleasure’s all mine, Lonnie said, bringing April’s hand up to his lips and brushing it with a kiss.

Hugh Hefner wannabe. April remembered him from the summer before on Horseshoe Lake while water-skiing there with Paul. He had been fucking one of Paul’s female friends, an eighteen-year-old blonde bimbette in the lake house. And in the afternoon, getting head in his cigarette boat out on the lake from another one of Paul’s friends, who must have been impressed by Lonnie’s bullshit pickup lines. April was not.

Lonnie Bruin… how could I forget? she said coyly, manufacturing a smile at the same time.

Lonnie’s lunch date/girlfriend seemed visibly impressed by the group she was joining. She seemed to fit Lonnie’s tastes—bronzed, blonde, and bordering on anorexic. She also looked like she just graduated from high school.

They all gave their orders to a short, stout woman behind the counter as the small Italian bistro quickly became cluttered with Midtown regulars and downtown workers. Two men in business suits could be overheard heatedly arguing about a court case.

Memphis is full of attorneys, Paul remarked.

Tell me about it, replied April.

After finally getting their food, they sat down at the nearest vacant table and began feasting on gourmet Italian sandwiches and Fino’s world-famous pasta salad. Eagerly, Lonnie and Paul talked cars. Paul had been working at Bruin Imports off and on for the last year and a half. The flexible hours plus the fact that Lonnie owned the place made it easy for Paul to come and go as he pleased. Usually it was six months working in the fall and winter and six months off in the spring and summer. It was an arrangement that suited Paul just fine. Besides, the summer was meant for drinking cold beer and water-skiing out on the lake.

So how’s your car driving? Lonnie asked Paul.

Purrs like a cat, Paul smiled. He looked over at April, who was trying to avoid some inane question that Lonnie’s friend-for-the-day was asking her.

An extremely good-looking blonde took a seat next to their table, turning many of the male heads in the eatery in her direction. Paul recognized something familiar in her face.

Brandi Stockton! exclaimed April. I thought that was you.

April Durham, what have you been up to?

Now Paul remembered. Brandi Stockton had been best friends with April at Bolton High School. She had come to a party at the lake the summer before and had left a lasting impression in Paul’s mind. Blonde hair, tan skin, delicate face, and a pair of ocean green eyes that bordered on the exotic. Her beauty had fascinated Paul ever since the day he first set eyes on her—a fact he had never confided to April.

Just in Memphis for the weekend… I’m living in Florida now. Hey, say hello to Paul, April said. He sure remembers you.

Paul’s face turned beet red, as if April knew he was thinking naughty thoughts about Brandi. Um… yeah… Paul stuttered, flustered in embarrassment. His eyes met briefly with Brandi’s. Her beauty almost crippled him.

Yes… we’ve met before, Brandi smiled, flashing a set of perfectly aligned, whiter-than-white teeth.

Where are we going tonight? April asked Paul.

Pinky’s, Paul responded, still in awe of Brandi’s beauty.

Why don’t you meet us up there tonight? April asked Brandi, more in the tone of a command than a question.

Lonnie and his girlfriend both rose to leave. They bid their farewells and made a speedy exit.

I’ll see what I can do, Brandi promised, not caring to admit that Pinky’s was not her favorite nightclub.

Good… we’ll see you there tonight, April stated matter-of-factly, pulling Paul up by his arm at the same time.

Yeah, we’ll see you later, Brandi, Paul said as he winked in Brandi’s direction. Brandi returned the innocent gesture and turned back around to join her table’s conversation.

Stumbling across Madison and into the parking lot of a photo store, Paul and April fended off the usual Midtown panhandlers on their way to the car.

They made it back to Paul’s in record time. Russ was in the shower, and the next-door neighbor, Cole, was sitting on the couch, smoking a joint. April joined him as Paul took a rain check. Weed had never been his cup of tea. Instead, he collapsed on the sofa beside them and fell into a light nap.

Chapter 2

Brian!

Knock… knock… knock…

The knocking grew louder with each repetition. By now, Brian Gowan had been dozing for three hours, still half-geeked from a two-day coke binge. Why couldn’t he accept the fact that cocaine was just not his friend? Relapse was a bitch. And now he was suffering the consequences.

Brian!

Knock… knock… knock…

Brian awoke with a start. The room began spinning. The knocking at the door now turned to loud pounding as the door began to rattle. Brian flung open the door to find two of his fraternity brothers facing him.

Where in the hell is our coke? one of them demanded.

Brian let out a long sigh.

He grabbed a plastic baggie from the pocket of his pajama pants, handed it to them, and then slammed the door in their faces.

Don’t bother me again, assholes! Brian yelled from behind the door as he went back to bed.

Staring up at the moving ceiling above him, he thought of all the things that pissed him off in life. It was a long, long list. He scrunched his face into a frown as he thought of what his life had become. At twenty-one, he was a washout, still living in his run-down fraternity house. Oh, but the times he had had in this house! The parties. The fights. The girls. The drugs. By now, though, he had grown sick and tired of the same old routine. And his fraternity brothers were of no help. Brotherhood to them meant mooching off anyone who had the most blow. And usually it was him. Of all the things he wanted most out of life, respect was very high on his list. And why not? He was now the president… eminent archon of Sigma Phi Alpha Fraternity. Aside from the obvious fraternal privileges bestowed on him, wasn’t there some form of compensation for being the president of the largest fraternity at the University of Memphis?

As if he didn’t have a tough enough time gaining respect throughout high school. And who could blame him? His father, Wayland Gowan, had been the head football coach and American government teacher extraordinaire at his own high school, and was probably the slowest mind ever to wander the halls of Thomas Aquinas High School. With caveman-like features and a pea-sized brain, it was no small wonder that Wayland had given Brian the stupid gene. But not to worry, though. For what Brian lacked in brains, he sure made up for in good looks—obviously inherited from his mother. Six feet two with olive skin and a perfectly symmetrical body, he looked like he belonged on the cover of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog. In high school, a variety of girls had entertained him. They all seemed boring until the day he met Courtney Porter. A college freshman at the University of Memphis at the time, she was nothing more that a classy user, who after two years left Brian busted and heartbroken. It was a fast education in classy, stylish women. And however traumatic the experience might have been, it had scored him major cool points among his high school buddies, including Paul Bruin. Brian bit down hard on his lower lip as he thought of the name again. Paul Bruin. One-time friend… now bitter enemy. He and Paul had practically grown up together. Even went to the same schools together. Snowden. Thomas Aquinas. In high school, when no girl would consider getting within ten feet of Paul Bruin, Brian had been there as a friend, teaching Paul the ropes. And in return, Paul had taken him on trips with his family—skiing in Aspen, sightseeing in Washington, D.C., parasailing in Florida. Those were the days, Brian thought. Carefree and happy. No responsibilities. No worries.

So when Paul had left for the marines following his senior year and then returned just last summer, Brian was more than happy to give his old pal a bid. But by a month into his pledgeship, Paul had managed to rub the entire fraternity the wrong way… including Brian. The Marine Corps had definitely changed Paul. Now he was cocky and loud and full of himself. But that didn’t give Paul Bruin the right to tell the whole world that Brian Gowan was a queer. None whatsoever. And when the fraternity had finally decided to blackball him, that had been Paul’s way of getting his revenge. Dammit! The rumor still stung his ego… however true it might have been. For Paul Bruin had only been half right. Brian Gowan was a bisexual, and nobody was supposed to know that but him. Not his girlfriend. Not his fraternity. Not even his nosy mother. Suddenly he felt a cold rage building up inside him. Paul Bruin had been the cause of all his troubles. His big mouth had ruined his life, and now he had a one-hundred-dollar-a-week cocaine habit to prove it. Dammit! Dammit! Dammit to hell! If he could somehow get away with it, he would kill Paul Bruin.

The alarm clock on the nightstand next to him buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. Cursing, he picked it up and threw it at the wall across the room, smashing it into several pieces. Shit! He had to be at work in an hour. Angrily, he got up, jumped under a cold shower, got dressed, snorted a few more lines, and bolted for the door.

Chapter 3

Russ and Paul’s house was well decorated. The European vintage prints adorning most of the walls came from the South of France. And the rest of the antiques and decorations came from other parts of Europe, Memphis or New Orleans. Like the antique replica of the Greek goddess Dionysus holding a pendulum clock, which sat atop the fireplace mantle. Or the vintage chairs from Ethan Allen that sat around a solid mahogany table. One thing Paul and Russ had was class. But that didn’t prevent them from having the rest of the amenities of any other normal twenty-year-olds. Like a messy kitchen, dirty laundry piled high in the laundry room, or the makeshift bar that sat in the corner of the living room with a Bourbon Street sign attached to the wall above it. Paul had stolen it one year at Mardi Gras.

Cole and April were still in a trance from the hydroponic bud they had smoked just hours earlier, as Paul awoke from his nap and caught the last few minutes of a Marine Corps commercial on television.

Ah… the marines. Just two years ago, Paul had decided to leave the comforts of Memphis for the drill fields of MCRD (Marine Corps Recruit Depot) in San Diego, California. While the rest of his friends had spent the summer following their senior year drinking, doing drugs, and prepping themselves for the rigors of college life that upcoming fall, Paul had

Reviews for Bruin's Wake

[loucypher_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The life and adventures of Paul Bruin, from some adventures in high school, to the marines, to college and everywhere in between. Sex, drugs, and money motivate some of the players in this drama.I thoroughly enjoyed this book. Read it in about a day I just could not seem to put it down. Right from the start the character of Paul Bruin gets going and the drama and intrigue go till the end of the novel. I would definitely recommend this for a good summertime read. It has everything you can want in a good story, great characters, good plot, and a very nice smooth writing style that makes the transition from short chapter to short chapter very nice. Two thumbs up.

[Dave Peña Jr. · Rating: 1 out of 5 stars]

Egotistic trip through life while pondering the failures of Youth.. We know who you are dude. We grew up with your spoiled rich kid self.