Malice, coming early December 2012

Below is the first chapter to my next book, Malice, due out early December 2012.

In the heart of Midtown Manhattan, near 2:00 AM, a mysterious man didn’t seem bothered with the night’s air or the uncomfortable heat, but something else was eating at him. He knew what he was about to do was going to upset a lot of people, but to him, this was something he had to do. I’m a dead man either way, he thought. He shivered when an unsuspected chill ran down his spine.

The mystery man wore a long, black trench coat with loafers of the same color protruding out from under its bottom seam. Though it was nighttime, he wore sunglasses to hide his eyes. He gripped the handle of a black briefcase tightly in his hand.

He stopped on the curb, needing to cross Broome Street in order to reach his objective. Although there was no traffic on the empty street, he looked both ways to ensure a safe crossing. Nothing coming, he thought, and then made his way across the street.

On the other side, the man walked between an apartment complex on the left and a hotel on the right. He needed to pass through a courtyard that was near fifty-foot square and void of people. In the center was a metal table surrounded by four metal chairs. About ten feet away from the table and chairs was a wooden bench that ran lengthwise on three sides. In the far right corner of the courtyard, a lone light illuminated a wooden shed, which jutted out from the back of the hotel. A single door in the brick wall led into the side of the hotel. At the other end of the courtyard, an eight-foot high concrete wall that blocked of an alley.

The mysterious man stayed close to the apartment complex wall. He passed two darkened windows, a door, two more dark windows, and then another door. A light shined from the inside of the next two windows. The second door was his objective. He placed his hand on the knob, turned it, and opened the door. He stepped through the doorway and let the door close on its own. He looked down the hall to the intersection about twenty feet away to make sure no one was around. The light at the far end flickered, giving the hall an eerie feeling. He made his way to the intersection, turned the corner to the left, and made his way to room 112.

He stopped in front of the door, but before entering, he looked around to make sure no one had followed. He knocked twice, paused, knocked again, and then waited for a response.

Within moments, the door opened to reveal a large, Mexican man with wide shoulders. He had a mean look about him. He wore a blue muscle shirt with tattoos covering both arms and his neck. Etched in the corner of his eye was a teardrop tattoo. He stepped aside and motioned with his hand for the newcomer to enter. “Sup, Holmes,” he greeted.

Without a word, just a nod, the mysterious man entered the room, the door closing behind him.

Unfortunately, neither man noticed the figure in the shadows down the hall. Read more.

Exceprt From a Future Novel, Americanism

Below is a small excerpt from a future novel, Americanism

                                                                     Excerpt

 Across the canal from Staten Island, all eyes on the mainland remained glued to their televisions, their computers, and their mobile device waiting for reports on the takeover of the island. Those living close by were able to witness, firsthand, the clouds of billowing smoke and the occasional sporadic bursts of flames, which appeared throughout the island. Sirens continually blared their warning letting all know that insurgents continued their siege.

 From the mainland, a white satellite van came to a screeching halt at the mouth of the Goethals Bridge. The logo on the side of the van read, News Channel: New York 2. A man exited from the driver’s side while a woman exited the passenger’s side of the vehicle.

Brittany, the woman, stayed as close to the van as she could, but also wanted to be as close to the action as possible without being shot. But now, she was mad. She turned, and scowled at Jimmy, the driver and camera operator, as he came around the back of the van because he didn’t have the camera rolling when she had witnessed the fall of the Statue of Liberty.

Why The Pen Name T. H. Rahman

People have asked on many occasions why I use the pen name T. H. Rahman as an author name instead of using my original name. Well to explain it, I use T. H. Rahman as a dedication to my family.

To begin with, the "T" is for my first name and my son’s first name, Timothy.

The "H" is the first letter of my middle initial and the first letter of my grandfather’s first name, Harold.

"Rahman" is my mother's maiden name, my grandmother's married last name along with my grandfather’s last name.

My grandparents had two daughters, but no sons. Since there were no sons, there is no one to carry the family name. I decided to dedicate my pen name to the family in order to continue the Rahman legacy.

Big brother, little sister by T. H Rahman

In the middle of the living room on a rainy Sunday afternoon, a little girl, about four years old, sat in a small chair with three of her favorite dolls whom had joined her at a small card table for some tea.

For nearly an hour, Jill quietly played with a tea set. She was having a grand old time and chose to ignore the cartoons airing on the television.

Bored, Jill’s older brother, of about eight, entered the living room and knelt down on the floor across from her. “What are you doing, Jill?” he inquired.

The precious smile on Jill’s face grew the more she played. “Playing with my dolls, and having tea with them,” she answered in a gleeful voice. As she playfully poured tea into the cups, she tilted her head to the side and brushed her long blonde hair from her face to reveal the bluest of eyes. She went around the table and poured the make-believe hot tea into cups.

“Let me have some tea,” Jill’s older brother ordered, as he reached out and picked up a teacup Jill hadn’t filled yet.

“Ok,” Jill merrily stated. “I’ll pour you some tea,” she stated, happy as can be, for she had someone that wanted some tea. A huge smile crossed her face as she picked up the teapot and began to pour into the teacup Jack held in his hand.

Jill looked at her brother with his short, brown hair covering his narrow face. She loved her brother, but knew he was trouble.

Hey Jill, you know what’d be cool?” Jack asked as an awesome idea popped into his head. A sinister smile crossed his face. “It’d be cool if something happened here.”

“Like what?” Jill asked, lost in her own playful world. She wasn’t expecting the unexpected.

“Something like this,” Jack said. He leaned back onto his arms, kicked out with his leg, and knocked over the card table and the entire tea setup.

Dead Rich by T. H. Rahman

What Dead Rich is about

 The horror of fighting zombies becomes a reality in Albany, New York where an arrogant, selfish Bo Reynolds finds himself thrown into a perilous situation. He seeks to endeavor in the face of long odds and nearly overwhelming obstacles, which take the form of flesh-eating zombies. 

The attack on the United States of America begins, and Bo must save himself from the approaching enemy bombers decimating the city. 

Five years later, during the time of a war-torn America, Bo finds himself on the outskirts of the city trying to survive within post-apocalyptic surroundings and its population of zombies.

A beautiful young woman named Lynn frees Bo from danger, and together the two set out to find safety inside Tate Estate, but soon find themselves fighting alongside Cassius and Tony whom are already prisoners within the boundaries of the mansion. The unfortunate four must play a deadly reality game of survival against hordes of hungry zombies in an attempt to win their freedom or face a brutal death.

With evil intent, Mr. Tate, a cruel individual and proud owner of Tate Estate manipulates his servants to do his bidding by ordering them to release wave after wave of zombies into the mansion with the intent to kill the four contestants. As the game progresses, something far worse is unleashed, something so vicious that not even the strong know if they can survive.

 While the contestants are struggling for their survival in the lower rooms of the mansion, Mr. Tate’s wealthy guests are on the floor above indulging in food and drink, watching the greatest reality show ever entertained on a television screen.

 The fondest Rufus is Mr. Tate’s most obedient servant and fulfills his master’s wishes, but soon a feeling he has never felt before infiltrates his heart, and he will do whatever he can to keep it there.