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One Too Many Blows to the Head
JB Kohl and Eric Beetner
Kansas City, 1939.
In a world of fixed fights and mob influence Ray
Ward and his brother Rex are two of the only clean
fighters in town. With Ray in the corner and Rex in
the ring they are headed for the big time. Until that
fateful night. Now Ray has a score to settle using a
lifetime of lessons in how to fight back.
Dean Fokoli is a detective with a new partner, an
alcoholic wife and a guilty conscience. At least the
boxer on the radio who just got beat to a pulp won’
t end up in his homicide file. But when the dregs of
the crooked fight world start turning up dead,
Fokoli is on the hunt for the killer. The chase will
take him to the underbelly of the Kansas City night
and hopefully keep him one step ahead of his past.
JB Kohl and Eric Beetner
Kansas City, 1939.
In a world of fixed fights and mob influence Ray
Ward and his brother Rex are two of the only clean
fighters in town. With Ray in the corner and Rex in
the ring they are headed for the big time. Until that
fateful night. Now Ray has a score to settle using a
lifetime of lessons in how to fight back.
Dean Fokoli is a detective with a new partner, an
alcoholic wife and a guilty conscience. At least the
boxer on the radio who just got beat to a pulp won’
t end up in his homicide file. But when the dregs of
the crooked fight world start turning up dead,
Fokoli is on the hunt for the killer. The chase will
take him to the underbelly of the Kansas City night
and hopefully keep him one step ahead of his past.
“One Too Many Blows to the Head,
feels like a long-lost pulp you find in a
favorite bookstore. A delicious mix of
classic hardboiled grit and the heart-
heavy world of film noir, it’s a one-
sitting read that sends you back to a
lost time of fight halls. Chicago boys
and last chances.”
-Megan Abbott, author of Bury Me Deep
and Queenpin
“Boxing and noir once went hand in
glove, but you don’t see many boxing
novels anymore, ant that’s a shame.
Here’s one that dredges up all the
blood and spit and sweat and money
of the fight game, and wraps it around
a tough noir storyline full of revenge
and dark secrets. Kohl and Beetner get
it exactly right.”
-Steve Brewer, author of Cutthroat
“Razor sharp debut from noir
partnership Beetner and Kohl. From
its first savage punch, a dark world of
organised crime and boxing grips and
refuses to let you go. Highly
recommended.”
-Nick Quantrill, author of Broken Dreams
feels like a long-lost pulp you find in a
favorite bookstore. A delicious mix of
classic hardboiled grit and the heart-
heavy world of film noir, it’s a one-
sitting read that sends you back to a
lost time of fight halls. Chicago boys
and last chances.”
-Megan Abbott, author of Bury Me Deep
and Queenpin
“Boxing and noir once went hand in
glove, but you don’t see many boxing
novels anymore, ant that’s a shame.
Here’s one that dredges up all the
blood and spit and sweat and money
of the fight game, and wraps it around
a tough noir storyline full of revenge
and dark secrets. Kohl and Beetner get
it exactly right.”
-Steve Brewer, author of Cutthroat
“Razor sharp debut from noir
partnership Beetner and Kohl. From
its first savage punch, a dark world of
organised crime and boxing grips and
refuses to let you go. Highly
recommended.”
-Nick Quantrill, author of Broken Dreams
Ray was a hard cord of a man, with muscles coiled tight enough to fire bullets
without a gun if needed. His hands were cuffed together and rested on the table in
front of him. Like the cuffs would do me and Bob any good if Ray decided to
pounce.
Bob wiped the sweat off his forehead when he saw me and led me over to the
corner to tell me what he’d got so far . . . which wasn’t much. “Says he was there
looking for a girl.”
“Whore?”
Bob nodded.
I moved back over to the table and told Ray I was sorry about his brother—and
that was the truth. I was sorry about a lot of things and his brother’s death was just
one more on the list. “Let’s talk about what you were really doing in Negrotown.”
His fists clenched a little when I said that, the tendons of his wrists straining against
the metal of the cuffs. “Get those off him, Bob,” I said.
Bob looked like he wanted to argue, but he took the cuffs off and stepped back,
like maybe he’d let a tiger out of the cage or something. Ray just nodded and sat
there, not giving in to the urge to rub the raw spots.
“You want a cigarette?” I asked.
“Don’t smoke.”
I shrugged. “So how about it? What were you doing there?”
“What makes you think I’m lying about the girl?”
“I think you’ve been too busy to think about girls.”
He was silent.
“Tell me about the fight.”
without a gun if needed. His hands were cuffed together and rested on the table in
front of him. Like the cuffs would do me and Bob any good if Ray decided to
pounce.
Bob wiped the sweat off his forehead when he saw me and led me over to the
corner to tell me what he’d got so far . . . which wasn’t much. “Says he was there
looking for a girl.”
“Whore?”
Bob nodded.
I moved back over to the table and told Ray I was sorry about his brother—and
that was the truth. I was sorry about a lot of things and his brother’s death was just
one more on the list. “Let’s talk about what you were really doing in Negrotown.”
His fists clenched a little when I said that, the tendons of his wrists straining against
the metal of the cuffs. “Get those off him, Bob,” I said.
Bob looked like he wanted to argue, but he took the cuffs off and stepped back,
like maybe he’d let a tiger out of the cage or something. Ray just nodded and sat
there, not giving in to the urge to rub the raw spots.
“You want a cigarette?” I asked.
“Don’t smoke.”
I shrugged. “So how about it? What were you doing there?”
“What makes you think I’m lying about the girl?”
“I think you’ve been too busy to think about girls.”
He was silent.
“Tell me about the fight.”
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