About Me
Al Boudreau has traveled the world exploring a multitude of countries. First hand knowledge of the locales his characters traverse lends a richness unattainable by simple research alone. The author also maintains a keen eye on geopolitical events, pushing the envelope to make his novels come alive. His fiction is based on the real world and the hidden truths buried beneath its surface.

Where To Find Me     




Murhkin Mocado, a twenty-nine year old, California native had it all ... good job, good looks, and a solid handle on life. While leaving work one afternoon, a seemingly freak occurence changes his life forever. His decision to take action, a stunning attempt to save lives, carries unexpected repercussions. By the time day turns to night, he is charged with murder, set up for a crime he didn't commit.

Joelle Barstow, a star within the industrial espionage community for well over a decade, was hand-picked fresh out of college by a private intelligence agency. The confident agent is cast deep inside an operation involving big business and government. She finds her skills pushed to the limit while attempting to navigate this dangerous world of greed and power.

As their paths cross, Barstow attempts to warn Mocado of just how dangerous his plight really is. Mocado, manipulated by those who framed him, initiates a chain of events leading to one of the worst man-made, ecological disasters in history.

Will Barstow unearth truths required to bring those responsible to justice? Will Mocado escape their clutches? This mystery/thriller takes the reader on a rapid-fire adventure beginning in the United States, careening through the breathtaking splendor of Ireland, and culminating in Kenya, one of the most exotic countries within the boundary of Africa's "Dark Continent."

Flash Fiction – “Goodfellas meets Pretty Woman”     
He felt lucky for a few seconds. No doubt, the feeling wouldn’t stick … it never did. He slid himself sideways across her moist skin. The beads of sweat glistened like a party dress, lit up by the pin-point ray of sunshine that found its way through a small tear in the flimsy window shade. He felt a weird sympathy for the bright beam. Neither he nor the ray had any choice in the matter. Both were forced to end up inside this new place he called “dump.” He let the full weight of his steroid-laden, goomba frame fall heavily onto the mattress then adjusted himself to face her. His unemployed trigger finger traced a few laps around her navel ring, now rising and falling in sync with the rapid rhythm of her heart. She was just about as perfect a broad as anyone he’d been with. The life had supplied him with a constant bevy of dancer types. This one was different. Yet, he knew she would never be enough. 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said.

“Did I do something wrong, Steven? Her sincerity hurt his heart more each time she spoke.

“It’s not you, Adele. I mean this witness protection thing. I don’t think I can do it.”

“You don’t really have any choice now, Baby. Besides, I kinda like your new look. You were gorgeous—”

“Oh, cut the crap! I’m a dead man … I just know it. No way are they gonna let this stand.”

Adele remained silent. She’d seen that temper too many times in the past six months since Steven, aka “Stevie two step” had made his grand entrance into The Bare Hug, his entourage in tow. She still remembered the look in his eyes when he said, “This is the last lap dance you’re ever gonna do.” He had meant it and she hadn’t argued. She had known right away that this man was someone who would not take being denied lightly.

He rolled over to the edge of the bed, grabbed his new jeans and pulled them on. Adele followed his every move as he headed off toward the bathroom. He didn’t offer a glance. It would be better for both of them this way. He grabbed his piece and the rest of his normal-guy street clothes before walking inside the dated, olive green bathroom. The color reminded him of how he felt inside. The whole apartment was a prison of sorts, much like the real thing. He had spent more years inside than out. There was no point in prolonging the sentence.

The revolver was loaded … it was always loaded. He checked it anyways. The chrome steel object was more of a friend now than any living, breathing thing around him. He slid it between the waist of his jeans and the small of his back. Just a couple more minutes inside the sallow confines would insure that Adele had drifted off. He avoided looking in the mirror at all costs. The shock at the surgeons office had been enough. He slowly opened the bathroom door and killed the light. A telltale, muted snore gave the green light to his escape. She’d be fine and go back to the city. And he, straight to hell, a permanent respite from a world to which he could never belong.