Nobody gets out clean.
No Clean Hands: A Relentless Crime Thriller — a 1990s California crime novel by William Bear.
In a town built on corruption, where everyone has an angle, Abraham Lincoln just wants out.
Ebook · $4.99
The prequel is pay-what-you-want: enter $0 in the price box and it’s yours.
There is also a limited edition.
The Written edition
A limited edition of 100 digital copies, bought straight from him on Written.
A blue cover made for this edition, chapter illustrations throughout No Clean Hands, and a new preface written for it.
Both stories in one volume: the full novel and the complete prequel novella.
$7.
The Written edition — $7
Who this is for
This is for readers who already know they like this shelf:
- Elmore Leonard and Carl Hiaasen — the closest thing to this book.
- Gritty crime thrillers with dark humor, set in 1990s California.
- Outsiders instead of investigators. The people society wishes would disappear: outcasts, hustlers, runaways, throwaway kids, addicts, drifters, thieves, the dangerously naïve, the dangerously angry, and the too-stubborn-to-die. The ones called criminals whether they are or not.
Not for you if you want the system fixed, the town cleaned up, or a hero at the end.
What this book is
In a town built on corruption, where everyone has an angle, Abraham Lincoln just wants out.
The prequel novella — When Our Hands Were Cleaner — shows Abe before all of it: the version of Abe before everything calcified. Before the packing house. Before the desert. Before the choices that can’t be undone.
No Clean Hands is what happens after.
No Clean Hands isn’t a redemption story. Nobody gets out clean. Nobody fixes the system. Nobody becomes a hero. They survive. Sometimes survival is all you get.
The packing house. The graffiti. The wall you hide inside. The open desert road. And the sky at the end.
53 chapters, delivered as an EPUB.
Sample
Chapter One: A Sleepless Night
Abe was asleep when he heard the motorcycles. They came into the packing house through the south cargo doors. More than a few Harley-Davidson choppers with mufflers that didn’t muffle. These were the kind of pipes that saved lives by telling the whole damn highway they were coming.
Abe stayed low and looked over the edge of the loft he built in the eaves of the old building. He scanned the people in attendance. They were not the usual random wanderers that stumbled through here. This was organized. Deliberate. And loud as hell.
Why’d they have to meet here? How did they even find this place? Who cares? It’s not my business. Just stay quiet and don’t do anything stupid.
He watched them dismount. It was obvious who was in charge of the bikers. The leader rode first in the column of members. When he stepped off his bike, his back turned to Abe, giving him a direct line of sight at his vest. The centerpiece was an upside-down star inside a circle with the figure of an angel crucified superimposed over it. The angel’s head and limbs are arranged to form the five points of the pentagram. The stitching above this image spelled out the club’s name: Heaven’s Demons. Below were stitched the words: San Bernardino, So. Cal.
Shit. Whatever’s happening can’t be anything good. These guys are bad news with a capital B. They were the kind who shoot first and bury the wrong person later.
Then he saw the others, a clean-cut Hispanic man in a tailored wool suit, flanked by two obvious bodyguards. The biker boss walked straight up to him like they were old friends.
“Are you ready to do this, this time, Sergio?” the biker asked. His voice was loud and clear where Abe lay still, watching from the shadows above.
“Yes,” he said, holding out a gym bag. “All the money’s in here.”
One of them stepped up and took it. He sauntered to the lead bike and counted the money out into the saddlebag. When he finished putting it away, he took three packages wrapped tight with purple packing tape from the saddlebag on the opposite side, put them in the bag, and started walking back to where everyone was waiting.
I should have known it was a dope deal. What else would bring these guys all the way out here from Berdoo? Guess there’s nothing to see here. Stay quiet and let it play out.
Abe pulled his blankets over his head and laid as far back in the loft as he was able, closed his eyes, and fell back to sleep.
“Who the fuck are you?!”
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
“What the fuck did you do?!”
“It’s a double-cross! Kill them!”
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
“I’m hit, boss! I’m hit!”
“Demons! Get the fuck outta here. NOW! GO! GO! GO!”
BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!
BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!BLAM!
He sat bolt upright, ears ringing. Gunfire echoed from the floor below. He blinked hard, trying to remember where he was and why he was shaking, and it came back in a rush.
The bikers. Sergio and his bodyguards. The drug deal. He had fallen back to sleep.
He crawled to the edge of the loft and peeked down.
The bodies were everywhere. Sergio was facedown, one hand still gripping a pistol. His guards were nearby, not moving. Across from them, the bikers were scattered, slumped over crates, bleeding out between their motorcycles.
Fifteen men, all dead.
I should have stayed awake. Too late to worry about that. Now I need to get the fuck out of here. Fast.
He gathered his possessions, which consisted of his book and painted leather jacket, and stuffed them into a battered backpack. In a minute he was ready to climb down from the loft. He hesitated at the ladder, scanning for signs of movement.
He saw nothing and climbed down.
He reached the floor, and he spied the gym bag. The one with the drugs. And he remembered.
I can’t believe I didn’t think of it first! The money, stupid. Take the money!
Okay, new plan: grab the cash and the dope. Roll these guys for whatever they’re carrying, and I’m out of here. This is my ticket off the streets, and I’m not blowing it.
Prefer Google Play? That listing carries a free sample of the opening pages.
The author
I write stories that live somewhere between punk rock and a parole violation.
Proof
4.7 out of 5 across 24 Amazon ratings, as of 25 September 2026.
The book is also sold on Amazon and Google Play, at $4.99 on both.
That rating is Amazon’s (ASIN B0FDL3964W). The author’s own Gumroad store shows no ratings for this book.
What you get for $4.99
- No Clean Hands — full ebook, EPUB.
- $4.99, one payment, no subscription.
- Bought straight from the author’s own store.
The free route
Not ready to spend $4.99 on a writer you’ve never read?
Take the prequel novella free.
When Our Hands Were Cleaner — A Novella Prequel to No Clean Hands. Pay-what-you-want on his store: enter $0 in the price box and it’s yours.
It includes:
- the full novella as EPUB + print-ready PDF
- the author’s note
- an exclusive preview of No Clean Hands
One night in 1990s Southern California: Barbie and her cousins drive down from Crestline to Redlands for the punk, ska and Oi! scenes, a night at the Showcase Theater in Corona goes wrong, and on the drive home a cop named Dale Kemper decides to teach some punk rockers a lesson. It’s a raw look at subculture, trauma, and the exact moment innocence is lost.
(Also $0.99 on Amazon, $1.00 on Google Play, if you’d rather read it there.)
Rather have three novels than one?
1990s Southern California Crime Thriller Bundle — $9.99
No Clean Hands + One for Another + Accidental Justice. Three full-length novels in EPUB.
Save over 30% when you buy all three books together.