Spotlight & Giveaway: The Bystander by John David

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author John David to HJ!

Hi John and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, The Bystander!

To start off, can you please tell us a little bit about this book?:

Television reporter Pete LeMaster heads to the Jacksonville Waterfront expecting to
cover a feel-good story as the community gears up for a major college football game.
Everything changes when an armed man enters the retail district with an assault rifle and
threatens the crowd. In a stunning act of bravery, an armed bystander shoots and kills the
attacker. Pete captures the incident on video, and it quickly goes viral, sending his career
on an upward climb. As he investigates further, he realizes the situation is far more
complex than it first appeared. A deeper mystery emerges, shadowed by unknown forces,
and Pete must rely on his instincts as a journalist while doing everything he can to stay
alive.
 

Please share your favorite lines or quote(s) from this book:

Here’s one from the opening scene:
I turned to watch several EMTs wheel a stretcher out of the High Topper
store—one tech holding an IV bag in the air like they do in medical dramas. The
woman on the stretcher looked like a stereotypical Southern grandma but with a
bloodstained shirt. The victim of the third bullet.

What inspired this book?

There were two key inspirations. The first was a 2022 incident at an Indiana mall where
an armed bystander killed an active shooter. I followed that story closely, reading
everything I could find about it. I was fascinated by its political and social implications,
and it sparked the idea for the novel. The second inspiration came from my lifelong
interest in the nuances of gun rights issues in America. Writing this book gave me the
opportunity to explore those subjects in a fictional setting while still focusing on telling a
compelling story.

How did you ‘get to know’ your main characters? Did they ever surprise you?

My protagonist, Pete Lemaster, is entirely fictional, but he shares many of my
sensibilities on politics, journalism, and even food. Much of my humor comes through in
Pete’s voice. One surprise in developing Pete was the role of his mother. In an early draft, I mentioned that Pete forgot to call her after the shooting, even though he knew she would be worried. An early editor loved this detail and encouraged me to expand on it. That led to the
creation of an overbearing mother character who provides some comic relief. She is
nothing like my mother, but the dynamic between Pete and his mother adds some depth
to his character. I am the youngest of three boys and a bit of a mama’s boy, like Pete,
which is one reason I dedicated the book to my late mother.

What was your favorite scene to write?

My favorite scene to write involved Pete learning about gun laws from two characters
who are staunchly pro–Second Amendment and skeptical of mainstream media. The three
engage in a friendly but spirited exchange. I enjoyed crafting the back-and-forth dialogue
and was surprised by how much fun I had writing it. Here is a snippet of that scene:

“Can I buy you guys lunch?” I asked, looking for the waitress with the
intent of intercepting the check.
The next battle was joined: the quest to pay the check in a move of
dominance and machismo. Who can argue the best to pay the bill is the
human equivalent of rutting elephants or bighorn sheep ramming each
other.
“You are not buying me lunch,” Lenny said.
“No way,” Craig chimed in. “This was my invite.” Which was a lie.
“Both of you need to respect your elders,” Lenny said.
It was exhausting to watch, and they were getting absolutely nowhere.
“I can expense it, so lunch will be courtesy of the fake news media,” I
finally suggested.
For the first time all day, there was silence. Neither had a snappy retort.
They smiled as I handed my credit card to the waitress.
“You guys can fight over the tip,” I said. No reason to let the show end just
yet.

What was the most difficult scene to write?

Without question, the main action scenes were the most challenging for me. Capturing a
sense of urgency is always a challenge, and I rewrote and edited those scenes many
times. Too many to even count. Here is a snippet from the opening scene:

As I put away my handheld mic and pondered whether to down a bun-less
cheeseburger, I saw confused faces running away from the Waterfront. Then
people started running and screaming like they were in a disaster movie.
The fast runners were slicing through slow ones, shoving people aside and
knocking people down.
Women were crying.
Children were screaming for their parents.
Some of the bigger men picked up the women they were just holding hands with
and carried them as they ran like firefighters sprinting out of a burning building.
I froze. What the hell is going on?
As the crowd thinned, I saw him. A man wearing a motorcycle helmet about forty
yards away was pacing in front of the High Topper sneaker store and waving a
rifle.
Holy shit, an active shooter.
Bam. He fired a shot in the air.
People hit the ground and crawled for cover. More crying.
Without thinking, I crouched down, turned my camera toward him, and hit
“record” before dropping behind the concrete planter. I hooked my foot around
one leg of the camera’s tripod.
A few people seemed to like my planter idea and crammed in next to me. A girl in
a UGA tank top whimpered beside me, curled in a fetal position.
A drunk man in Gator attire crouched behind me and slurred, “Is this for real, is
this for real? What the fuck, man?”
“Stay down, bro,” I whispered.

Would you say this book showcases your writing style or is it a departure for you?

This book absolutely reflects my writing style. I aim for clean, engaging prose, realistic
dialogue, and characters who speak and think like real people. Hopefully, this novel is a
clear example of that approach.

What do you want people to take away from reading this book?

More than anything, I want readers to be entertained. The best compliments I have
received are from readers who said they could not put the book down, stayed up late
reading, or were surprised by the twists. While the novel touches on political and social
issues, I tried to approach them evenly and without heavy-handed judgment. I am not
trying to persuade anyone to change their views. My main goal is to deliver a satisfying,
enjoyable read.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

I am currently writing the third book in The Lemaster Files series. I completed the second
book, The Pawn, earlier this year, and it’s scheduled for release in May of 2026. In it,
Pete and his team return to tackle another intriguing mystery, this time with some
international twists.

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: An ebook copy of THE BYSTANDER + one additional Tule ebook of the winner’s choice

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: By many standards, my books are on the shorter side. I like the idea of someone being able to read my books in a few sittings or over a weekend. What do you prefer? Short books? Long books? Do you ever feel let down if a book ends too soon, or weary if it drags in the middle?

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 
 

Excerpt from The Bystander:

4 p.m., Friday, Jacksonville Waterfront

Anyone working for a news outlet within fifty miles of Jacksonville knew what was coming to the Waterfront on Florida-Georgia weekend. And every news station sent somebody like me to dive into the thick of it. My news director at WJAX-TV dispatched me there to tape a video package and do a live shot for the evening newscast. He told me to interview the college football fans and maybe stir up the rivalry a bit.

In today’s journalism racket, I’m known as a “one-man band.” There was a time when a local TV story was covered by a whole crew that included a reporter, a camera operator, and maybe even a sound person who dangled a boom microphone. Today, due to new technology and budget cuts, one person does it all, and in this case, that’s me. Back in journalism school, I learned how to operate cameras, position mics, test sound, edit tape, and so on. And now, all those skills have made me a valuable asset as a general assignment reporter for WJAX.

Typically, after getting the footage, I edit on my laptop or even on my phone, add a voice-over, and create a package that’s aired old school or shown on cable or a streaming platform like Hulu, YouTube TV, or Sling TV. You get the idea. The package is also uploaded to the station’s website so it can be viewed online and searched for years to come, which is good for search engine optimization. “Who clicks what” drives our coverage as much as newsworthiness or traditional ratings. I do my best to give my bosses a visually interesting and entertaining take on the day’s news. While I certainly didn’t get into journalism to chase clicks, review analytics, or drive ratings, I recognize that’s the business I’m in today. What I do is pretty far from hard news, but frankly, that’s a whole other conversation, better suited for a barstool.

I arrived at the Waterfront retail complex in midafternoon, glad to find that not everybody was drunk yet. The football game between the University of Florida and the University of Georgia draws thousands of fans to Jacksonville every October for a weekend of partying; it’s viewed as one of college football’s great spectacles. The pregame tailgate action used to be known as “The World’s Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party,” but that name has been canceled by politically correct sorts. Even so, many fans still reminisce about great moments at “the cocktail party.” Call it a term of endearment—they don’t want to drop it just yet.

I had a good time getting some fun sound bites from the fans—lots of “this is our year” comments, recollections of legendary plays, tales of woe, and of course, infinite complaints from armchair quarterbacks about what actual quarterbacks should do. Three Georgia fans tied a noose around a toy stuffed alligator the size of a German shepherd and dragged it around the Waterfront to alternating choruses of jeers and cheers. The fans were into it, so I shot some footage.

Although I’d be cheering on my Gators tomorrow, I kept it to myself when I shoved a microphone toward their painted faces. When they asked me where I went to school, I didn’t lie. I admitted that I’d skipped undergrad and told them I went to Columbia for journalism. Around the world, that grad school’s pedigree opens a few doors, and New York is where I really learned to be a television reporter.

After I’d gotten enough interviews, I returned to my station-issued SUV and started editing my footage in preparation for the Five O’clock News and a live shot from the Waterfront. The stuffed gator bit turned out to be pretty funny, and I was satisfied the package would give my editors the lighthearted intro to the weekend that they were looking for. I seemed to have carved out a space for myself as the station’s go-to reporter for events like this. I’d covered my share of hard-hitting news events but have always felt more comfortable talking to people and doing more feature and lifestyle stories. I do know I would need a well-rounded reel if I want to get promoted out of this market, but today’s story was my kind of assignment because I understood this crazed football culture: The party is silly, but the game is serious.

For the live shot, I found a spot near a large concrete planter so my tripod would be less likely to be bumped by a tipsy fan. I positioned my camera to face out toward the St. Johns River but with plenty of room to catch the fans walking back and forth.

I checked my sound levels with my earpiece and lapel mic.

I listened as one of the anchors introduced the segment: “We are going live at the Waterfront with WJAX’s Pete Lemaster, who’s talking with fans before tomorrow’s big game.”

I flashed a big smile and consciously dipped into the deep end of my voice’s register; then in three, two, one. . . I was on the air.

I had a quick and breezy on-air chat with the anchors back in the studio, and then I played the video package. As it ran, the crowd of beer-guzzling fans grew bigger and louder, and then the anchors were back in my earpiece with a few witty remarks. They asked me who I would be rooting for, and I made my Columbia joke and then said, “But you guys know I bleed orange and blue,” which drew some yelps and howls from a mixed group of fans who had stopped to watch. And then I was out.

I was slated for another live shot but not until six p.m., leaving me time to catch up on messages and grab a snack. The wings, burgers, and fries, not to mention the beer, looked and smelled great, but the camera adds ten pounds, and one wing might turn into a dozen and a test of willpower, which I wasn’t quite ready to endure. Looking fit on camera is as important as having a strong chin and a full head of hair. And a brain.

As I put away my handheld mic and pondered whether to down a bun-less cheeseburger, I saw confused faces running away from the Waterfront. Then people started running and screaming like they were in a disaster movie.

The fast runners were slicing through slow ones, shoving people aside and knocking people down.

Women were crying.

Children were screaming for their parents.

Some of the bigger men picked up the women they were just holding hands with and carried them as they ran like firefighters sprinting out of a burning building.

I froze. What the hell is going on?

As the crowd thinned, I saw him. A man wearing a motorcycle helmet about forty yards away was pacing in front of the High Topper sneaker store and waving a rifle.

Holy shit, an active shooter.

Bam. He fired a shot in the air.

People hit the ground and crawled for cover. More crying.

Without thinking, I crouched down, turned my camera toward him, and hit “record” before dropping behind the concrete planter. I hooked my foot around one leg of the camera’s tripod.

A few people seemed to like my planter idea and crammed in next to me. A girl in a UGA tank top whimpered beside me, curled in a fetal position.

A drunk man in Gator attire crouched behind me and slurred, “Is this for real, is this for real? What the fuck, man?”

“Stay down, bro,” I whispered.

Do I run? Stay put?

I don’t own a gun, and I wouldn’t have been carrying it even if I did. The only weapon I had on me was one of my Buck pocketknives, which wouldn’t do much against a rifle.

I peeked over the planter and watched in horror as a man wearing a blue baseball cap quickly shuffled toward the shooter. He was holding a pistol with two hands, his arms extended out like he knew what he was doing. Maybe a cop but in street clothes. Dressed like any other fan.

Blue Baseball Cap slowed to a deliberate and methodical pace, just to the right of me and about thirty yards from the shooter, who was then holding the rifle flatly against his chest.

Bam, bam, bam. Three shots. The guy with the rifle crumbled to the ground, his gun hitting the concrete with a loud clack.

Blue Baseball Cap then bent down and gently set his pistol on the ground before he raised his hands in the air.

“Holy shit, he got ’em,” I said to the drunk Gator fan.

Jacksonville sheriff’s deputies seemed to come out of nowhere and quickly surrounded Blue Baseball Cap.

All the cops had their guns drawn, some looking around the shops and up at the rooftops.

They told everyone to stay down. A few seemed to attend to the shooter.

The crowd of police grew even bigger, and I couldn’t see much anymore.

Loud cries, unmistakably from a woman, pierced through the shattered window of the High Topper.

I stayed down but lay prone to stretch out and see if I could pull the tripod to me without knocking it over.

While I was still shaking and seeing people running and screaming—and grown men in tears—I thought the danger was over.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit! I think I’ve just filmed some dude take down an active shooter in high def.

After a few deep breaths, I got to my feet only to hear a cop yell at everyone to stay down.

I slid down to one knee behind the planter and saw the number of police and security guards at the Waterfront growing exponentially. Again, my gut said this thing was over, but survival instincts and guys with guns were enough to keep me low to the ground. This would be a stupid moment to be killed by the good guys.

Cops started to talk to witnesses and move some folks away from the body.

After another moment, I started to lower the legs on the tripod so I could reach the camera. I finally retrieved it and sat on the ground with my back to the crime scene, still behind my concrete planter.

I stopped the recording and watched the camera go blank. I still had my lapel mic on, my earpiece dangling behind me.

More cops and security guards were coming into the Waterfront, but I was focused on my camera and whispered, This could be big. Career-changing big.

I put in my earpiece, pressed play, and watched the screen.

0:01 The shooter paces and waves the rifle in the air. He’s wearing a motorcycle helmet with the shield down, a gray sweatshirt, and jeans.

0:03 Screams. Crowds of fans running. Screaming throughout.

0:05 Mumbling by the UGA girl, the drunk guy, and me.

0:07 Drunk guy: “Is this for real, is this for real? What the fuck, man?”

0:11 Me: “Stay down, bro.”

0:15 Blue Baseball Cap approaches the shooter. He looks like any other fan. Jeans, Tshirt but clearly armed.

0:18 Shooter turns toward Blue Baseball Cap.

0:20 Bam, bam, bam! Bullets hit the shooter.

0:21 The shooter falls to the ground.

0:24 Me: “Holy shit, he got ’em.”

0:30 More screams, and Blue Baseball Cap puts down his gun and raises his arms in the air.

0:32 Police start to converge.

Thirty seconds of journalistic gold. I had it, and a lot of people were gonna want it.

I immediately called my colleague, Ted Stone, at the newsroom.

He didn’t even say hello, just, “Pete, they’re saying shots fired at the Waterfront. Where are you? Did you see anything?”

“I got it all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Holy shit, you’re not gonna believe it,” I said. “I have footage of the shooting.”

“Okay, okay,” Ted said. “But what the hell happened?”

“A Good Samaritan just took down an active shooter. I have the whole thing,” I said between breaths.

“Are you fucking kidding me? An active shooter on Florida-Georgia weekend, and you got it on camera?” As a former newspaper crime reporter and investigative producer, Ted immediately knew how big this was.

“Yep, tell the brass,” I said.

“I will,” Ted said. “But Pete, listen to me. You need to send that footage over right away and then see what else you can find out. The cops are gonna want to see it, but send it to us first. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “I’ll send it to you right now. Ted, the shooting is the big headline. But the subtext here is that this guy got dropped by somebody in the crowd. This is gonna get nuts.”

“The cops are gonna want it, probably in the next few minutes,” Ted said. “And we should give it to them, but let’s get it saved to our server and talk to Rod about getting it on the air.”

“Sending it now,” I said. “Then I’m gonna go see what else I can find out.”

“Keep your phone close,” Ted said as he hung up.

I knew jaws would be dropping all over WJAX. This was big.

It took a couple of minutes to upload the video clip to the station’s server, which gave me a chance to collect my thoughts. I took a bunch of deep breaths, which I’d learned in yoga classes, and exhaled slowly after each one.

Upload done.

I grabbed the camera and the tripod and started to walk through the crowd, now a confused mix of law enforcement officers and fans, some clearly stunned and upset, others gawking. Police were tightly packed near the body, but I was able to see the shooter lying on his side. Bloody and definitely dead. The police had taken the helmet off. He looked Anglo, probably in his late twenties, clean-shaven, and hair trimmed above his ears. He had on jeans, running shoes, and the gray sweatshirt. From my viewpoint, I could see only three letters on the sweatshirt: USN. I’d been around this town long enough to know the fourth letter was an A. United States Naval Academy.

Oh man, the plot thickens if this guy’s Navy.

I tried to get closer, but a Jacksonville sheriff’s deputy saw my gear and told me to back up. “The media guys will probably set up an area for reporters in a few minutes, but right now, this is an active crime scene,” he said. He didn’t ask if I had any footage.

“Is Rebecca Dawes coming?” I asked.

“You know Rebecca?” he asked.

“Yep.”

Know her? Worship her might be more fitting.

The officer said he imagined she’d arrive soon.

I’d covered a few crime scenes in Jacksonville, and only the big ones drew out major players like Rebecca. She was smart, fair, conscientious, and incredibly nice. And easily the prettiest cop you will ever meet.

She’d attended UF, like me, but we didn’t overlap. I met her a year ago at a press conference, and a few days later, I asked her out. She politely said that she was dating a marketing executive for the Jacksonville Jaguars. I still flirt with her whenever I see her, and she humors me.

I sent Rebecca a text. I could have called her, but I guessed a call during the biggest local crime of the year from a guy who had unsuccessfully asked her out nine times would get pushed to voicemail.

I let my thumbs do the talking: “This is Pete Lemaster from WJAX. I’m at the Waterfront. I have the whole thing. Call me.”

Thirty seconds later, my phone rang. It was Rebecca.

“Hey, I’m at the Waterfront. Are you on your way?” I asked.

“Yes, of course. What do you mean you have the whole thing?”

“I was filming a package about the cocktail party and did my standup right before the guy was shot,” I said. “I spun my camera around and got the whole thing.”

“Holy crap, we’re gonna need that footage, Pete.”

“I know,” I said. “We want you guys to have it, but I don’t need one of your lunkheads seizing my gear. It’s already in the cloud on our server. Anyway, what I’m saying is, your people and the feds can get it from the station, but I can show it to you when you get here so it doesn’t catch you off-guard.”

“Are you okay?” she asked.

Wait, is she concerned? About me?

“Yeah, I’m fine. It was nuts, but I’m okay.”

“That’s good,” she said. “Now tell me exactly what you saw.”

I hustled through the details of the clip. “One more thing. You’re going to be good to me, right?”

“What does that mean?”

“Ha, nothing inappropriate.” I laughed. “No, listen, I need you to help me stay a step ahead of the Evening Star and anyone else who comes sniffing around down here. Deal?”

“Sounds like you’re already ahead, but ‘deal,’” she said and hung up.

The Florida Evening Star was the only local daily newspaper still in business in Jacksonville. It had been the paper of record in the area for decades, and they were our main competition for reporting real news.

I saw a small crowd gathering around a woman in a UF hoodie. A young guy with a reporter’s notebook was asking her questions. I leaned in and saw his ID badge.

Dammit, Evening Star.

The woman was explaining that the blue baseball cap was her boyfriend and they’d come to the Waterfront for an alumni happy hour and barbecue.

I overheard her say they ran for cover and then her boyfriend took out his gun and fired two, or maybe three, shots at the shooter. The reporter took this down, and then another eyewitness started rattling her version of the incident, at which point the Evening Star reporter turned away from the girlfriend. Hack move.

I approached the girlfriend and asked her name.

“I’m Hailey Marsh,” she said, wringing her hands and wide-eyed.

I told her I was with WJAX and that, at some point, I’d love to speak with her on camera, but first I had a few questions.

Almost triumphantly, she said, “There have been so many horrible shootings in America, I think I’m just happy this one ended the right way. The only person who died was the bad guy himself, ya know.”

I said I couldn’t agree more and asked, “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

“Walter Swanson.”

“Do you know what kind of gun he used?”

“I think it was his nine-millimeter, and maybe it was a Glock,” she said. “No, wait, it was the Smith & Wesson.”

“Thank you. So you’re pretty sure it was a Smith & Wesson nine-millimeter?”

“Yes.”

At that moment, a woman wearing an orange UF hoodie and a stern gaze approached and wrapped her arm around Hailey, who started to crumble into her arms. I could see this interview was going to be over very soon.

“Hailey, one last question. Does your boyfriend have a concealed carry permit?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah, he’s all about it,” she answered, nodding her head. “He teaches classes and everything.”

“We’re lucky he was here,” I said as she was led away by Orange Hoodie.

I scrambled to write it all down.

Samaritan is Walter Swanson

Works in Jacksonville

Concealed carry permit

Smith & Wesson 9

GF is Hailey Marsh

Take that Evening Star hack.

I felt a tap on my shoulder, and there stood Rebecca Dawes, rocking the full police uniform, standing about five foot five with a slim, athletic build and olive skin. Her straight dark brown hair was in a ponytail and her piercing, expressive brown eyes bore into me.

Be still my heart.

“Let me see it,” she said.

Rebecca led me under the yellow crime scene tape and past the High Topper to a little alcove. I pulled out my phone and cued up the tape. I offered her one of my earbuds, suppressing my desire to crack a “meet-cute story for our future children” joke. I held out my phone, and her brow furrowed as she focused on the footage. At the moment the shooter dropped to the ground, she squeezed my arm, sending a jolt through me, almost to my toes. Another surreal moment; for the first time, I had her complete attention, and it felt good.

“That’s incredible. Can you send it to me?” Rebecca asked.

“Like I said, you guys need to go through the station, but I wanted you to see it before we go to air or it leaks.”

“I already called the station about it, so I hope it’s on its way to my assistant at headquarters.” She smiled. “But wow, amazing footage.”

“Right place, right time, make your own luck, et cetera, et cetera,” I said.

She hooked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Oh my god, with the hair. Is this woman trying to kill me? Then she said, “We may not have our act together on this footage by the time the sheriff gets here, hopefully in a few minutes. He was at the Quarterback Club party.”

I cleared my throat and tried not to think about her hair. “I’ll show it to him if he gives me a short interview and you keep him away from the Evening Star.” Fully expecting heavy pushback that didn’t come.

“Ah, I see how this is going to work.” Rebecca’s lips turned up ever so slightly, suppressing a smile. “Make it quick, but yes.”

Her voice trailed off, and those brown eyes grew bigger as she looked at something behind me. I turned to watch several EMTs wheel a stretcher out of the High Topper store—one tech holding an IV bag in the air like they do in medical dramas. The woman on the stretcher looked like a stereotypical Southern grandma but with a bloodstained shirt. The victim of the third bullet.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

It wasn’t just another live shot …

TV reporter Pete Lemaster anticipates nothing more riveting than filming a short lifestyle segment for an upcoming college football rivalry when he arrives at the Jacksonville Waterfront pregame tailgate party. Then chaos erupts as a bystander stops an active shooter with an act of stunning bravery. And Pete suddenly holds a golden career opportunity in his hands—an exclusive video that goes viral.

With the citizen hero’s star rising among the Second Amendment folk, Pete, too, enjoys the perks of fame. But something about that now-famous moment feels off, so he uses his journalism skills to poke around. Suddenly, he’s not sure what he captured is the truth.

And now opportunistic political and media figures are threatening Pete’s life if he doesn’t back off. Can he blow the whistle on a coverup, out the real villain, and stay alive?

Book Links: Amazon | B&N | iTunes | Kobo | Google |
 
 

Meet the Author:

John David is a long-time public relations and crisis communications consultant, author of a non-fiction business book, and a corporate ghostwriter. His debut novel, The Bystander (The Lemaster Files Book 1), was longlisted for the BPA First Novel Award. When not working or writing, he enjoys fishing, talking about politics, and following the Florida Gators. He and his beautiful wife Pamela live in Pinecrest, Florida.

Follow me on Bluesky.
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | GoodReads |