What's New/Photo Links
Author Appearances and New Projects
Hello, everyone! New Author Appearances, 5/12/13...
This spring and summer will be busy ones for Bob. On May 18th from 10 am to 6 pm, Bob will be selling and signing at Buckroe Beach Arts in the Park, on the beautiful Chesapeake Bay in Hampton, VA. The address is East Pembroke Avenue and North First Street. You can find it on Facebook here.
In mid-July you can meet Bob at Downtown Royal Oak, Michigan’s 38th Anniversary Garage Sale, on Saturday, July 13 9:00 am - 5 pm, and Sunday, July 14 9:00 am - 5pm. The sale takes place in the parking structure on Center Street between 2nd and 4th Streest. Visit over 200 vendors selling antiques, jewelry, vintage items, sports memorabilia, clothing. Just about anything you can think of! (And they are expecting 15,000 people...)
On August 10, Bob will be selling and signing books at the Hanover Book Festival, from 10 am to 2 pm at the Liberty Christian School gymnasium, 8094 Liberty Circle, Mechanicsville, VA. There will be a publishing panel and many workshops for writers.
In mid-September (on his birthday!), Bob will be speaking at the Creatures, Crimes & Creativity literary conference, for readers and writers of mystery, suspense, thriller, horror, sci-fi, fantasy and steam punk.
The conference is scheduled for September 13, 14 and 15 of 2013 in the Hunt Valley Inn in Baltimore. It will present three days of panels and workshops of interest to both writers and fans. If you would like to know more, you can find their website here.
If you can make any of these dates, Bob would love to meet you!
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A special treat for the new "likes" on Facebook (and for everybody else, too):
These are the first three pages from Deja Noir, the new novel Bob is working on. Enjoy!
New 5/12/13: Thanks to all those who have stopped by to read these pages. Bob submitted the finished book to his agent, who felt that it was too short, so now Bob's working on a new chapter to add to the book. We'll post more news as things progress.
DEJA NOIR
I got fifty bucks for the sofa. Now I just put my pillow on the blotter and sleep with my head on the desk—chair rocks forward a little so my legs don't get numb.
I knew it was morning because my office was dark, the three-story blue neon cross on the skid row mission across the street goes off at five. Anyway, I was tryin' to remember if I saved a "wake-up" call in the file drawer pint when my office door started to rattle.
I opened my eyes to listen louder—definitely the door rattling. Sometimes the vagrants from across the street come scrounging for copper, aluminum, or whatever. The first floor had been a drug store cum karate studio. My insurance and travel neighbors had long gone, and the third floor was to be apartments but had never been finished. The city owned the property for taxes and nobody was charging rent. The electricity was on—maybe to service the fire alarms, I hadn't called to ask, they just put you on hold, anyway─so, all in all, the price was right. Except some meathead was screwing with my door.
So now they're knocking. Frog!
I sat up and mauled my face with my hands. Tan morning light drilled dusty rays through holes in the blinds. "Yeah, yeah," I said. I stood, tucked my shirt, and wedged the revolver from next to the pillow into my belt at the small of my back. Now they're twisting the door knob and shaking the door. "Frogsake, tie a knot in it, will ya?"
I padded out of my office and through the waiting room in stocking feet. At the door I snapped the lock and eased it open a crack, blocking it with my foot. She was twenty or so, thin as a stick with a black pixie hairdo, and freshly dressed for an evening out in a little black dress, heels, and a boa wrap. Her eyebrows arched into question marks. She said, "You Raymond Kerze?"
"Why?"
"On the door." She pointed a finger with a bright red nail that had been nibbled to the quick. "Raymond Kerze, Private Investigator." Her hopeful face drooped into panic and her eyes darted up and down the hall.
"Yeah," I said—not what I was thinking—and looked at my wrist watch, just in time to remember that it was only right twice a day. I took my right hand off my revolver and swung the door open. "It's a little early. Maybe you could come back later."
She brushed by me and said, "Okay if I wait?"
"The chairs are dusty," I said.
She beamed me a bright smile and pushed the door shut.
"Yeah," I said. "Sure." Frog!
She folded her arms and put on her screen-saver face. Seemed like a mile back to my desk. I threw the pillow on the chair, dug my jug out of the file drawer, and headed back through the waiting room to the crapper.
I flushed the toilet to be discreet while last night's liquid dinner posted bail and then stepped over to the sink. The bottom of the jug held a precious quarter inch of amber liquid. I added water, took a slug, and swished it around my mouth; just enough to get the taste, but not enough to get well. I swallowed and scrubbed my teeth with my finger.
I have to squat down to get my full face in the mirror. Lately it hasn't been worth the trouble. The battered leather face in the mirror is not the one I remember looking out of, and I can stand straight and still see enough of my jaw to shave. I used the dregs of my jug to splash on the divots left by my aged disposable razor. My grizzled wire hair stood out from my head like it was afraid of my scalp. I pushed it back from my face with some limited success. Parallel hair is overrated anyway.
All right! Back at my desk, tie on, coat buttoned to hide the stain on my tie, and she's sitting across from me. I say, "How can I help you? Missss . . .?"
She says, "Misty," all chipper-like, and then, "I want you to kill me."
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Additions to the Webpage
September 25: The promised interview with Bob about the writing and publication of Dead Bang is now up! *Bob asks that you please bear with him while listening due to his mild aphasia.
