Wild Bill Sales Growing

With sales well into double digits, Wild Bill has established its niche in the publishing firmament. (Not unlike a spider in a web way off in a corner of the basement, behind the paint supplies and other stuff you need only once every two or six years.)

Remember how people felt who had a chance to buy into Microsoft or McDonalds on the ground floor? Chagrined and disappointed, that’s how they felt. Not because they lost a singular opportunity for wealth and a life of leisure. They felt that way because their joyless lives of unending drudgery reminded them every day of how they lacked the foresight and daring to move before the rest of the crowd had figured it out.

This is your chance not to make the same mistake. Wild Bill is available for Amazon Kindle and Barnes and Noble Nook for a measly $2.99. Try buying anything from Microsoft for $2.99. Even McDonald’s, for that matter. (Prices may vary by location. Does not include selections from Dollar Menu.)

This isn’t about me. I only bring it up so you don’t join those who missed the Microsoft and McDonald’s trains and are left standing in the rain at three in the morning at a station in the bad part of town hoping something else good comes along while you’re still young enough to enjoy it.

Road Rules, by Jim Winter

Jim Winter is a writer from Cincinnati whose new book, Road Rules, hit the e-book trail on September 1. Jim has written reviews for January Magazine and Mystery Scene and the odd interview piece for The Rap Sheet and Crimespree. His short stories have appeared in Thrilling Detective, the original Plots With Guns, Spinetingler, andThug Lit. He writes regularly and well on subjects ranging from crime fiction to American history at his blog, Edged in Blue.


Jim was kind enough to stop by One Bite at a Time with an excerpt from Road Rules.
* * *
“Hello, Koradovich,” said Estevez.  Behind him stood Simmons, with two uniform cops further back.


“Yes?” said Koradovich.  “May I help you?”


Estevez reached into his pocket and shoved a card at Koradovich.  “Carlo Estevez, Major Crimes Unit, Cleveland Police.  This is my associate, Detective Charles Simmons.  We'd like to ask you a few questions regarding a company you own.”


Koradovich spread his hands and looked around.  “As you can see, this is my company.  Andre the Giant's Clean Used Cars.”


“Are you sure about the clean part?” asked Simmons.


“Kiss my ass, Detective.”


“Has it sat in one of your cars?”


Estevez glared at the young detective.  “Simmons.”  He turned back to Koradovich.  “We weren't discussing your primary business.  No one questions you own a buy here/screw here lot.  I'm here about another business, one you have a silent partnership in.”


“And that would be...  what?  Is someone selling drugs out of one of my apartment buildings?  Or my bar?  What, Lieutenant?  I'm a busy man.”


“You are a partner in a firm that in turn is a partner in a company called Cossack Holdings.  In fact, you seem to be the only partner worth mentioning.”


Koradovich leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head.  “Probably.  Who knows? My accountant does a lot of things for tax purposes.”


“Like launder money through nail salons on the east side?” said Simmons.


“What's your point, Lieutenant?  I've got a business to run.”


“Cossack Holdings...  Nice name, by the way,” said Estevez.  “No one would ever suspect a guy named 'Koradovich' as one of the partners.”


Koradovich waved his hand in a circle at Estevez.


“Anyway, Cossack Holdings owns a warehouse.”


“Allied Staging,” Simmons added.


“Allied Staging,” said Estevez.  “Out in the valley off 480.  Know it?”


A low bubbling sound came from under Koradovich, followed by a smell best described as organic.
The uniforms both covered their mouths and noses.  Estevez waved his hand in front of his face.  “Can I take that as a no?”


“It's no crime to own a warehouse, Lieutenant,” said Koradovich.  “Lots of people own them.  We Ukrainians call that 'investment property.'  Familiar with the concept?  I guess on a cop's salary, you wouldn't be.”


“You're right, Andre.  It's not a crime to own a warehouse.  It is, however, a crime to aid and abet grand larceny.”  He perched on the edge of Koradovich's desk.  “See, Allied had been contracted to store and secure a very rare artifact, The Chest of St. Jakob of Danzig.  Perhaps you've heard of it?”


At Koradovich's elbow sat the morning's Plain Dealer, the headline proclaiming the police “baffled” in locating the stolen relic.  “The media seems to think you can't find your own dicks if you unzipped your flies.  That why you're harrassing me?”


“I'm here,” said Estevez, “because you own the property where the Chest was stolen.  Among other things we can discuss downtown.”


“Maybe it was stolen during transport.”


Estevez shook his head.  “It came from the airport by armored car and left by police escort.  Both transport companies can account for their time.  Your warehouse manager seems to have a problem accounting for his.”


“So what do you want me to do about it?”


Estevez smiled.  “I want you to come downtown and answer a few questions.”


“And if I don't?”


“Well, you have a right to refuse.  I'm sure you already knew that.”


“I also know I have a right to an attorney.”


Estevez motioned to the two uniforms.  “Help Mr. Koradovich to the car, boys.  Handcuffs won't be necessary.  Just a friendly chat.”  He turned back to Koradovich.  “Ain't that right, Koradovich?”


“Yeah.  Friendly.  Let me call my friendly lawyer so he can give you a friendly reminder in what my rights are.”
* * *
My copy already resides on my Kindle. You can get yours by clicking any of the these links:
Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/Road-Rules-ebook/dp/B005JKMUGS/ref=sr_1_11?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1314585842&sr=1-11
Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/road-rules-jim-winter/1105140321?ean=2940013621459&itm=1&usri=road%2brules
Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/81734

Collateral Damage

The earthquake knocked over a picture. The hurricane didn't even flicker the lights. Yesterday thunderstorms left us without power for twelve hours and water so deep I had waves behind me as I ran the wet vac at 2:30 in the morning.

Enough.

We have water in our basement almost as often as John Boehner reneges on a deal. Tomorrow I'm scouring Angie's List for wet basement contractors; they can come by during my scheduled time off next week. Interviewing contractors in Maryland and attending Bouchercon in St. Louis at the same time is beyond even my multi-tasking abilities, so I'm afraid Bouchercon will get a pass this year.

I'd ask anyone I might have shared a beverage with to meet me next year in Cleveland, but it's Cleveland, for Chrissakes. I'll probably go, but the Pittsburgh boy in me can't ask someone else to go to Cleveland with a clear conscience.

There's always Albany.

Interview at Temporary Knucksline

Charlie Stella once again steps up as Wild Bill’s padrone, with a lengthy interview with your humble author at his blog, Temporary Knucksline. Charlie asks the good questions, and I give the best answers I can. Stop by and check it out, and peruse the rest of the site while you’re there.

Many thanks to Charlie for taking the time to interview me, and for his continuing support.

Best Reads for August

I got bogged down in a long baseball book this month and didn’t cover as much ground as usual. Still, a couple of books stand out.

Big Numbers, Jack Getze. Austin Carr is a stockbroker driven into increased sleaziness because his income can’t keep up with his alimony and child-support obligations. New vistas of opportunity open up when his biggest client becomes terminally ill and his trophy wife has a plan to skim some money for herself before the kids can get it. Getze teases you with the ending first, but no names, then starts from the beginning, leaving several options for the bad guy. Or guys. You’re never quite sure until the end. The plot is involved, but confusing, you’re never quite sure which characters to trust, and the writing is easy on the eyes.

Absolute Zero Cool, Declan Burke. To say AZC is Elmore Leonard meets James Ellroy isn’t fair to Burke, the book, Leonard, or Ellroy. As unique a book as I’ve ever read, and worth a re-read so I have a little better idea what to expect from the get-go. (More detailed review here.)

Wild Bill Spans the Globe

Barely a week after its release, Wild Bill is an international sensation, with satisfied readers from such disparate locations as Los Angeles, California and Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, with others strewn about the intervening 10,062 miles. (Note: The use of the word “sensation” does not imply an ego run amuck. Sensations are not universally good, as anyone who has recently has an “itching, burning, sensation” can attest. Just saying, is all.) The current sales rank is 106,488 in Amazon, which might not sound like much until you stop to think UNESCO estimates 288,355 books are published annually in the United States alone, which puts Wild Bill well into the top half without resorting to the treachery of an expensive, or even well-conceived, marketing campaign.

The arrival of Labor Day is the traditional time to say, “I want to relax over a three-day weekend with a piece of inexpensive crime fiction that’s worth every penny. “ What better way to say it than with a copy of Wild Bill, available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble for only $2.99? Spend the money you would have spent on sun screen on something intended to keep you shielded from the sun’s rays under an umbrella in the company of Wild Bill Hickox, Vinnie Dominos Agrigento, and Junior Bevilacqua.

Absolute Zero Cool–A Review

I deliberately avoid reviews of books I know I’m going to read. Too many are thinly disguised book reports, recounting the major plot points until a couple of paragraphs at the end where the reviewer tells you if he liked it or not, and what he thinks it’s about. Most reviews, especially of the unpaid, online variety (like this one) leave the teacher in me yearning to give two grades. (“C+ for the content, but A- for the grammar and spelling. You can do better.”)

Because I don’t read reviews, I came to Declan Burke’s Absolute Zero Cool expecting something along the lines of Elmore Leonard channeled through several pints of Guinness. I’d read Dec’s previous books (Eightball Boogie, The Big O, and Crime Always Pays) and liked them a lot. His characters are fun, the dialog crackles, and the plots unfold well.

I knew the premise: a character from an unfinished novel comes to an author who closely resembles Declan Burke (even having written novels called The Big O and Crime Always Pays) and demands to be resurrected from the limbo into which unfulfilled fictional characters are cast. He’s different now, more likeable, worth working with/on again. Yes, he wants to blow up a hospital; no one’s perfect. The novel is the interplay between the author and the character. Sounded to me like a perfect set-up for someone of Dec’s gifts, playing with the author/character relationship, tweaking those who swear their characters “speak to them,” and their writing is little more than transcribing what they’re told in these literary séances.

I was right. I can’t think of anyone else who could have written this book. Hell, I don’t know anyone with the balls to consider writing this book. Certainly not me. All of the characteristics that drew me to his previous work are there, except it’s not Leonard sharing the pints; it’s James Ellroy. This isn’t crime for profit’s sake, with a little hipness thrown in; it’s depravity examining its navel.

The book doesn’t read like Ellroy. Burke wields the rapier where Ellroy uses a baseball bat, the book’s rough lyricism not unlike hearing The Commitments sing “Try a Little Tenderness.” I’m reminded of Ellroy by the darkness of Billy Karlsson’s thoughts and acts, noir-ish yet not completely self-destructive, leaving the reader to wonder at times who’s head he’s in, the author’s or the character’s, even though we know they’re both the same.

I stopped dog-earing pages halfway through. Already too much material to efficiently mine for quotes; might as well read the whole thing again. A riff on Tuesdays. A heartbreaking description of miscarriage. Recurring thoughts of sharks and Hitler, of everyday things we don’t like but accept, take them for granted because we all know that’s how things are, even if we won’t admit it. Billy knows, and the perambulations of his thought process drive someone mad. Probably not him; Billy was a nutter on Page One. Maybe it’s the author. Read on, start to follow the logic, to anticipate where it goes next, and the reader can only hope it’s not him.

How good is the writing? This good:

The opening paragraph:

The man at the foot of my bed is too sharply dressed to be anything but a lawyer or a pimp. He is reading, intently, which leads me to believe he is a pimp, as these days lawyers are more usually to be found writing novels than reading them.

When the author’s former agent says one of his books will be translated into Italian and that “Maybe the advance will pay for a weekend in Rome.”

Maybe. If I swim there.

When the author suggests Karlsson wanted to be a writer until repeated rejection turned him sour and led to his dream of blowing up the hospital, Billy replies:

Too narcissistic. Only a writer could be that self-absorbed.

Billy riffing on religion at the scene of an accident:

Priests are up to their oxters in the pus-filled boil of your fear, groping for the maggots they placed there before your birth. The concept of Original Sin is an evil so pure it verges on genius. Even the paedophiles wait for the child to leave the womb.

The author, realizing Billy is no longer fully under his control, if he ever was:

No Billy for three days running now. Maybe he isn’t coming back. Maybe he’s holed up in some garret, feverishly rewriting my life, consulting the story of Moses and Pharaoh for inspiration.

Is this how God felt when Einstein started doodling in the patent office? No wonder he struck Hawking down.

AZC is brilliant and baffling, enjoyable and vexing, funny and disturbing. I finished with much the feeling I get from Ellroy, a sense of “What just happened here?” understanding this is writing on a plane higher than I read. I don’t get it all, but I leave knowing I’ll be back to for another piece before too long.

How do you describe something unlike anything you’ve ever described before? Here’s a suggestion: read Absolute Zero Cool, then try writing a review. Let me know how it goes.

Absolute Zero Cool may be pre-ordered for November delivery at Amazon (US) here.

If you’d rather not wait, Amazon.uk can hook you up here. American Kindle readers can also click here.