Guns 'n' curses

I've just published a new short story. It's full of violence and bad language. Consider this fair warning.

The story's called CEMETERY PLOT. It opens with a man kneeling, wearing handcuffs, watching another man dig his grave. How he got there, and what happens next, is the crux of this very hard-boiled story.

Available exclusively on Kindle (for now), CEMETERY PLOT is only 99 cents. For more info, click here.

Folks who read my crime novels think of me as an author who does a lot of comedy. And I do. Most of my novels, from LONELY STREET to THE BIG WINK to A BOX OF PANDORAS, are full of the funny stuff. But my short stories tend to be gritty little one-act plays about criminals, centered around an act of violence or three. Not a lot of room for comedy.

Four of these short stories are available individually wherever e-books are sold: PAYOFF, YVONNE'S GONE, FOUND MONEY and SHOWDOWN. Only 99 cents each.

PAYOFF is about a 77-year-old heist man named Eddie who gets hired to commit a murder. YVONNE'S GONE is a rural noir about a drunken hillbilly who is gunning for his wayward wife. FOUND MONEY is a monologue featuring a courier who lost a bag of drug money.  SHOWDOWN centers on two old friends who are rivals at cards and one's startling admission over a game of gin.

I did the cover art on CEMETERY PLOT myself, using Kindle's new beta version of Cover Creator. The other covers (which are much, much better) were done by the lovely and talented Kelly Brewer. I like the one she did for PAYOFF so much, I put it on my business cards. Bang!

Other short stories of mine can be found in the anthologies CRIMES BY MOONLIGHT and WEST COAST CRIME WAVE. Those two stories aren't quite so hard-boiled, but they're both twisty and fun.

Please give my short stories a try. But remember: They're full of guns and cursing. The fainthearted need not apply. ;-)

The ants go marching . . .

The exterminator just left.

With the arrival of warm weather, we've been blessed with an infestation of tiny little ants. They don't seem interested in our water or our food. They just want to run around on the kitchen countertops and drive me crazy.

Like most people in Albuquerque, I'd wager, we have a regular pest control service. This is the desert. There are bugs. We don't want them in the house. Period.

Most of the time, the every-other-month service is plenty. But these ants showed up, and I've had exterminators here twice in a week, pitching God-only-knows what kind of poison at the little pests. I think they've got 'em this time. Only time will tell.

The ants are most active when we're asleep, so I stumble onto a parade of them every morning when I make coffee. I crush the little buggers and mop up their corpses with a damp paper towel. Usually, I try to be quiet about it, but the other day there was an alarming swarm, so I snatched up a fly swatter and started wailing away at the tile countertop.

From the next room, Kelly says, "What are you doing?"

"Killing ants."

"With what," she says, "a FORK?"

I told this story to the pest control manager when I called about the ants. He got a big kick out of it. Not many of his customers, I'm thinking, go for the laugh. He sent someone right away.

And now we wait.

Keeping cool with Mr. Keitel

Yesterday, I had a chance encounter with one of my favorite actors, the great Harvey Keitel. And, yes, I gave him one of my books.

Mr. Keitel is in Albuquerque for a film project. He was meeting with a couple of producer types on Sunday, in a room just off the lobby of a local hotel. As part of the hotel's Mother's Day brunch festivities and to promote the nearby Southwest Book Fiesta, I was supposed to do a book-signing in that very same room.

 

He sat facing the door, and I recognized him immediately. We've all seen that face on the big screen so many times -- Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, Smoke, The Piano, Moonrise Kingdom, on and on -- and he looked exactly like himself, if you know what I mean. He was in workout clothes and hadn't shaved in a day or two, but it was no question Harvey freaking Keitel.

Well, this is awkward. I'm supposed to do an event in this room, and Mr. Keitel and friends are having a business meeting that I absolutely do not want to disturb. I set down my bag of books and walked over to the seated trio and sort of loomed there until they looked up at me. I explained the situation and told Mr. Keitel that I of course had recognized him and was a huge fan. He jumped to his feet and shook my hand, chuckling, saying, "I thought you were with our movie."

He said they'd be leaving soon. I said I'd set up at the other end of the room and try to steer people away from them. Then, with the producer guys sitting there waiting, Mr. Keitel started asking me questions. So, you're an author? You're local? Why kinds of things do you write? I told him my first book, LONELY STREET, had been made into a 2009 movie and he asked me who starred and said he was friends with Joe Mantegna, who played the villain. We did another round of nice-to-meet-yous and I was about to turn away when I caught myself and said, "Hey, could I give you one of my books?"

I dug through the bag of random books that I'd brought over from the Book Fiesta and, sure enough, there was one copy of the perfect book to give to Harvey Keitel, my casino heist novel LOST VEGAS. I told him

he'd inspired one of the characters in the book, a retired Mob button man who runs a small-town casino. The character's nickname is Nicky Pop-Pop. Mr. Keitel laughed at that, thumbing through the pages and repeating, "Nicky Pop-Pop."

I excused myself and went to my table at the other end of the room. They continued their meeting for some time, but there were tall wingback chairs in the way and I couldn't really see or hear much from where I sat. Besides, I was busy with my phone, sending fanboy text messages to my wife.

A few people trickled in and out, and I handed them bookmarks advertising the Book Fiesta. Only one recognized Mr. Keitel, and the actor was charming with him, too.

After a while, the movie trio departed. As they were going out the door, Mr. Keitel showed me he was carrying my book and thanked me again and wished me luck.

So, there you have it. My most recent brush with greatness. I managed to keep my cool, have a nice chat and not go all stalker on Mr. Keitel. I kept my cellphone camera in my pocket. And I put one of my books in his hands.

Mr. Keitel seemed like a truly nice guy. Smart, well-spoken and interested in other people.

He'd be so perfect as Nicky Pop-Pop.

Bobbing with weirdness

Do you love stories about weird coincidences? Here's one:

Last night, I was at a meeting of SouthWest Writers. During intermission, I sold a few copies of my latest paperback, 1500 Rules for Successful Living, including one to a fellow author named Pete David. I've met Pete before and we've e-mailed a few times. Nice guy.

As I began to autograph his copy, I had one of those senior moments (which seem to be more frequent lately), and I didn't write "For Pete," as intended. You're thinking I wrote "For David," right? That would make sense. But what did I write? "For Bob."

Where did "Bob" come from? I have no idea.

Laughing at my own strangeness, I tossed the book back into the box and signed a different copy "For Pete." I've made this kind of mistake before. The screwed-up books become giveaways or shelf copies. No big deal.

Minutes later, while Pete and I were still chatting, another SWW member approached with money in hand, wanting a copy of the RULES. Guess what his name was? That's right. BOB.

As soon as I saw his name tag, I fished the "For Bob" book out of the box and said, "Here you go. Already inscribed for you."

That freaked Bob out a little, but he was a good sport once I explained what had happened. And we all went away, shaking our heads and laughing.

If you want some laughs of your own, give my 1500 RULES a try. Filled with twisted humor, the RULES are 106 pages of utter nonsense for only $5.99. Perfect bathroom reading! Click here for more info, or e-mail me directly at abqbrewer@gmail.com. I'll be glad to autograph a copy for you. Or for any Bobs you might know.

Conference crud

Most writers are solitary creatures, but once in a while we gather in drunken hordes to meet our fans and shake hands and share some germs.

We have no immunity from the viruses, germs and assorted other bugs that normal people pass around, so most of us come away with a cold or something worse. Pile that on top of the hangovers, sleep deprivation and jet lag that accompany most conference weekends, and it's a wonder any of us survive.

We have a term for the flu-like symptoms that follow these weekends away: Conference crud.

I just attended my first conference in two years, so the crud is raging at my house. (New Mexico bonus: Record-high pollen levels, so even people who don't normally have allergies are sneezing their brains out.)

The conference, Left Coast Crime, was at a swank resort in Colorado Springs that had a splendid view of the Rocky Mountains as the blizzard rolled in. Kidding! It was just a little windblown snow, conveniently cleaned off the roads in time to drive home.But the icy weather meant there was even more staying indoors and shaking hands and spreading germs than usual.

As always, I had a great time at Left Coast. These conferences are the only times I see many of my scattered pals, and I spend most of the weekend telling jokes and playing poker and hoorawing over drinks with them. There are also lots of interesting panels and awards handed out and such like, and you can get all that information here: http://www.leftcoastcrime.org/2013/

For me, it's all about the fellowship. And the germs.