Five Star Review of The Zozobra Incident by The Novel Approach

DSP Publications released The Zozobra Incident, as promised, on the fifteenth of this month. Ben at the Novel Approach was the first to review the book, and he was gracious enough to award the book five stars. I was so impressed that I'm publishing it in full as a part of this blog post. Well... as the post, actually. Thanks, Ben. (Sorry, but I can't reproduce the special effects of the review.)

*****

THE NOVEL APPROACH REVIEW OF The Zozobra Incident by Don Travis

Amazon US Title: The Zozobra Incident (A BJ Vinson Mystery)

AUTHOR: Don Travis

PUBLISHER: DSP Publications

Length: 290 Pages

Category: Mystery/Suspense

At a Glance: A New Mexican mystery novel I can't say enough good things about. You'll love confidential investigator BJ Vinson!

Reviewed By: Ben
Blurb: 2nd Edition

BJ Vinson is a former marine and ex-Albuquerque PD detective turned confidential investigator. Against his better judgment, BJ agrees to find the gay gigolo who was responsible for his breakup with prominent Albuquerque lawyer Del Dahlman and recover some racy photographs from the handsome bastard. The assignment should be fast and simple.

But it quickly becomes clear the hustler isn't the one making the anonymous demands, and things turn deadly with a high-profile murder at the burning of Zozobra on the first night of the Santa Fe Fiesta. BJ's search takes him through virtually every stratum of Albuquerque and Santa Fe society, both straight and gay. Before it is over, BJ is uncertain whether Paul Barton, the young man quickly insinuating himself in BJ's life, is friend or foe. But he knows he's stepped into something much more serious than a modest blackmail scheme. With Paul and BJ next on the killer's list, BJ must find a way to put a stop to the death threats once and for all.

First Edition published as The Zozobra Incident and the Bisti Business by Martin Brown Publishers, LLC, 2012.

REVIEW: I loved this book. I loved the setting and feel of being in Albuquerque. I loved our protagonist. I loved the pacing and suspense. This was a complete win for me.
About the setting: I imagine there are quite a few cultural differences between Albuquerque and the Pacific Northwest. However, even taking that into consideration, the story was hitting me more like a nineties historical than a contemporary PI novel, even though there were cell phones and a present-day car or two. Which didn't bother me in the slightest, but I started to wonder if Albuquerque was sort of stuck in the past, with their western lingo and clothing styles. But I wouldn't know for sure. That being said, I ate up the outdated fashion, cowboy discos, and silly old-timer expressions.

BJ is an intriguing man and an excellent protagonist. He's an ex-detective, is rich, has interesting and often risky hobbies, sports a vicious old gunshot wound, hangs out at the local country club, and works as a confidential investigator. He's not your typical playboy, but his love life is fairly dynamic. For one, his ex calls to have him investigate a blackmail scandal; two, the main suspect is a male prostitute, determined to get into BJ's pants, and three, BJ falls for a college student during the investigation, who totally knocks his socks off in the bedroom. He claims to be a pretty boring guy, but for this story he certainly has a lot going on.

BJ's thrust into danger when the blackmail investigation turns deadly. I was on the edge of my seat, wondering who was going to get popped off next. I loved this setup. There was something deliciously scandalous about BJ's ex, Del, having BJ hunt down dirty photos of himself screwing another guy. And yet there was also something completely normal about it too. BJ treated the investigation just like any of his other cases, showcasing his amazing intuition and worth ethic. I was incredibly impressed with the quality of his character.

There wasn't a whole lot of talk about what BJ looked like, but with all those hot boys flocking to him, it's a safe bet he was a sexy beast. A straight man made a comment BJ was very straight-acting, but until someone said so, I didn't think much about how BJ presents himself. Another person was shocked BJ had a Stetson, which led me to believe BJ doesn't dress as a typical New Mexican. But that was hard for me to gauge, perhaps because everyone in this story seemed as if they were either a cowboy or gang member. It did make me wonder if BJ was a bit of a snob, or at least seen as one.

BJ's my new hero and definitely someone I'd want to meet in real life. I'll be following his adventures closely.

5 start--a glorious page-turner!

Ben
The Novel Approach

*****

Hey, I liked that review. Thanks, Ben. The Bisti Business will be out in a few months. Hope you like that one, as well.

Happy Thanksgiving Day to all of you. Here's remembering our troops unable to be home with their families!

As usual, readers should feel free to contact me at dontravis21@gmail.com. Thanks for being a reader.

New posts at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.

Five Star Review of The Zozobra Incident by The Novel Approach

DSP Publications released The Zozobra Incident, as promised, on the fifteenth of this month. Ben at the Novel Approach was the first to review the book, and he was gracious enough to award the book five stars. I was so impressed that I'm publishing it in full as a part of this blog post. Well... as the post, actually. Thanks, Ben. (Sorry, but I can't reproduce the special effects of the review.)

*****

THE NOVEL APPROACH REVIEW OF The Zozobra Incident by Don Travis

Amazon US Title: The Zozobra Incident (A BJ Vinson Mystery)

AUTHOR: Don Travis

PUBLISHER: DSP Publications

Length: 290 Pages

Category: Mystery/Suspense

At a Glance: A New Mexican mystery novel I can't say enough good things about. You'll love confidential investigator BJ Vinson!

Reviewed By: Ben
Blurb: 2nd Edition

BJ Vinson is a former marine and ex-Albuquerque PD detective turned confidential investigator. Against his better judgment, BJ agrees to find the gay gigolo who was responsible for his breakup with prominent Albuquerque lawyer Del Dahlman and recover some racy photographs from the handsome bastard. The assignment should be fast and simple.

But it quickly becomes clear the hustler isn't the one making the anonymous demands, and things turn deadly with a high-profile murder at the burning of Zozobra on the first night of the Santa Fe Fiesta. BJ's search takes him through virtually every stratum of Albuquerque and Santa Fe society, both straight and gay. Before it is over, BJ is uncertain whether Paul Barton, the young man quickly insinuating himself in BJ's life, is friend or foe. But he knows he's stepped into something much more serious than a modest blackmail scheme. With Paul and BJ next on the killer's list, BJ must find a way to put a stop to the death threats once and for all.

First Edition published as The Zozobra Incident and the Bisti Business by Martin Brown Publishers, LLC, 2012.

REVIEW: I loved this book. I loved the setting and feel of being in Albuquerque. I loved our protagonist. I loved the pacing and suspense. This was a complete win for me.
About the setting: I imagine there are quite a few cultural differences between Albuquerque and the Pacific Northwest. However, even taking that into consideration, the story was hitting me more like a nineties historical than a contemporary PI novel, even though there were cell phones and a present-day car or two. Which didn't bother me in the slightest, but I started to wonder if Albuquerque was sort of stuck in the past, with their western lingo and clothing styles. But I wouldn't know for sure. That being said, I ate up the outdated fashion, cowboy discos, and silly old-timer expressions.

BJ is an intriguing man and an excellent protagonist. He's an ex-detective, is rich, has interesting and often risky hobbies, sports a vicious old gunshot wound, hangs out at the local country club, and works as a confidential investigator. He's not your typical playboy, but his love life is fairly dynamic. For one, his ex calls to have him investigate a blackmail scandal; two, the main suspect is a male prostitute, determined to get into BJ's pants, and three, BJ falls for a college student during the investigation, who totally knocks his socks off in the bedroom. He claims to be a pretty boring guy, but for this story he certainly has a lot going on.

BJ's thrust into danger when the blackmail investigation turns deadly. I was on the edge of my seat, wondering who was going to get popped off next. I loved this setup. There was something deliciously scandalous about BJ's ex, Del, having BJ hunt down dirty photos of himself screwing another guy. And yet there was also something completely normal about it too. BJ treated the investigation just like any of his other cases, showcasing his amazing intuition and worth ethic. I was incredibly impressed with the quality of his character.

There wasn't a whole lot of talk about what BJ looked like, but with all those hot boys flocking to him, it's a safe bet he was a sexy beast. A straight man made a comment BJ was very straight-acting, but until someone said so, I didn't think much about how BJ presents himself. Another person was shocked BJ had a Stetson, which led me to believe BJ doesn't dress as a typical New Mexican. But that was hard for me to gauge, perhaps because everyone in this story seemed as if they were either a cowboy or gang member. It did make me wonder if BJ was a bit of a snob, or at least seen as one.

BJ's my new hero and definitely someone I'd want to meet in real life. I'll be following his adventures closely.

5 start--a glorious page-turner!

Ben
The Novel Approach

*****

Hey, I liked that review. Thanks, Ben. The Bisti Business will be out in a few months. Hope you like that one, as well.

As usual, readers should feel free to contact me at dontravis21@gmail.com. Thanks for being a reader.

New posts at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.

Me and the MVD

Hooray! As I write this on Tuesday, November 15, DSP Publications is in the process of releasing my novel, The Zozobra Incident.

*****

Now to this week’s post: Warning! Anyone going to the Motor Vehicle Division to get or renew a New Mexico driver’s license is in for a shock.

For some time now, the powers that be in the Land of Enchantment have dillied and dallied (not to mention dithered) over new requirements the feds imposed for issuing licenses that serve as secured IDs for boarding airliners or entering a federal building or base. Each year we failed to get our act together, and each year the federal authorities granted us a delay in coming into compliance.

I’m here to tell you that has come to an end. As of Monday, November 14, 2016, all New Mexico licenses issued—including both new and renewals—meet the federal standards. But getting them is something else.

My license expired a few days back, but I held out until we were FAA compliant. On Monday, I watched a local news program that explained you needed proof you were who you said you were and that you were legally present in the United States, either by birthright or by legal immigration.

Trip One

Went to nearest MVD office Tuesday a.m. a little before 9:00. Took a number (63) and was called to Window 10 about 20 minutes later.

“What can I do for you,” Window 10 asked.

“I want one of those super-duper driver’s licenses that serve as ID for airline flights.” With that, I confidently shoved both my driver’s license and the passport I got last year (in case NM didn’t get compliant before the feds banned our licenses).

“Where’s the rest of it?” he asked.

“Rest of what? My passport’s got everything you need. And it’s official. Confirmed by the good old USofA.”

“No, you need your Social Security Card and two things confirming your legal residency.”

He refused to listen to reason. Hopped into my car and raced back home (with an expired license, remember).

Trip Two

Spent half an hour trying to print online copies of a PNM bill, grabbed my lease agreement and Social Security Card and sped back to the MVD. The waiting room... full. New number... 112, with some 40 numbers ahead of me waiting to be called. If each one took 10 minutes, I’d be out of here in another 400 minutes. How many hours is that? Forgot to bring a calculator. Also forgot to bring something to read, so settled down to people watching… which got old. Fast.

Then I lucked out. The woman sitting beside me couldn’t wait any longer and offered me her ticket. Number 93. Thanked her and grabbed the scrap of paper that ought to cut 190 minutes off my wait time. Eventually, I was called to Window 12.

“What can I do for you?” Window 12 asked.

A little more sullen now, I answered, “Driver’s license.”

I pulled out the sheaf of papers I’d brought and shoved them beneath the thick pane of glass between him and me, now appreciating his need for a protective device between him and his clients.

He shuffled through bits and pieces of my life until he came to the SS card. “This is your Medicare Card, not your Social Security Card.”

“It has the same information on it, they’re issued by the same agency, and they’re both red, white, and blue. Should be okay."

“Afraid not. I have to have the Social Security card or your SS-1099 or—”

“Okay, okay! This is the second time I’ve been here, but I’ll go get it.”

After he condescended to tell me to return to him without pulling a new number, I risked another APD speeding ticket by racing home once again.

Trip Three

I located the Social Security Card (adjacent to where the Medicare card had been stored), jerked it out, and once again high-tailed it to the MVD. (Hey, APD, that’s four opportunities to nail me you missed).

Number 12 had a client, but he saw and acknowledged me. Ten minutes later, he was free, but indicated he had one other return customer ahead of me. I sat back down while the gentleman who took my rightful seat before Number 12 got titles transferred on two vehicles (a lengthy chore, I can tell you) before starting the process of getting a driver’s license renewed. As I fidgeted and fumed, I heard a number called. Number 112. Lo and behold, I still had that number in my pocket, so I beelined it to Window Eleven.

“What can I do for you today?”

I wearily shoved everything at her and leaned back wondering what she’d find wrong this time.

“Looks like you have everything, sir. Let’s get you taken care of.”

I walked out of the MVD for the final time at 12:26 p.m. Getting that license ate up almost four hours of my life… however, that did include travel time.

Dear readers, in view of the above, feel free to tell me what a dolt I am at dontravis21@gmail.com.

New Posts published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.

Honeysuckle, Wisteria, and Little Rosy

How about a piece of nonsense this week. Just a short, short story… sort of.

But first, let me remind everyone that my book, The Zozobra Incident, comes out on Tuesday, November 15. I’ll admit to being a little bit excited.

Now to the story.

*****

HONEYSUCKLE, WISTERIA, AND LITTLE ROSY

Fred the mailman parked his white, blue-trimmed, boxy vehicle at the top of the street and stuffed his heavy bag with the appropriate deliveries. This was the last street and his favorite block on the route. Hard to say why. Small wooded area at the bottom of the hill. Double row of thirties-type homes facing one another across the asphalt. Upscale then, middle class now. They weren’t cookie-cutter houses. Each one was a custom-built. All neat and well-tended. There was just one thing wrong with the neighborhood. It was old enough so that each residence had a mail box affixed to the wall beside the front door, grandfathered in before the changes that made mail delivery possible from the front seat of his truck. Still, somehow it was worth the inconvenience.

Most likely it was the folks living here who made it so special. The Parsons family on the east side of the street at the top of the block were cat people. They resembled their pets, meaning they sometimes watched from the window but never came outside to say hello. Snooty or shy? In five years, he hadn’t figured that out.

Farther down the block, he came to the Daniels’ house. Except he called it the Spaniels’ house. Two beautiful Springers roamed the fenced yard. He chuckled to himself. They needed a “Beware of Dog” sign posted at the gate. Not because Nip and Tuck were ferocious, they just mauled him a little trying to plant sloppy kisses on his nose.

Down at the end of the block, the Smith’s hamster sitting in her cage at the picture window usually went crazy on her wheel. Her little legs moved in a whir as soon as he hit the front step. He could hear the squeak of the circular ladder as it spun… even through the plate glass.

But the Foxendillers, last house on the west side closest to the wooded area, were his favorite. Joe Foxendiller, a retired computer programmer, lived with his wife in the neat stucco with a modest mansard roof. Joe liked to talk, and often as not, met Fred at the door to collect his mail before it got to the mailbox. And, often as not, he’d be accompanied by his three “babies.”

The family’s children had grown up and moved out, leaving the old folks with their surviving pets: Honeysuckle, Wisteria, and Little Rosy… born this past May. Fred was pretty sure it was illegal to own pet skunks in New Mexico—something to do with rabies—but the Foxendiller kids had been raising them for years, and nobody in the neighborhood seemed to object.

Joe didn’t come to the door today, but Fred spotted two little animals sitting side-by-side on top of the sofa near the window. Black button eyes, black fur with two gorgeous white stripes running down each of their backs. He did a double take. There were usually three. Where was Honeysuckle? That was the big male. He was usually sitting there with the other two.

He had ribbed Joe about naming a male skunk Honeysuckle, but Joe just shrugged and said the kids gave all their pets flower names like that children’s book, Bambi. And that’s the one he got stuck with. Wisteria, the female, was slightly smaller, but had a sweeter nature. Little Rosy was as friendly and awkward as a small puppy.

Fred waved at the little guys before dropping the Foxendillers’ stack of bills and advertising in the box. Then he turned and tripped down the steps, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of a big skunk on the sidewalk. The mammal seemed as wary of Fred as Fred was of him.

“Honeysuckle! You gave me a start? What are you doing outside?”

He bent down to stroke the animal’s head—just as he had a hundred times before—but the skunk hissed and backed up a few steps. That wasn’t like Honeysuckle. Probably because his owner wasn’t with him. Joe never let his pets outside by themselves.

“Okay, guy, you’re gonna get in trouble, you know.” Fred backed up the steps and felt for the door handle. Sometimes the Foxendillers failed to lock their door. It was that kind of neighborhood. The knob turned to his touch, and he stood aside. “Go on, get inside.”

The animal stared at the gaping door a moment before making a dash up the steps and disappearing inside. Feeling proud of himself, Fred gave a tip of his hat to the three pets lining the back of the couch.

Three?

Fred glanced into the shadowed hallway in time to see a white tail disappear around a corner.

“Oh, my God!” he moaned. “What have I done?”

*****

Man, I’m glad I wasn’t in that house for the next few minutes… or the next few days if the stray skunk got pissed at someone. Wonder if Fred admitted what he did or simply slunk away. Let me know what you think about the story.

I welcome comments at dontravis21@gmail.com. Thanks for being readers.

New Posts published at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.

The Day the Sun Defecated

Another short story this week? Here it is.

*****

THE DAY THE SUN DEFECATED

He did a double take. Had the early afternoon sun really defecated? Was that a small, glaucous piece of crap floating to earth?

Ridiculous, of course. A parachute? Maybe, but he saw no evidence of an aircraft. Yes, there was something, but it was at such an altitude as to make it unidentifiable. His eyes returned to the shimmering piece of ethereal flotsam and realized it, too, was still high in the sky. His heart raced. Was this some alien falling to earth?

Even as he threw his old Jeep into gear, he shook his head. Naw. Nothing so outstanding. Things like that didn’t happen to Marshall Goodson. He marked the position of the distant speck relative to Dead Horse Butte before easing forward over the rough mountain track.

As soon as he reentered the forest, he lost track of the object, but he knew of two places a few miles ahead of him that would make appropriate landing spots for parachutes… or UFOs. He glanced at the rough, unimproved road. No fresh tracks ahead of him. If that was a parachutist, no one had come to pick him up. Not by this route, at least. There was a back way, but anyone familiar with the area knew that was a very rough drive. His curiosity pegged at maximum, Marshall pushed the doughy little vehicle harder… and took the punishment that maneuver occasioned.

After splashing through the thin trickle of Ria La Placita, he emerged from the evergreens and started down the long, sloping road that dropped into the canyon. He forded the deeper waters of Hooligan’s Creek and started up the rough, narrow track that took him up onto the plateau. He judged about thirty minutes had passed before he reached the first likely spot.

Nothing stirred in the mountain meadow other than a lone doe that stood her ground and returned his stare. Her fawn was probably hidden close by. His tense muscles relaxed, making him understand he’d been half hoping for a little excitement.

Marshall revved the motor again and headed deeper into the forest. Another fifteen minutes lapsed by the time he reached the more likely spot, a broad, circular meadow. Empty. Disappointment roiled his stomach. No alien craft wreckage. No parachute crumpled on the grass. Crap! Nothing extraordinary ever happened in his drab life.

He was about back out onto the road when a man walked out from the cover of the trees. Startled, Marshall’s hand tightened on the gearshift. Ordinary looking Joe, if a little taller than most men. Wearing camo gear that wasn’t quite military, but could have been. No pack of any sort, just a carrier—probably plastic—that vaguely resembled a violin case.

“Looking for a lift,” he called.

The man walked forward, inspecting him closely. An athlete from the way he moved. “Yes, I could use one.” The heavy voice hid a slight accent of some sort. “Dr. Smith said to tell you hello.”

There it was again, that elusive foreign sound. Smith almost started with a Z. And the first syllable of hello was a shade too strong. A shiver of unease flowed over Marshall's shoulders.

“Don’t believe I know a Dr. Smith,” he answered carefully.

The man did not react, but his eyes did. Just slightly. A mere tightening of the flesh around them.”

“Ah, well, goodbye then.  I am not yet ready to return to town.”

“Sure? It’s pretty deserted around here.”

As if to make a liar out of him, Marshall caught the distinct growl of a laboring engine. A vehicle coming in from the north… the back way. The sound of that motor momentarily froze the world. Nothing moved over the meadow until a dark green Land Rover turned off the road about a hundred yards in front of them and headed through the tall grass directly for the Jeep.

The Rover halted ten yards in front of Marshall’s vehicle, and a short dumpy man with a distinctly foreign air hopped out.

“Dr. Smith said to say hello,” his camoed companion called out.

“Ah, how is the old man. Well, I hope.”

Camo man smiled, but it wasn’t a nice thing to see. Marshall threw the jeep into gear once again and started to back up.

“Just a minute,” Camo took a step toward him. “I did not thank you properly for your offer of help.”

“That’s okay. I….” Marshal’s voice died as a small, black, efficient-looking pistol appeared in the man’s hand.

“Is there really a need for this?” Dumpy man asked, alarm making his voice thin. Then he spoke a few words in a language Marshall did not understand.

Camo halted beside the Jeep’s front tire. Marshall had previously removed the canvas top and laid his windshield flat, so they stared directly into one another’s eyes.

“Please turn off your engine,” Camo said to Marshall.

“I don’t think so.”

Camo raised the pistol and pointed it right between his eyes. “I insist.”

Before Marshall could obey, Stocky spoke again in that strange tongue. Marshall shivered in sudden fear. His armpits grew wet. Slavic, he decided. “Russian?”

He hadn’t realized he spoke aloud until the two men turned to face him. Then he understood. The President of the United States—his president—was in town. Or at least the presidential party was at a compound in the mountains, meeting with counterparts from around the world to discuss trade issues. That wasn’t a violin Camo carried. It was a rifle broken down and waiting to be reassembled. Waiting to kill. This was an assassin… no, what did they call them? This was a mechanic coming to assassinate the American president.

“I see you have figured it out,” Camo said in a voice devoid of feeling. “That is too bad.”

Marshall went momentarily dead on the inside. His trembling ceased. Even his fear evaporated before a rising anger. He was surprised to realize the Jeep’s motor was still idling. In a single sudden motion, he threw the vehicle in low gear, cut the wheel sharply to the left, and gunned the motor. The sound of his own voice shouting “Take that, you piece of shit,” startled him.

Caught by surprise, Camo attempted to lurch backward, but the fender hit him solidly. When he tried to recover, the driver’s side mirror caught him in the back and sent him reeling.

Marshall made straight for the forest. For a moment he thought he would make it. Then he heard gunfire. From two weapons. Camo was hurt but not out of it. But maybe he was hurt enough….

Two bullets struck the Jeep’s frame before something hammered into his back.

                                                                    *****

That's what I like about blogs... I don't have to obey rules. I can publish what I want. How do you kill the guy who's telling the story? It just stops, right? Leaving us to wonder if Marshall, who was merely looking to pick up a stranded stranger to bring a little variety into his dull life, accomplished something useful after all. Had he injured Camo man enough to prevent the assassin from accomplishing his murderous assignment? Unfortunately, Marshall will never know. But then we won't either.

Give me your guesses at markwildyr@aol.com.

New posts publisher at 6:00 a.m. each Thursday.