A Bit of Naughty from Guy Graybill..."Coin o' the Realm" During National Poetry Month...

COIN O’ THE REALM

“Miss Maudie” ran a bawdy house

Beside a pike in country shire;

And there she kept a woolly ewe

That lusty rustics paid t’ hire.

But, what th’ price t’ copulate;

Th’ charge for knowin’ ovine love?

A tuppence was ‘er only fee.

An’ not a ha’ penny above!

▼ ▼ ▼

Indian Women Take Down Their Country's Rape Culture In 3-Minute Rap Powerful "Busted Rhymes!"

There is pleasure when a sore is scratched, But to be without sores is more pleasurable still. Just so, there are pleasures in worldly desires, But to be without desires is more pleasurable still.

- Nagarjuna, 150 BC

https://twitter.com/bombaebs

The Soul appears to be finite because of ignorance. When ignorance is destroyed the Self which does not admit of any multiplicity truly reveals itself by itself: like the Sun when the clouds pass away.

- Adi Shankara, 788 AD

Bondage and Liberation are of the mind alone.

- Ramakrishna Paramahamsa

Speed Metal Blues: A Dan Reno Novel by Dave Stanton - Great Series for Lovers of Hardboiled Crime!

Five minutes later we gunned it out of town under a cobalt blue sky. Cody's tires spitting dirt on the sun-warmed road, the radio blasting "Beer Drinkers and He3ll Raisers" by ZZ Top.
"God, I love this song," Cody said, cranking the volume, his palms pounding on the steering wheel, his green eyes charged with a secret energy, as if he were anticipating a salvation known only to him.
For as long as I'd known Cody, he'd avoided a static lifestyle. Downtime and boredom were his worst enemies. I imagined that in his quiet, solitary moments, perhaps when he was alone in his apartment at night, straight booze ight not be adequate to soothe the wounds of his past. His pain could only be extinguished by action, by confronting his demons, by violence. This was his defense mechanism, how he dealt with the grief of a father who abandoned him and an uncaring mother. Crazy as it sounds, living on the edge provided the balm for his unhealed scars. I'm sure psychology professionals would have a field day with this one, but his method for dealing with his paid was keeping him sane. Hell, in a world where criminally demented acts are routine. Cody was probably saner than most.
~~~

Speed Metal Blues:

a Dan Reno Novel

By Dave Stanton

In the world we live in, there is sometimes a fine line between the criminal and the men and women who go after them. Dan Reno and his buddy Cody are both ex-cops who left, fed up with the system in which they worked. Yet these chose to continue the fight against those who would do harm against others. This series is told from the point of view of Dan Reno. These books are definitely from the hard-boiled series, with a mix of noir. Those who enjoy either will, I believe, enjoy meeting Dan and Cody! I didn't mind it myself, either, except it does get violent--so be forewarned, especially due to the nature of two criminals "religion..." Check out his earlier novel Stateline... before you leave!

Dan is trying to make it as a PI and bounty hunter... He had just been contacted to try to find two accused rapists from New Jersey. Actually, both were into much more, including murder. One was a fairly easy find, except for the actual capture activities, that is...

When I finally tracked down Billy Morrison, he was in the middle of the most pit at Zeke's Bar off Highway 50. There must have been thirty sweat-drenched men in there with him, stomping and flailing to the music, their violent energy like a rebellion against humanity. I assumed they considered this dancing, but it looked more like a gang brawl. The death metal band on the small stage pounded out a relentless assault on the ears, the singer's guttural growls imploring the wild-eyes participants to main and kill the weak. My initial instinct told me to retreat to my truck and wait for Morrison to leave. Instead, I waded into the churning melee of knees and fists. That was my first mistake...

~~~

Then I saw flashing lights, and Sheriff Marcus Grier's
squad car bounced into the lot. The gangbangers
slowly retreated.
"What the hell is going on here?" Grier said, stepping
from his car, his hand on his holstered revolver.
"Good timing, Sheriff," I said. "This here is Billy
Morrison. He's got warrants in New Jersey for rape,
robbery and assault."
"You got paper on him?"
"Yes, sir. He skipped two months ago."
"What happened to his leg?" Grier said, his black
skin shining in the moonlight.
"He fuckin' shot me," I gestured to a group of about
ten men standing in front of Zeke's. They glared back,
arms crossed, feet planted wide. One shot his arm
straight out, middle finger extended.
"Did you have to shoot him?"
"I could have just curled up and let them kick the shit
out of me, I suppose."
~~~

Dan had thought there would be a slower pace and some quiet times when he moved to South Lake Tahoe. Fortunately he had made a positive connection with Sheriff Grier and was able to work with him, sharing and gathering information. What really was the issue was that the little town had become a route for trafficking drugs and the Mexicans were firmly entrenched. Until a group calling themselves the HCU [Hard Core United], had moved in, looking to take over... It was the HCU that had adopted rapist Morrison. And Reno wound up facing the whole group when he tried to leave with Billy. He was backing out, trying to leave, using his gun to control the crowd...not sure of the outcome, when he saw slashing lights and the Sheriff's squad car moving fast into the parking lot... Whew!

There are a number of minor characters that include the son of a former assassin and a brother-sister pair who have been befriended by Dan and Cody... Good thing!

Because the other rapist is also a Satanist and believes, and seems, he is unable to die! And he has set his eyes on the sister, who has become known because she's to be now working as a lounge singer in the Casino where all the action is taking place!

Seriously, the violence in this novel is not for some readers, but the story itself is a great novel for its genre. Readers will have to decide on this one. Myself, I always enjoy a novel with the good guys versus the bad guys...this one just gets more hard core than I would recommend to everyone.

There's more time at the Nevada bordellos, hard-core criminals versus the Mexican cartel seeing who will win the town, and even the mafia hiding under "new management." Cody is an interesting sidekick for Dan...In this novel, he has just discovered he may be a father and that causes him to take the brother-sister duet under his special care...

There was enough warm, caring scenes to keep the violence counter-balanced. Do check this one out!

"You know what?" Time to turn on the christmas lights."

"In October?"

I got up and hit the switches, and the bults laced around the trees outside came alive, the colors flashing and reflecting off the snow-covered ground.

"It's just beautiful, isn't it?" Candy said, her green eyes dancing in a kaleidoscope of red and blue. The jukebox kicked into Hank Williams Jr.'s "Family Tradition," and the twang of the fiddle brought a smile to my face...

As for my own life, I stay happy on a daily basis, and why the hell not? My house among the tall pines and granite faces is cheerful with a woman's touch, and I'm thankful every day for that. Damn thankful, because change is an inevitable as the turning of the season. That evil might again invade my life I have little doubt, but I never invest myself in that thought. That keeps me sane I suppose, or as close as I'll get.

~~~

GABixlerReviews

Born in Detroit, Michigan, in 1960, Dave Stanton moved to Northern California in 1961. He attended San Jose State University and received a BA in journalism in 1983. Over the years, he worked as a bartender, newspaper advertising salesman, furniture mover, pizza cook, debt collector, and technology salesman. He has two children, Austin and Haley, and lives with his wife, Heidi, in San Jose, California.

Stanton is the author of five novels, all featuring private investigator Dan Reno and his ex-cop buddy, Cody Gibbons.

The Feather - A Haiku

She stood, unable to move...

The feather taunted; Her body taut...

He did nothing else, watching...

~~~

A Biker's Funeral from the Novel, Running With Wild Blood By Gerrie Ferris Finger

I’m easily amused. Lake circled the rental car around Palms Garden Cemetery. A spiked, wrought iron

fence kept the dead in, otherwise, who knew? They might run out and vote. I didn’t say that to Lake for fear of an unappreciative groan. 

At the white stone gates, at intervals , the uniformed cop held up a hand to allow other boulevard traffic to flow past the line of bikes and cars waiting to enter the city of the 

dead.

My skin started to hum. The voltage in the atmosphere was amped to the max despite the fanning palms doing their damndest to make this day a celebration of the dead. “Don’t anyone light a match,” Lake said.

Riley "Big Red" O'Rourke

We weaved and shouldered our way through throngs of bikers, some startled at seeing three people not wearing cut, sleeveless denim, or leather, or visible tattoos— until they caught the badges. They growled and spit, then went back to their conversations. Lots of fucks and fuckers being said, Lake noted . They were paired with all the adverbs and adjectives known in the English language. The last of the attendees were in place at O’Rourke’s grave. On the gold-draped stand stood an obviously hand-painted casket with the motorcycle club’s colors and a patch on the foot. I spotted Rassler and the Chattanooga brothers milling around the head of the coffin. The Raleigh boys were at the sides and the Birmingham chapter at the foot. I wondered if there was some kind of strategy in the stations of those nearest the bier. I looked behind me. Pressing forward was so much human flesh in leather, cattle pens must have been emptied to supply the hides. The crowd quieted. The service was to begin.

Holding a microphone, the preacher began the service with a prayer, and those bikers in front of me removed whatever head gear they wore except those with do-rags. Bad hankie hair maybe. The silence quivered with tension and I was glad for the “Amen.” Immediately, Rush’s “Ghost Rider” flared from speakers hidden in palms. I thought it an apt song. When Neil Peart, the drummer and lyricist for Rush, lost his daughter and wife, he went on a motorcycle journey across America, and then wrote the song.

When the track ended, the preacher did the “we are gathered together” thing. The preacher paused, stepped back and Steppenwolf’s “Born to Be Wild” erupted from the speakers. The crowd let out a collective yelp. 

...the preacher read a passage from the Bible. It rang out in enunciated tones through the speakers , as if the preacher wanted everyone to hear and believe. “I declare to you, brothers, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable , and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: ‘Death has been swallowed up in victory.’ Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting? The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” Halfway through that passage from Corinthians I had my doubts about it being right for a biker funeral, but when the preacher said “Amen” a collective , testosterone-laden “whoop” blew through the air. Into the whoop came the Eagles , “Life in the Fast Lane.”

I swear every biker sang. They must have been nipping from flasks... Once the song ended and voices settled, the preacher read from another Bible passage: “To everything there is a season, A time for every purpose under heaven: A time to be born, And a time to die . . . A time to kill, And a time to heal . . . A time to weep, And a time to laugh, A time to mourn, And a time to dance . . . A time to lose; A time to keep . . . A time to keep silence, And a time to speak; A time to love, And a time to hate; A time of war, And a time of peace.” 

As expected, the blaster fired up another motorcycle song, this time Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run.” I’m thinking funeral as an excuse for a heavy metal concert. Certainly the crowd was much less restive than they had been before the music.

Next up, The Doors, “Riders on the Storm.” I’ve always loved that song, the thunder and rain effects. It was inspired, they say, by “Ghost Riders in the Sky,” a cowboy song. I reasoned that biker music must be standard at funerals. It certainly had a calming effect on the crowd, but I stayed alert, wary.

The music died and the preacher said, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Amen.” He held up a cross. “Go with God and our Lord Jesus Christ brother Riley O’Rourke.” After a quiet interval, the casket was lowered into the ground by some automatic button. Shovels began to fly; their blades had the club’s patch painted on it. The Raleigh club was literally burying their dead. I got a good look at Rassler who worked his shovel demonically, his face red with sweat. The silent crowd was rapt with awe. It was then I sensed something in the air, a quiet determination. At the same time, something moved rapidly to my left. A man rushed forward, passing not six feet from me, weaving through the biker fraternity intent on seeing their brother buried. They’d let down their guard.

The would-be shooter and I were leaving a commotion in our wake . The grave shovelers halted. Rassler turned. Switch— on the other side of the coffin—paused. The shooter raised his gun hand. I aimed low in case I was jostled into an errant shot. Two shots rang through the air, cold and sharp. Mine got him in the buttocks. 

His bullet went into the palms. He faltered a step forward, then went to his knees. I felt the stampede then the pause of movement. At least fifteen bikers jumped the prone, injured man and began stomping him. Grady spoke rapidly into a police radio. Lake stared at me. Rassler portaged around the carnage. Parting the crowd, he came up at the same time Grady arrived with his FBI contingent, the ATF and the police. The cops waded into the men bent on murdering the gunman. Lake stood next to me. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes were narrow with anger. Rassler said, “You saved my life.” Switch came up and raised his fist in salute. 

I couldn’t respond for the hollowness in my chest. It was like someone or something had pulled a plug and drained away my core. I feared what lay ahead, what Lake’s expression was telling me. I simply could not speak for fear my body, its organs, would shut down. The faraway voice was Rassler’s. “You okay, girl?” He gave me a side hug.

I think I nodded and watched six burly cops pry bikers off the body of the would-be assassin. I didn’t look down, though I knew he was dead. “Come with us,” Grady said gently, taking my gun and my elbow. As we left the O’Rourke family plot, I heard a murmur, and then a rousing number sprang from the speakers: “Bat out of Hell” by Meatloaf. 

Lake walked behind us, jaws locked, eyes like hard brown granite. Better if they played AC/ DC’s “Highway to Hell” for me.

Dead Men Don't By Pepper O'Neal - Sexy, Suspejnseful, Stupendous! Welcome to the Blog Tour!

8:10 p.m., the Sydarian Embassy, Washington, DC: 
“Did you get the package?” The words, calm and quiet, displayed none of the seething tension Ambassador Jamar Farahani held inside. He hated working with scum like this--dirty, violent. Uneducated. But that was the only kind of man who would undertake this type of job.
“Yeah, we got her,” replied the rough voice on the other end of the line. 
“When are you coming to pick her up?”
“Tomorrow. Maybe. It depends on the weather. Right now, they will not let any planes take off from the airport. Not even private jets.” Jamar’s hand tightened on the phone as he watched the snowstorm outside his windows. “There is supposed to be a break in the morning. So hopefully, I can get out then.”
“If that’s the best you can do, I’ll just have to sit on her for a while. But get here as soon as you can. My guys are getting restless.” 
“Just make sure nothing happens to her, Johnson.” Jamar’s voice turned cold and hard. “If she is raped, beaten, or even scratched, you and your men will not get paid. Understand?” 
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make sure nothing happens. But the sooner she’s out of here, the better. She’s such a looker, it’s hard to control my men.”
“If she was not ‘such a looker,’ she would not be worth as much money, and you would not be getting paid your over-inflated fee.” Jamar turned away from the windows. And the storm. Damn it! The goal had been within his reach, then this happened. “Tell your men I will examine the package thoroughly when I get there. If there is a mark on her, they will not only lose the money, they will not live long enough to regret it.” He paused to let that sink in. “I hope I have made myself clear.” 
“Yeah, I got it.” Johnson’s voice had risen nearly an octave. “Nobody’ll touch her.” 
“See that they do not.” Jamar disconnected, fighting the urge to throw the phone against the wall. If Johnson’s men did what kidnappers of young women normally did, the buyer would not pay full price.

~~~

Dead Men Don't

By Pepper O'Neal

In an interview with the author, she explained that this novel had started out as a thriller, but the publisher had suggested that it be spicier... This is one reader who agrees with the publisher! This is sexy suspense between the two main characters that will keep everybody enjoying how their relationship evolves...

Even if the two of them are constantly in the midst of keeping the other safe!

Andi had been on her father's estate, heading for a meeting with Donald, her latest, when it happened. She knew the man approaching her looked like a thug, but she didn't notice the other two coming from a different direction. Before she knew what was happening, she had been drugged. Even then she didn't go easily, screaming, kicking and more until the drug took effect.

It was 4 AM in the morning when Levi was called in...not even 24 hours had gone by, but Andi was already in a mountain cabin, worrying what they would do to her... then hearing what the men were saying!

She’d stopped struggling, defeated by the emotional and physical pain. The ropes were too tight, freedom impossible. What did they want with her? She shuddered as thoughts of what men usually wanted from women flashed through her mind. No. Oh, God, no. Panic flared up again, and she fought the ropes until she lay curled into a ball, sobbing and exhausted...
From what she’d overheard the men in the next room say, someone close to her had arranged her kidnapping. Her father? Donald? Could it really be true? But who else could have given the kidnappers her picture, her schedule, and the best time to ambush her? Not many people had known exactly where she’d be and when. Jonas McKenzie, head of the crime family her father belonged to, might send someone to help. The rumors in the Family said he didn’t allow innocent people to be hurt. Then again, he might not even know she’d been abducted. If her father had tipped off the kidnappers, he wouldn’t have called Jonas for help.

~~~

Trust him? Could she? In addition to
 being sexy and fascinating, he was
 also gorgeous--just under six feet tall,
 with dark hair, a roguishly handsome
 face, dreamy blue eyes, and a hard,
 strong body. It was all she could
 do not to drool. His British accent and
 rakish grin made him almost irresistible,
 as did the way he called her “luv.”
He was practically a legend in the
 Family. And he had a reputation for
 being kind to women. Or was it all
 an act? Rumors said he didn’t kill
 people, either, although the way he’d
 explained killing those six men
 earlier made sense.
But could she trust him?
She didn’t know but sensed he was
 waiting for an answer.
“I’m having some issues with trust
 right now,” she said finally. “And
 listening to those guys talk about how
 someone in the Family gave them
 everything they needed to grab me
 doesn’t help.”
~~~

I thought it was an interesting twist to have a crime family, whose leader demanded that no innocent people be harmed, actually be the driver behind finding the kidnapped daughter. It was Jonas, not the girl's father, that had contacted Levi to track her down...

Actually, it was the FBI who had notified Jonas! But the key issue was that the rescue was to be done unofficially! Of course, that meant that if Levi was discovered, there would be no support to back him up...

And he did rescue her--the first time!

Readers quickly learn how feisty Andi is when she refuses to be rescued, not knowing who the man was who was there to do it! Then when he identified himself, she didn't believe him, because he had a reputation that he never hurt anybody, but she knew that he had just killed all of her kidnappers!

He was willing to carry her out of there, but she finally relented and went...But the men, and specifically the man who was willing to pay $25M for her, was not willing to give up that easily... She was taken again!

Rescued...and taken again...

About that time, everybody realized that there had to be a leak in Jonas' camp, so he started looking at his own people. Because by that time, Andi had been taken out of the country, and Levi would need help...

In the meantime, Andi and Levi had "discovered" each other and Andi had rented a cabin far away and started training Andi to be able to take care of herself, even while telling her that he would always come to get her...

After she’d seen the bedroom, they brought her to what they called “the common room” and left. The harem’s common room was the most bizarre place she could imagine. Nothing Levi told her had prepared her for this. Oriental rugs covered the tile floors. Beautiful tapestries and sheets of colored chiffon hung from the walls. Above her head was a domed ceiling with three large skylights. The room looked like a Moroccan brothel, or at least what she imagined one would look like.
The fifteen other girls in the room, sitting on the floor or on cushions that looked like bean bag chairs, just stared at her. They were all dressed in exotic costumes that looked like they were made for belly dancers. Andi sighed. She had to get out of this place. Maybe she should just leave tonight. Then she looked more closely at the other girls. Only one of them looked Middle Eastern. The rest were Caucasian, probably American or English--light complexioned with blonde, light brown, or red hair and were her age or younger. They were all lovely. Most wore a look of fear, while a few of them had the vacant look of numbness and defeat. Andi’s heart went out to them and she sighed again. These girls needed her help.
                                                         ~~~

“Can’t we just take him out? Why do we have
 to wait for him to come after me?”
 “Because I can’t do it alone. I’d need
 help from the CIA, and they won’t act
 until he actually takes you.”
 “That’s so stupid! That’s the same thing
 cops tell women who get threatened
 by men. ‘We can’t do anything until the
 guy actually breaks the law,’”
 she said, lowering the pitch of her voice
 to imitate a man. “But when the guy
 breaks the law, the poor girl’s already dead."
~~~

I've added a few more excerpts that

extends into the later part of the book.

Human trafficking is very real...and

girls from all over the world are being

taken! Please be aware of this and help

in any way you can!

Kudos to Pepper O'Neal for moving right

to the heart of the matter for her novel!

She's done a fantastic job of the 

"mechanics" of these activities! This is

an important book spotlighting the most

dangerous criminal activity that exists!

Highly recommended!

GABixlerReviews

“You will sign the papers of marriage 
so that I have the legal right to keep you.
 Then you will pleasure any man I
 present you to, without complaint
 and without question,
 starting with me tonight.”
 Andi cringed, hating the thought of him, 
or any man but Levi, touching her.
 “I’m an American citizen, you know. 
I do have rights.” “You have rights
 in your own country. But in this country,
 women have no rights. The only way
 to survive is to do as you are told.”
~~~

David Levien Presents Extraordinary Villain to Hate in Signature Kill! Due Out March 24!

There is a jingle as the young couple exits the shop. He reaches the “literature” section, passes by what he doesn’t want, Hustler, Genesis, Club, and the like—fluffy crap and then rounds the aisle and finds what he is looking for: the vintage stuff. Stalked, Captured, and Fettered. He waits for the familiar flutter in his stomach, the tingle in his limbs, at the sight of the buxom young women on the covers shackled,  gagged, staring pleadingly out at the reader. The colors are supersaturated, the lighting stark and procedural. The images pop in a highly detailed way. His reaction to the covers has hardly waned over the years. He gathers up a few issues he doesn’t already own and goes to the register to pay.

While the clerk makes change of his fifty-dollar bill, his hand goes into his pocket and his fingers slide around the smooth souvenir there. It was white once, years ago, but has aged down from exposure to air and his touch. He used to carry the piece every day, though now he

only takes it out when he’s feeling a certain way. It is a length of bone, the first proximal phalange from someone very special that he’d known briefly long ago. It is both a reminder of the past, and a promise of the future.

“Have a good night,” the clerk says, perhaps recognizing him from his other visits, perhaps not. At some point he needs to stop coming to places like this. There are cameras and it isn’t wise to continue. Of course, he’s thought that for years and years and nothing has happened, nothing has changed. The fact is: he’s invisible.

“Thank you,” he says to the clerk. He leaves the store and heads for home.

~~~

Signature Kill

By David Levien

Stunning...
 Suspenseful...
   Satisfyingly Edgy...

Graphic mutilation warning. Note that this, however, is not a slasher-type horror story of murder after murder. Still, I thought it advisable to move it to my adult blog so you could at least get some idea from the excerpts of the book.

The serial killer is uniquely strange and comes from that dark place that immediately taunts readers to wonder what brought about such a monster, or was he merely born? Frank Behr, on the other hand, is a man who we can trust will rid us of this killer, no matter what it takes… or will he be caught, instead, by the horror he sees each time this creature strikes?

It’s happening again…

The words come from a place deep within him. He feels that stuff down there, bubbling and stirring, as the thing inside him that is other looks to push up and outward. He has to take it for a ride.

It’s happening again and before long the red curtain will come down once more…Soon.…He turns the corner onto East Lowell, and sees a lone woman walking. In her late twenties or early thirties, she has blond hair streaked with light reddish brown the color of ground cinnamon. She isn’t out for a healthful stroll, he can see by the cigarette in her hand and the black leather jacket and jeans that look like they were worn to a bar the night before.

Dirty girl, dirty girl…

He slows, trolling behind her for a bit. She is petite, with a light stride. Young.

Go to work. Now. A voice inside tries to instruct him. But it is weak. Certainly not strong enough to win out, and it will soon fall mute.

He no longer feels the car around him. All is silent. He is flying, floating along next to her. He is near her, with her, of her…

Finally, his Senses return. The steering wheel is in his hands, the seat beneath him, and the pedals under his feet once again. He speeds up and pulls abreast of her for just a moment before continuing on, her presence and her location filed away automatically in his mind. A certain fluttering sensation arrives in his gut—the one that comes along when he’s found a new project.

Hello, Cinnamon…

~~~

Do You Know What Happened to Kendra
Gibbons? Reward For Information Leading
To Answers, Arrest, Conviction:
$100,000.

Frank Behr was out hunting with a friend while it was happening...She had been found in pieces and they weren't initially sure that all of her parts were there where she had been found...

Frank had shared with long-time friend, Les, that he did love Susan, his girlfriend, and the mother of his son, Trevor, but that didn't mean that they could live together. She had moved out, but they were still involved in Trevor's life and thus with each other...

Frank had been hurt and was still recovering, although he was running low on funds, especially if he ever wanted to ever offer to support Susan and Trevor. It wasn't surprising then, when he read the billboard and saw the woman's picture, that he began to think about what it could mean... even though his first reaction was to think that it was probably an impossible job...

He'd stopped to see Trevor and been invited for dinner...and more...but had gotten up to leave even though he wasn't working any case... And the first thing he did at home was head for his computer to type in the name, Kendra Gibbons, Indianapolis. He wasn't sure why; he knew that he'd have to put out his own money which might be totally lost if he didn't find the girl. Still...

If he wasn't actually invisible, he was someone who never really was noticed--a face in the crowd that people routinely passed. That really helped in his projects because he enjoyed the hunting and stalking of each one chosen. Right now, he had gone back to where he'd first seen Cinnamon; he was supposed to be on his way to work, but he had started to feel the bubbles churning inside. He knew it was the beginning...he knew and even referred to it as "The Other."

I'll never die. The idea flashes in his mind.
No one who experiences this ever can.
A Power surges through him like high-voltage
electricity. He's spent the special time with Cinnamon,
three hours' worth, right after her end. There is
something magical in the silence, in the utter void
of her being...
~~~

He rolls along the streets, feeling it start to bubble down there inside of him, the thermal geyser. The thin crust that keeps things in place breaks away inside of him under the force of the building pressure, and the hot lava starts sliding around. Other is up and about. He feels his breath coming shallow. An hour passes, and then another.

Where are you, Cinnamon, where are you?

Eventually he points the car back toward his office, but he knows it isn't going to let him rest now. He knows it because he's felt it like this before. He knows where it will end up. Once the bubbling starts, it's just a question of where he points it, because it is going to blow...

~~~

Behr was essentially starting from the beginning with his own investigation, even though some were not pleased to be dragged into the search again. And then a body was found and he immediately began to consider that it was probably the same killer...

But then he got lucky, sort of... He had tracked down files that had earlier been pulled together about murders like the one that had just happened, realized that there were many with similarities, and soon was working with a forensics specialist so experienced that she was able to reduce the stack--to twenty-four. The factor that allowed that was that all twenty-four were true blonds...the others were eliminated due to diaminotoluene in the chemical reports that showed their hair had been dyed. She was the one to define this serial killer as a "signature killer"

...we use the term signature because even though the MO can change from crime to crime, due to the specific and random circumstances of each act, the key element of the crime that gives the killer the satisfaction is the same even when the little details present slightly differently...And the way the bodies are being found, the dismemberment? Behr asked. "Even though they're different every time--" "Right. The presentation changes, but not the fact that there is a presentation...

Obviously, Behr is pulled into a major investigation and fortunately makes a connection with the lead investigator who is willing to include him...Because it's going to take everybody...to catch this invisible man...

There's a definite line for me--I'm not interested in seeing the actual gore of slasher movies, but I do become very intrigued with unusual cases--the why, the search, the investigation that leads to the capture of someone who apparently leads a normal life until "the other" takes over. By the time Behr has gone through all that he has, well, he has seen so much...

What he does, in my opinion, was perfect, surprising and totally unexpected!

Thriller readers, get set for this one. Although it does get graphic at times, the internal thoughts and actions are what is really spine-chilling. Keep track of Behr as he moves through everything, knowing that there is no stopping the man until he personally faces this killer... Extraordinary villain; Exceptional Male Lead! Don't miss this one!

GABixlerReviews

David Levien is the author of the Frank Behr novels: Thirteen Million Dollar Pop, Where the Dead Lay, and City of the Sun. He has been nominated for the Edgar, Hammett, and Shamus Awards, and is also a screenwriter and director. He lives in Connecticut.