Dave Zeltserman's Blog, page 5

My promises about PARIAH

 

Several promises I can make about Pariah. It's as "hell-on-wheels" a crime novel as you'll find Nothing I've written is as opposite to my Julius Katz stories as this bookIt's subversiveYou've never encountered a protagonist like Kyle Nevin before, and you'll never want to encounter anyone like him in the real world Writers in particular will enjoy the book's scathing satirical takedown of the publishing industryNo publisher exists today that would ever touch this book.If I were to pick 4 words to describe Pariah, they would be: brutal, funny (in a very dark way), tragic, noir.

What critics and authors say about Pariah

 

Pariah, which is now for the first time available as a kindle book, was originally published by Serpent's Tail in 2009 and was named that year by the Washington Post as one of the best crime and mystery novels of the year. Here's what critics and authors said about it then:

"A doom-laden crime story that not only makes merry with the justice system, but also satirizes those bottom feeders in the publishing industry who would sign Osama bin Laden to a six-figure contract for his memoirs, if only they could figure out which cave to send their lawyers into. If there's any other young writer out there who does crime noir better than Zeltserman, I don't even want to know... I'd say Zeltserman can't top Pariah for its sheer diabolical inventiveness, but he probably will. And given that the corrupting vision of his work is so powerful, I ought to know better than to read the next novel he writes. But I probably will anyway." -- Maureen Corrigan Washington Post

'as nasty and clever as noir can get" NPR

'Darkly enjoyable' Boston Globe

'Pariah is a terrific blast' Metro (UK)

'Pariah is at turns brutal, violent, and a funny, scathing satire of our celebrity obsessed consumer culture and publishing industry. Really couldn’t put the book down, I poured through it in one day.' Paul Tremblay

"Pariah is the perfect pitch of reality, history crime, celebrity, plagiarism, and sheer astounding writing... If every writer has one great book in them, then Dave can rest easy" -- Ken Bruen

"Mean like bad whiskey and sophisticated like good scotch, Pariah is a rare find and a scorching read" -- Cortright McMeel

"This is a masterpiece" -- Seymour Shubin

"This fusion of hardboiled and bitter satire is brand new territory for noir and I suspect that it will be one of the most talked about novels of 2009" -- Ed Gorman

"This is a book that anyone with even the slightest interest in crime or thriller genres simply must get their hands on, as it's bound to have a huge impact on you" -- The Bookbag

"Small Crimes got a lot of attention for Dave Zeltserman in 2008. This year, Pariah should get even more. If you like hardboiled noir, this book's for you. ..(Pariah) is is fast, furious, and funny. If you have any interest in tough-guy noir, you'll want to get hold of this one as soon as you can" -- Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine.com

"For those who prefer the darker slice of life, Pariah will keep you glued to its pages. The chain reaction of Kyle Nevin's release from prison on the world around him is the stuff of nuclear explosions. Violent, sexual and relentless, there are no holds barred anywhere in this wonderful launch into evil. The meek beware ... be-very-ware" -- Charlie Stella

"White-knuckle ride... a cracking piece of hard-boiled noir... different kinds of venality are put wittily under the microscope as the book rattles along to its terrific conclusion Metro Its noir, its satire, and its Boston that you don't see on Cheers. Nicely done follow-up to SMALL CRIMES." -- BookBitch

"For readers looking for edgy crime fiction, PARIAH fills the bill." -- Booklist

"Dave Zeltserman's Pariah is my pick for crime novel of the year. Tough, relentless, and packed with blunt force trauma... Like the late noir king Jim Thompson, and contemporary crime lords Jason Starr, Allan Guthrie, and Ken Bruen, Zeltserman takes readers on an uneasy ride inside the mind of a homicidal maniac. The story storms, pummels and stomps its way to a nasty ending, but it's the amoral, ruthless voice of Kyle that gives the book such outstanding quality. Pariah is a real winner." -- Hardfeelings

"Pariah is a suspense novel at its very best with a protagonist who is far, far over on the other side of the law. Zeltserman has outdone himself with this depiction of a near-psychopathic personality that is driven by its own strange set of moral principles. The portrayal rings too true." -- John A. Broussard, "I Love a Mystery blog, 

"Best mystery of the year? Naaah -- crime writing is so diverse that handing out prizes is beside the point. But we can say this: If you like your crime so hard-boiled you need to bring a chainsaw to breakfast, if you like your morbidity wrapped in a witty and satirical package, if you like your noir (or neo-noir, okay) so black that the pages feel sooty -- then Dave Zeltserman is tops." -- B&N.com

"...just think about Dave Zeltserman, and what a fine addition to the local literary scene he's become Boston Globe Zeltserman's talents as a noir writer rise above the genre's conventions...Pariah is a page-turner, even more so than his earlier novel, Small Crimes Boston Globe Clear crisp prose; fearless portrait of amorality; smart plotting" -- Ed Siegel Boston Globe

Now that Pariah is available as a Kindle Book....

 

Now that Pariah is available as a Kindle Book I'm revisiting Maureen Corrigan's Washington Post review of Pariah, which led to Pariah being named by the Washington Post as one of the best crime & mystery novels of 2009:

What a sick puppy of a writer Dave Zeltserman is! I didn't think a suspense story could get any more dark and twisted than Zeltserman's pulp masterpiece of last year, "Small Crimes." In that nasty little immorality tale, a crooked ex-cop bent on redemption gets released from prison and finds out that nobody -- not his ex-wife, not his young daughters, not even his elderly parents -- wants him back. The kicker is that they're right. By the end of "Small Crimes," I was wrung out thanks to the ingeniousness of Zeltserman's nonstop plot twists and the stark meanness of his universe. Now comes "Pariah," a doozy of a doom-laden crime story that not only makes merry with the justice system, but also satirizes those bottom feeders in the publishing industry who would sign Osama bin Laden to a six-figure contract for his memoirs, if only they could figure out which cave to send their lawyers into. If there's any other young writer out there who does crime noir better than Zeltserman, I don't even want to know. As it is, I can barely handle reading him without altogether losing whatever faith I've got left in humanity.The antihero of this latest excursion into the underside is Kyle Nevin, a former heavyweight in the South Boston Irish mob. Eight years earlier, Kyle was set up by his former boss, Red Mahoney, to be murdered during a big bank heist; but fate smiled on Kyle, and another guy took the fatal bullet instead. Now, just released from eight years in the slammer, Kyle is out for revenge, sniffing out Mahoney the way a half-starved bloodhound would catch the scent of an underdone Big Mac. As is required in any work of crime noir worth its grit, we readers see the world through Kyle's bloodshot eyes. And here lies Zeltserman's particular brilliance: As a murderous sociopath, Kyle, like his predecessors in the Zeltserman lineup, is so boisterous in his self-justifications (for everything from breaking the little finger of a litterbug to kidnapping a sickly child to burning alive a close relative in his bed) that a reader can't help but laugh at the fervent illogic of it all. Here, for instance, Kyle describes the way he and his reluctant younger brother, Danny, steal a laptop from an unsuspecting "mark" who has just left an upscale Boston coffeehouse:"I grabbed for the laptop and as the mark realized what was going on and tried to pull back, Danny was out of the car and clocking him on the side of the head with the brick. . . . The reality of the situation, the guy was no more than a hundred and sixty pounds soaking wet, and a slap on the side of the head with an open palm would've done the trick, but I was glad to see Danny use the brick. Not that I cared whether or not some effeminate mochachino-swilling yuppie had his head bashed in, but that type of violence was what I needed to bring the old Danny back."In Kyle's perspective, the robbery serves as a terrific therapeutic exercise for Danny. And the really sick thing is that the scene is so brazenly buoyant that the reader gets carried along with the moment, too. Hooray! The Nevin Brothers are back! Bad luck for the yuppie who was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, but a good break for Danny and Kyle, who commit the assault in broad daylight on a Boston street, without any witnesses around.The thing about luck, though, is that it always changes. After that aforementioned kidnapping goes haywire, Kyle dodges another jail term with the help of a principled defense attorney who can barely stand to breathe in his tainted presence. Then, he's offered a fabulous book deal to write a true-crime "fictional novel" of how the kidnapping might have gone down. (Zeltserman is obviously exacting some comic revenge on members of the publishing profession who, like their mobster counterparts, are always trolling for "the big one" and training their beady eyes on the bottom line.) Kyle is set up with a book packager who's supposed to help him bang out the novel in two months. Oprah, the bestsellers lists, European book tours and Hollywood await. Trouble is, Kyle's luck turns. He comes down with a nasty case of writer's block. That's just the very beginning of a long, loopy downward slide into the abyss.I'd say Zeltserman can't top "Pariah" for its sheer diabolical inventiveness, but he probably will. And given that the corrupting vision of his work is so powerful, I ought to know better than to read the next novel he writes. But I probably will anyway.

Pariah available as a Kindle Book for the First Time!

 

Back in 2007, I was pissed that every New York publisher rejected Small Crimes (some of them two or more times), and I got even more pissed seeing publishers paying big money for crappy mobster tell-all books, and my response to this was over a 6-week period writing Pariah in a blind rage. There was another incident that fueled my rage, but I won't mention it here since it became integral in Pariah's plot. Here's one thing I can guarantee you about Pariah--it's unlike any crime novel you'll ever read--it's part hell-on-wheels brutally subversive crime novel and part savage satirical look at the publishing industry.

Nobody other than Serpent's Tail would've ever published Pariah, at least according to an editor at St. Martin's. After NPR had Small Crimes top their list of best crime/mystery novels of 2008, this editor contacted me, asking me why I didn't let him publish Small Crimes (never mind that his boss was one of three St. Martin's editors who rejected Small Crimes), and he wanted to see what I had next, which was Pariah--and his response to it was that no publisher in New York would touch it. Fortunately, Serpent's Tail was in London, and they were all too happy to do so. But even still, I was lucky to see Pariah in print--shortly after Serpent's Tail bought the rights, Profile Books bought Serpent's Tail, and Pete Ayrton (Serpent's Tail's legendary publisher) told me he had to threaten to quit before they'd let him publish it. Still, the ebook was never put out, and starting back in May of this year I contacted Profile Books about obtaining the ebook rights. On October 10th, the rights were granted back to me. And now a kindle version of Pariah is finally available as a Kindle Unlimited book.

This new version has a foreword that Roger Smith originally wrote for the German edition. I also took this opportunity to remove about 95% of the profanity and make a few other line edits to tighten the writing. The original book probably had more profanity per page than any other crime novel ever written--again, I wrote it in a blind rage, and I also wanted it to sound authentic. I'm pretty sure I succeeded in authenticity--I had one of the mob tell-all book co-authors read Pariah, and she told me this was exactly the way they are and speak. But I'm also older and wiser now and being 100% authentic isn't necessarily the goal. As long as the book feels authentic, that's more than good enough. I've also written enough Julius Katz mysteries and other short stories for Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine and Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine with no profanity where I've grown to prefer that. In any case, there's been a marked decrease in profanity in my writing since Pariah (The Caretaker of Lorne Field I think has one usage, and most of my other novels have little to none.) I couldn't get rid of all of it in Pariah without parts of it sounding false, but as stated above, 95% has been cleaned out.

I liked the original cover Serpent's Tail did for Pariah. It shows the explosive nature of the book. The protagonist, Kyle Nevin, is someone who brings death and destruction to anyone unlucky enough to cross his path. My new cover provides more of a sense of foreboding. Since most of the book takes place in Boston and Manhatton, a desolate cabin might seem an odd choice, but it will make sense to anyone who reads the book. I think the graphic designer did a brilliant job with it, as she has done with Everybody Lies in Hell and Detectives and Spies. 

The Complete Julius Katz List

I'm now writing what I call the Early Julius Katz stories--stories that take place before Julius met Lily Rosten in the first story titled appropriately 'Julius Katz'. Each of these new stories will be inspired to a degree to a different Nero Wolfe novel.

For now, here's a complete list of all the published Julius Katz stories and novels.

Collected in The Julius Katz Collection

"Julius Katz". First published in EQMM (Sept/Oct 2009) Shamus and Derringer Award winner"Archie's Been Framed". First published in EQMM (Sept/Oct 2010) Ellery Queen Readers Choice Award Winner"One Julius Katz and Eleven Befuddled Jurors" First published in EQMM (June 2012)"Archie Solves the Case" First published in EQMM (May 2013) Ellery Queen Readers Choice Award Winner"Julius Katz and a Tangled Web". First published in EQMM (June 2014)"Julius Katz Accused". First published in EQMM (June 2014)"Julius Katz and the Case of Sliced Ham"

Collected in More Julius Katz and Archie PW Starred review

"Julius Katz and the Case of Exploding Wine". First published in EQMM (March/April 2015)"Julius Katz and the Giftwrapped Murder". First published in EQMM (December 2015)"Archie on Loan". First published in EQMM (Sept/Oct 2016)"Cramer in Trouble". First published in EQMM (March/April 2017)"Julius Katz and the Terminated Agent". First published in EQMM (July/August 2017)"Archie for Hire". First published in EQMM (Nov/Dec 2018)"Julius Katz and the Belvedere Club". First published in EQMM (Sept/Oct 2019)"Like a Lightning Bolt". First published in EQMM (March/April 2020)

Collected in Detectives and Spies

"Julius Katz and the Ruined Roast""Julius Katz and the Two Cousins". First published in EQMM (July/Aug 2021)"Archie Smith International Spy". First published in EQMM (Nov/Dec 2022)"Archie's Been Stolen!". First published in EQMM

"Julius Katz and Archie (novel)" (2011)

James & Bond excerpt

 

An excerpt from the Morris Brick story James & Bond from Detectives and Spies:

VICTOR Specter had good reason to benervous given the flash drive that he had earlier tucked away in his wallet. Ifthe authorities were to find that on him he’d be in deep doo doo, to say theleast. His most pressing concern at that moment, though, was the silverMercedes sedan three car lengths behind him. He could’ve sworn he’d spottedthat same car when he left Janus Global Enterprises and that must’ve been whyinstinctively he’d gotten off the 110 and started driving aimlessly throughdowntown Los Angeles. While he didn’t think it likely that Auric Gold woulddouble-cross him, the guy was a reputed mobster suspected of running half adozen criminal enterprises, including laundering money for the Russian mob, andsince ten million dollars was at stake, the thought had crossed his mind thatthe Mercedes’s presence was anything but innocent. He knew that Gold wanted theflash drive. Forget that, Gold needed the documents stored on the drive, andwhile he would pay the agreed upon ten-million-dollar price for it, if themobster could get it for nothing by having a couple of his hired thugs nabbinghim after he left work, why wouldn’t Gold try that? The guy was a killer, afterall!

Victorused his rearview mirror to catch another peek of the Mercedes and realized forthe first time that while the driver was a man, his passenger was a woman. SoGold must have women muscle on his payroll. Why not? The light ahead had turnedyellow. Victor gritted his teeth and without signaling or even glancing over,swung his car hard into the left lane. The car he had cut off blasted its horn,but there was no sound of crunching metal. Luckily, he had avoided an accident.The light turned red and he came to a stop. Once again, he glanced in the rearview mirror. The driver behind him was nearly frothing at the mouth as heenergetically gave him the finger. Fine. Victor didn’t care about that. What hecared about was that the Mercedes had also moved into the left lane.

AsVictor waited for the light to turn green, he gripped the steering wheel hardenough that his hands began to ache. He no longer had any doubt that Gold hadsent those two to rip him off. When the light changed, instead of turning leftVictor pushed hard on the gas and shot forward, driving straight on 2nd Street.He risked another look in the rearview mirror and watched as the Mercedes hadno choice but to take the left turn. Later, Gold’s muscle would circle back andtry to pick him up, but they weren’t going to have any luck with that. Victorwould meet up with Gold later that evening, but it would be on his terms. Heturned right on South Grand Avenue and then another right. He would find aplace to camp out and give the Mercedes time to get hopelessly lost trying tofind him. Besides, after releasing the steering wheel and feeling his handshake, he realized that he badly needed a drink.

Eightminutes later Victor parked half a block away from the Royale Bar. Another nineminutes and he was sitting at the bar and had drunk half of a double Scotch. Byhappenstance, he looked over his left shoulder and caught the eye of a darkbrunette sitting three barstools away. Somehow he hadn’t noticed her untilthen, but she was quite attractive, and he found himself staring at her longer thanhe should have. Instead of reacting angrily, she flashed him the type of smilethat made him feel weak in the knees. He smiled back at her and watched as shegot off her barstool and ambled over to him.

“Eva,”she said.

Upclose and seeing her standing, she wasn’t just attractive, she was stunninglygorgeous. Like a movie star. He took the hand she offered. It was a slender,delicate hand, and it felt nice in his own.

“Sean,”he lied, which made no sense. Sometime in the next thirty minutes he would beheading to LAX and once he arrived there he’d be calling Auric Gold andarranging to meet him at his gate. It shouldn’t take more than an hour afterthat for them to conclude their business. Then at roughly five-forty p.m. he’dbe boarding a flight to Vietnam. So why lie about his name? He had no goodanswer for that. But he did know why he wanted her to take the empty barstoolnext to him. He wasn’t a bad looking guy, and in the past he had attracted hisshare of attractive and cute women, but never anyone like her. That shouldchange once he had his ten million dollars, but still, this was a first forhim. He glanced past her to notice that she had left behind an empty cocktailglass. Since he had nothing to lose, he decided to be bold. “You just want me tobuy you a drink,” he said, flashing her a grin.

Shelaughed at that and lightly touched his arm. “That’s not the only reason.” Shegestured at the empty barstool. “Mind if I sit?” she asked.

“By allmeans.” Victor signaled the bartender to get the woman another drink. Thebartender complied, mixing up a gin martini and bringing it over.

“Whetherit’s gin or vodka, I prefer my martinis stirred and not shaken,” she said. Herhand was again lightly touching Victor’s arm and he reciprocated by placing hishand on one of her beautifully shaped legs. The fact that she didn’t seem tomind had him recalculating how much time he had before he’d have to leave forthe airport.

“I’mnot usually here at—” She gave her watch a quick look. “Two-twenty in theafternoon drinking martinis, but it was just one of those days where I neededto get out of the office.” Her smile turned up a notch. “What’s your excuse?”

“I’mnot drinking martinis.”

Shelaughed at that. An easy, soft laugh, and Victor found himself mesmerized by it.He also tried again to reschedule in his mind his next three hours so he couldboth deliver the flash drive to Gold and also spend an hour alone with Eva.

“Youknow what I mean, smart guy,” she said with a wicked smile. She reached for hermartini and knocked the glass over, the gin and vermouth that had been stirredtogether soaking Victor’s pants. He quickly got to his feet so he could inspectthe damage.

Sheburst out laughing, but brought her palm to her mouth to cut it off. “I can’tbelieve I did that,” she exclaimed, sounding appropriately contrite. She wasquickly off her own barstool and crouching in front of him as she futilelyattempted to scrub at his wet pant.

Therewasn’t much point in what she was doing. He would have to buy a pair of boxer shortsand pants unless he wanted to spend nineteen hours on a plane in wet clothes,which meant he wouldn’t be able to juggle his schedule enough to spend any timealone with her.

“Eva,what are you doing with him!”

 The man who had yelled this had just enteredthe Royale. He was about Victor’s height, but far more muscular, and he alsolooked borderline homicidal with thick veins streaking his neck. He was alsorunning straight at them, his hands balled into fists.

Evaturned away from Victor to confront this man. “Craig, we had broken up!”

Victorsized up the situation quickly. Craig was intent on doing serious damage to himand Eva weighing all of 115 pounds would be little more than a speed bump inslowing the guy down. Victor had to get out of there fast, and since Craig wasbetween him and the front door, he took off running toward the back entrance.The adrenaline pumping through him left him nearly breathless as he pushed hisway through the door and stepped out into the alley behind the Royale. An armwrapped around him from behind and he was jabbed in the neck with a needle. Hetried yelling for help, but a thick piece of cloth was pushed into his mouth,gagging him. The arms that held him were like steel bands and every second hefelt weaker. A minute later he was fully conscious but his body sagged as if hehad no control over it.

A Taste of Julius Katz and the Ruined Roast

 (an excerpt from Detectives and Spies)

THREEsections. Four different types of mystery and crime stories.

Whether it’s the brilliant Boston detective Julius Katz, orhis sister Julia, the first three stories in the KATZ section are traditionalmysteries. A crime has been committed, the potential suspects are questioned,and the guilty party is exposed. While the fourth story in the KATZ section, Archie’s Been Stolen!, has the samestyle, tone and humor as all the other Julius Katz and Archie stories, it’s acaper. There’s no mystery to solve, only a heist of sorts to commit.

The three stories in the BRICK section are crime thrillersfeaturing investigator Morris Brick, his bull terrier Parker, and the rest ofthe MBI team. These stories and the five Morris Brick novels that I wrote underthe Jacob Stone pseudonym for Kensington have similar humor and style, arefast-paced, and are populated by hardened criminals and mobsters. Where theydiffer is the novels have very bad people committing horrific acts while thestories are lighter. While there’s plenty of danger in these stories,ultimately no one gets badly hurt.

The two stories in the STONE section features Hell’s onlyoperating private eye, Mike Stone, from my novel Everybody Lies in Hell. Evenwith the unique setting and the fantastic elements, such as souls beingtormented by demons and demonic racing horses that bite the heads off ofjockeys, these are hardboiled PI stories. These stories are about strippingaway the self-deceptions and lies we tell ourselves to expose the ugly truthsunderneath, and there’s not much more hardboiled than that!

So given that these are all mystery and crime stories, whythe title Detectives and Spies? Whileall the stories have either detectives or spies acting as detectives, three ofthe stories are a merging of the mystery and spy genres.

JULIUS KATZ AND THE RUINED ROAST

AT ten-fourteen a.m. Julius put downthe daily edition of the Boston Globe, got up from behind his desk and perusedhis bookshelves before selecting a biography of the Word War Two spy, VirginiaHall. He had found excuses to turn down the last five potential clients whowere desperate to hire him, so why not spend the rest of the day loafing justlike he had the past week? Me, I felt a jangling throughout, which I knew frompast experience was a sensation akin to nervousness. The reason? It appeared asif my plans were about to go kaput thanks to a late delivery. My first threetext messages all got the same response, and my last one went unanswered. Sinceall I could do was wait, that’s what I did. Two minutes later I would’ve sighedin relief if I had lungs, but since I don’t, I simply imagined myself doing so.Seven seconds after that the doorbell rang.

Juliusignored the doorbell. He didn’t even bother to ask me to check the outdoorwebcam feed to see who it was. I waited until he turned to the next page of hisbook before telling him that three boxes of pastries had been left outside hisdoor.

Annoyancetightened his lips for all of 110 milliseconds. “Archie, please explain thereason for this,” he said with forced patience.

“Nothingtoo nefarious,” I said. “I ordered them, although they were supposed to havebeen delivered an hour and five minutes ago. You really should retrieve thembefore squirrels, or worse, make a meal out of them.”

IfJulius was curious about my motive, he didn’t show it. Instead he took his timereading another page before telling me in a rather curt tone that I should callaround to find someone who would pick up the food before it attracts pests tohis Beacon Hill townhouse.

“Sure,if that’s what you want, but it would be a shame. The order is from Lenora’sBakery and it includes six of their famous chocolate pecan roses, which aredamned hard to get even though as far as I can tell they’re little more than afancy brioche roll baked into the shape of a rose.”

Thatgot Julius to put his book down. He wasn’t about to give me the satisfaction ofrunning, but still, he moved at a determined pace to retrieve the pastries,which was what I expected given all the recent hullabaloo about Lenora’s aftertheir roses were proclaimed by the Globe’s food critic to be a regionaltreasure. Julius would have ordered some himself, except the bakery’s policywas not to take orders for the roses. Instead it was first come first serve,and they only baked a few hundred each morning and would sell out within a halfhour of their seven a.m. opening. At that time each morning Julius would beengaged in his two-hour martial arts workout, which was something he wasn’tabout to forego even for a morning pastry that the critics called beyond exquisite. I got lucky when Icalled to wheedle a delivery from them. While Lenora Chapel, the owner of thebakery, kept the recipe for the roses a well-guarded secret, she suspected thata recently fired employee had brought her recipe for something called a peach-hazelnut snail to a rival bakeryand wanted to know if this person was working there. A little hacking on mypart proved Lenora correct, which was all her lawyer needed to issue a ceaseand desist letter, and hence the delivery this morning.

Juliuswaited until he had brought the boxes of pastries safely back to his office andwas able to examine them and verify that the prized rolls were indeed includedbefore asking how I had managed this.

“Alittle wheeling and dealing on my part,” I said. “Nothing for you to beconcerned about.”

Julius’seyelids lowered an eighth of an inch. He asked, “Who did you arrange to comehere this morning?”

“Is itimpossible to believe that I got you those roses and other treats out of thegoodness of my heart, even though I don’t have one?”

“Archie,please, none of this sophistry.”

“Fine.The four main suspects for the Charlie Lacey murder. They want to hire you.”

Thatbrought a thin smile to him. “Archie, I am grateful for these pastries, but ifyou thought that I would reciprocate by meeting with them, then you need torecalibrate your neuron network.”

Ofcourse, I never thought that even for a microsecond. I fully understand howstubborn Julius is. When the news broke that the comic Charlie Lacey droppeddead of cyanide poisoning during the middle of his roast at a Cambridge comedyclub, Julius claimed that the reputed mob boss Billy Quinn was the murderersimply because the news reported that Quinn was in attendance. It didn’t matterthat Quinn was there only because Lacey was his godson and that the police hadruled him out as a suspect, Julius wasn’t about to admit he had made a mistake.This was sort of like Schrödinger’s cat—as long as Lacey’s murder wasn’tsolved, Quinn could both be the murderer and not the murderer, and Julius couldbe both right and wrong.

“That’snot what I was thinking,” I told Julius. “I wanted to get you those rosesbecause I knew how much you wanted them, especially since they’ll be a nicesurprise for Lily when she gets back from visiting her parents. But I did thinkthe gesture would soften you up enough to listen to reason. Forget thepublicity you’d get from this case, the four suspects coming here are willingto put a hundred grand in escrow for you simply agreeing to take the case,which works out to 57,550 dollars after taxes, and that should be enough for youto make the winning bid for a bottle of 1990 Domaine Georges & ChristopheRoumier Musigny Grand Cru that goes up for auction this Saturday.”

Thatgot Julius’s attention, as well it should since this was a vintage he’d beentrying to acquire for years. He contemplated the matter for all of three pointtwo seconds before telling me that a twenty-five thousand dollar bid should besufficient.

“Thatmight be true,” I said. “That’s what the wine is supposed to be worth, but thelast bottle that went up for auction sold for 52,500 dollars. But whether you’dhave to pay twenty-five grand or more for that fermented bottle of grape juiceis irrelevant since you can’t pay that much and also cover your next twomonths’ expenses unless you cut out your expensive dinners at Le Che Cru withLily and skip the illegal poker game next Friday at Phil Weinstein’s restaurantand its ten grand buy-in.”

Julius’stone held a petulant note as he said, “You’re assuming I’ll be losing my buy-ininstead of walking away from the game with substantial winnings.”

“Yeah,I know, you’re a world-class poker player, and you should clean and fillet theguppies you’ll be playing with, but luck’s a funny thing, especially bad luck,and I remember nights when you’ve done everything right and still busted out.If you’d like I can provide you specifics.”

Juliussat stone-faced while he drummed the fingers on his right hand against hisdesk’s surface, which was always a clear sign that he was annoyed with me.“Blast it,” he said after five point seven seconds of drumming. “I already toldyou who the murderer is.”

“Yeah,I know. Billy Quinn. The video recording of the roast that the police tookcustody of hasn’t helped them make an arrest. Maybe if I were able to find it,you’d pinpoint where it showed Quinn poisoning Lacey’s drink, but I’ve hackedall of the Cambridge Police Department’s computers, and I can’t find the videorecording on any of them. So prove the impossible and earn yourself thathundred grand.”

Juliusbrooded for the next eight point three seconds, but from the way he grimaced hemust’ve decided that he wanted the bottle of Grand Cru more than the luxury ofspending his time goofing off, and even more than opening up the box with hisown version of Schrödinger’s cat and having to admit that his earlierill-formed opinion was wrong.

Heasked, “Archie, when will that mob be descending on my door?”

Fourcomics were now a mob? I didn’t argue the point and instead told him that theywere scheduled to arrive in eight minutes.

He casta glum look at the box filled with Lenora’s acclaimed roses. “That doesn’tleave me enough time to properly appreciate one of them,” he said.

“Yeah,well, I’m sorry about that. As I told you the delivery was late.” I simulatedtaking a breath and holding it, which for me was pausing my central processingunit for fifty milliseconds, then said, “There’s still time for me to cancelthe meeting if you want.”

Julius’sexpression turned glummer, but otherwise he didn’t bother to answer me. He gotup from his chair and brought the boxes of pastries to his kitchen.

 (continued in Detectives and Spies)

A poem

I'm going through old papers and found a poem I had written many years. I don't know when I wrote it, but since I had used a typewriter, it would either have been in high school or college. In any case, here's my one and only attempt at poetry:

Tilling the Soil

The beast is in the yoke
And I at the harness
For together through muddy fieldsof hope and ideasWe Plow
Through the hypocrisythe stone strewned bureaucracy We toil
Turning over old phrasesTo reveal implicit mazesWhich dissipate through theTop soil
Man and beast we workScratching the earthPreparing for next season's harvestBut waitThe beast wheezes and sneezes andOh JesusFreezes my glands as
Hairy thorns sproutAnd tales of Germans flow outAmidst this beastly transformationSo with a whirling and chirlingAnd new-born talons churningThe beats-monster is free from my serviceTo debauch my dreamsWith random desire andFrenzied malice deep in mire

More Julius Katz and Archie On sale now!

 

"The puzzles are clever, and Zeltserman plays fair with readers. Stout devotees will be delighted with this loving homage." Publishers Weekly (starred review)

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Jury Box review of Detectives and Spies

 

In the March/April issue of Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Steven Steinbock offers the following review of Detectives and Spies in his Jury Box column: Zeltserman, who has garnered multiple EQMM Readers Awards as well as the Derringer and Shamus awards, has brought together nine stories, the first four featuring an artificial-intelligence device called Archie Smith, followed by three stories about former L.A. cop Morris Brick and two hardboiled crime stories featuring Hell’s only private eye, Mike Stone. Most of the stories first appeared in EQMM or in its sister publication Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. My favorites are the stories about Archie, especially relevant with AI constantly in the news. Archie, a “highly-sophisticated neuron network,” serves as Watson to private eye Julius Katz in the first two stories, then is passed on to Katz’s sister, international spy Julia Katz, for the next two. Reading these tales is like playing a lively game of Clue, except with more colorful characters and an AI at your side.