Dave Zeltserman's Blog, page 6
December 12, 2023
Detectives and Spies available now!
December 5, 2023
New mystery collection featuring stories with Julius Katz + Morris Brick + Mike Stone
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.
Kindle and paperback editions of Detective and Spies will be available in one week!
November 18, 2023
My Julius Katz paperback collection
With 'Detective and Spies' coming out Dec. 12th, I gave a hard look at the paperback versions of my other Julius Katz books and ended up redoing 'Julius Katz and Archie' and 'More Julius Katz and Archie.' The change to 'More Julius Katz and Archie' was simply changing the font to Garamond 12-pt, which I'm using for all of these books, and which I decided is (for me) the ideal font for a book. Along with changing the font for 'Julius Katz and Archie', I also changed the size of the paperback from 6in x 9 in, to 5 in by 8 in, which I think is a much more attractive size. I also a cover designed as opposed to using Amazon's cover creator for the original paperback. The new paperback design:
This new version will be available for purchase on Dec. 1st. With these changes, I now have a set of paperbacks that Julius Katz fans will be proud to put on their shelves, and will have (in my opinion) the perfect font and size for reading.
November 14, 2023
Coming Dec. 12th -- Detectives and Spies
Katz. Brick. Stone. Traditional mysteries. Crime thrillers. Hardboiled PI. The Katz section has 4 stories, including a new novella, "Julius Katz and the Ruined Roast." The Brick section has 3 stories, including the new story "James & Bond." The Stone section has two PI in Hell stories starring my PI from Everybody Lies in Hell.
Detectives and Spies will be available as a kindle ebook and paperback on Dec 12th.
November 11, 2023
My horror+crime novel Blood Crimes on sale for $0.99
Blood Crimes is a genre-bending collision of dark urban fantasy and crime that rides shot-gun with Jim and Carol as they carve a homicidal path cross-country. Jim is infected with the vampire virus. Carol isn't. Yet. But they're united in their hunt for society’s most dangerous predators for Jim's dinner -- so he can feed without harming the innocent. What they don't know is that they're not alone. There are others on their trail, and the climax of Blood Crimes is a shocking jolt of pure mayhem and rock 'n roll violence.
October 8, 2023
For this Halloween season
I might be better known for my crime and mystery fiction, but I've also written a few horror novels should provide the necessary chills and atmosphere for this upcoming Halloween season:
"Classic pulp, noir, and horror--think James N. Cain and Bukowski and Palahniuk--are all ground up in a blender and the result is a nasty, wild, and ultimately redemptive novel that only Dave Zeltserman could write." Paul Tremblay
"A superb mix of humor and horror...Zeltserman orchestrates events perfectly...Readers will keep turning pages to see how the ambiguous plot resolves." -- Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"Zeltserman's monster is every bit as eloquent as Shelley's, though his rage is more focused. This is juicy material for Franken-fans, and Zeltserman is just faithful enough to the original that his many fresh contributions feel entirely normal. Well, abnormal, to be accurate, but deliciously so." Daniel Kraus, Booklist (*Starred Review*)
"The story is at once tender, brutal, fantastic, and vibrantly real. A unique and splendid novel" ― Booklist Starred Review
"The sympathy that Zeltserman invokes on behalf of Henry is heartbreaking, and readers will fully believe in both the madness and the greatness of his tragic young hero." -- Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"Dave, has managed to meld the two genres of crime and horror into one hell of a ride, PI's, crime lords, drug gangs, sultry babes and more low life scum than you can count all collide with explosive results in this genre bending masterpiece. If you like crime buy this book, if you like horror buy this book, if you like well written books, buy this book." Jim Mcleod, Ginger Nuts of Horror
"This fast-paced, gritty psychological tale balances the fine line between mystery and horror" Library JournalSeptember 7, 2023
September 3, 2023
Another Everybody Lies in Hell excerpt
Oneof my squatters who acted as a cabdriver and went by the name of Edwin usuallykept his yellow cab at the corner of Pierrepont and Hicks. All I could do washope he was there now. As I ran thunder exploded beside me as if bombs werebeing tossed at me, but what was coming my way was a hell of a lot deadlier andscarier than any bomb.
Ididn’t look back as I ran. I knew I’d see more of Brooklyn melting away andbeing replaced by a desolate mountain terrain, and in the middle of all this AlZaoud and his horde of murderous cutthroats would be riding their demonstallions at full gallop. In my mind’s eye I could imagine those horses’ eyesshining bloodred and froth pouring from their mouths and steam blowing out oftheir flaring nostrils. I knew they still had to be a half mile or more away,but I couldn’t shake this sensation of them being directly behind me. I could almostfeel on the back of my neck the pungent steam that they’d be exhaling; a steamthat would smell no different than burning sulfur.
Iwanted to kiss Edwin full on the lips when I saw him sitting in his cab where Ihoped it would be, and given that he resembled a bloated bullfrog with a reallybad complexion, that was saying something. I jumped in the back of his cab andtold him to start driving. “Go over the Brooklyn Bridge into Manhattan and headuptown towards the Bronx,” I ordered him breathlessly. “And there’s an extrafifty for you if you ignore the speed limits.”
“Unusualweather we’re having,” he stammered out dumbly, his reflection in the rearviewmirror showing a dead fish paleness to his face, his eyes wide open but withlittle life in them. Squatters have a defense mechanism where they go catatonicwhenever they’re confronted with the fact that the reality they’ve adoptedisn’t real. He was close to shutting down, but I didn’t have time to pull himout of the driver’s seat and take his place. I looked behind me and could seethat the Brooklyn landscape was erasing quickly. Al Zaoud and his horde wereclose enough now that I could make out the severed heads tied to their horses’manes.
“Ifyou don’t start driving now I’ll put a bullet in the back of your skull,” Iyelled at Edwin. “I swear to God I will!”
“Jesus, what’s the rush?” he muttered halfunder his breath. Even if he looked directly at Al Zaoud and his murderoushorde he wouldn’t acknowledge their existence. But he pulled away from the curband headed toward the bridge and away from Al Zaoud. He wasn’t going nearlyfast enough but at least he was moving. I reached over the back of his seat andpinched the top of his right ear and gave it a hard twist.
“Ow!”he cried.
“Giveit more gas or I’ll bloody rip your ear off!”
Hegave it more gas and the tires squealed. Al Zaoud was still gaining on us asmore of my Brooklyn faded from sight, but at least we were moving now at a morereasonable speed. At least we had a chance. If Al Zaoud’s reality causes aravine or mountain to materialize in his path, that would slow the bastard downenough where I might be able to escape him. Still, though, the buffer betweenus was disappearing quickly, and if something didn’t change it would only be amatter of seconds before I’d be pulled into his godforsaken reality.
“Youbetter damn well floor it! And if you as much as touch the brakes I’ll fuckingkill you!”
“Jesus,Mike, what’s gotten into you?” Edwin cried, but the taxi leapt forward as hepushed down on the gas pedal. The car did a little side-to-side jig as healmost crashed up, but he got it back under control and had it speeding overthe bridge. We were maybe three quarters over it when the other end of thebridge faded away, replaced by Al Zaoud’s hellish world. I watched as one ofthe zombies jumped from the middle of the bridge but never made it into theEast River as he disappeared beneath the rocky terrain that replaced my reality.I guess given a choice of being drowned in the river or crushed under tons ofrock and soil there wouldn’t be much of a difference as far as that zombie wasconcerned
Edwinhad the cab shaking again as he almost lost control for a second time. “I’m gonnacrash up with the way you’re making me drive,” he cried out.
“Don’tyou dare slow down!”
Hedidn’t slow down, but he started blubbering. “The cops are going to throw me injail and take away my hack license. I don’t know what I’ll do without my hacklicense. Jesus, Mike, you’re killing me here.”
Ilaughed at that. A nervous, excitable, near hysterical laugh. It wasn’t me thatwas going to be killing him. If Al Zaoud caught up to us, it would be that crazymedieval warlord killing him for all eternity. And besides, my reality didn’thave any squatters acting like cops, at least none that I’d ever seen, so hehad nothing to worry about on that front.
“Letme deal with any cops, you concentrate on getting us the hell out of here.”
“What’sthe rush? For Chrissakes, what’s the rush?”
I didn’t bother answering him as he continued toblubber away, but I did let out my breath when I saw that we caught a break. Aravine appeared between us and Al Zaoud. It wasn’t steep enough to stop him forlong, but it would slow him down, maybe enough for me to escape him.
August 25, 2023
The Interloper on sale!
"action-packed, darkly witty thriller" Publishers Weekly
My crime/conspiracy thriller, The Interloper, is on sale for $0.99 for the next 2 days.
August 12, 2023
Everybody Lies in Hell excerpt
The split secondafter I died I found myself standing on Montague Street in Brooklyn Heights, butI knew I wasn’t really in Brooklyn. First off, I was murdered in Newark, NewJersey, and I remembered my death vividly, but even without that I would’veknown I wasn’t really in Brooklyn given how unnaturally quiet it was without anothersingle person in sight. And while Montague Street looked pretty much as Iremembered it, some of the buildings were wrong, and some of the stores liningthe street were from my childhood instead of the present day. I probablycouldn’t have articulated at that precise moment that I was in a version ofhell of my own making, but at some level I knew that was what had happened.
I started walkingwest on Montague Street so I could see whether the Manhattan skyline was stillthere, and it was, at least mostly as I remembered it. I’m sure some of thebuildings were wrong, but it still seemed very real to me even though I knew itwasn’t. After I stood gaping at the skyline for what seemed like an eternitybut was probably only minutes, I headed south toward Coney Island. I don’t knowwhy exactly but I guess I wanted to see how much of my version of Brooklynexisted. I knew many of the street signs I passed weren’t right—they were fromother neighborhoods, and some of them from other boroughs. And then there wereother street signs that were too blurry to make out. But none of that mattered,because by then I knew where I really was. Still, though, I kept walking. Atone point, I stopped to look at my reflection in a storefront window andrealized that I was wearing a cheap suit and a fedora. When I was alive I neverwore a hat, and almost never wore suits, and certainly never the fifty-ninedollar variety that I had on. At the time I was murdered I was wearing jeans,tennis sneakers, a polo shirt, and a leather jacket, which was what I usuallywore when I worked my job as an investigator. Still, on seeing my reflection inthat window, the suit, scuffed up shoes, and hat seemed right
I was somewherein Bay Ridge when this man who looked like he’d been dropped in from the eighteenthcentury wandered into view. I was never much of a history buff, but that was theway he looked given his blue satin waistcoat, frilly silk shirt, andknee-length breeches, as well as his overall shaggy appearance. As he shuffledtoward me, he looked almost like he could’ve been an extra from a zombie movie,although one set several hundred years in the past. His expression was a rictusof fear, and there was only deadness in his eyes. I gave him a wide berth as heambled past me and watched as he staggered to the front of an eight-storybrick building. He stood transfixed for a long moment, and then all at oncestarted clawing at the brick wall and violently smashing his face against it,and he did this quietly without ever uttering a sound.
I picked up mypace after that trying to put some distance between us, and it was only secondslater that I left Brooklyn and found myself someplace entirely different.Instead of the Brooklyn streets where I’d been walking for hours, behind me nowwere meadows and a mountain range that was of such lush greenness that itseemed more like a painting than anything real. The sky that had been a grayishwhite in my version of Brooklyn was now a deep blue, and the sun that hadearlier been missing behind New York smog and clouds was shining brightlyoverhead. Off in the distance were groves of a tall and thin variety of pinetree that I’d never seen before, as well as other types of trees, shrubs, andplants that were foreign to me, and up ahead past rolling meadows was asparkling ocean made up of different shades of blues and aquamarines that were verydifferent from anything I’d ever seen of the Atlantic Ocean from Coney Island.
I trekked acrossthe meadows toward the ocean, and as I got closer I could see palm and coconut treesalong a crescent-shaped beach, and in the middle of this a person lying on alounge chair.
I had to climbdown a steep incline of rocks to get to the beach, and as I did this, I couldsee that the person was a woman wearing a floral-patterned beach cover-up, herhair a perfect silver. There was an empty lounge chair next to her, and betweenher chair and the other was a small drink stand on which sat a glass containinga brownish-orange drink with a hibiscus flower floating in it.
She heard meapproaching and turned her head toward me. She was wearing sunglasses so Icouldn’t see her eyes, but her expression at first was one of disinterest. Thatchanged as she smiled thinly at me, and with a wave of her hand, invited me tosit next to her. She looked ageless yet not young with perfect, unwrinkled skinand a slender, attractive body. If it wasn’t for her well-coifed silver hair,she could’ve passed for being in her thirties. After I settled into the loungechair next to her she held out a manicured slender hand and introduced herselfas Olivia Danville, her accent sounding as if she came from England and wasfrom money.
“Mike Stone,” Isaid.
When I took herhand I expected to feel something cold and clammy. After all, we were bothdead. I was surprised to find how warm and dry her skin felt.
“Where am I?” Iasked.
That caused awan smile to form over her lips. “Where do you think you are, Mike?”
“I’m guessing Iwandered from my version of hell into yours. Yours isn’t bad. We’re on a tropicalisland in the Pacific?”
“Very good,Mike. Yes, my reality, or hell, ended up being Kapalua, Maui. We’re on probablythe nicest beach on the island. Not the biggest by any stretch, but the prettiest.”
As I looked outat the ocean I realized it wasn’t just the two of us out there. There wereothers in the water. I could make out several bodies that were floating facedown before they sank, and only a minute later an elderly woman’s face poppedup out of a wave before she disappeared for good. Olivia must’ve noticed mestaring at these drowning people, but she didn’t comment about them. Insteadshe asked me if I knew how I died.
“Yeah,” I said.“It would be hard to forget this soon. It only just happened.”
“What do youmean by that?”
“It was only afew hours ago that I was fatally shot, and then the next thing I knew I was inBrooklyn wearing different clothes than what I had on when I died and withoutmy chest ripped open by a .45 slug. Except it wasn’t really Brooklyn, only aversion of it that I somehow created. And now I’m in your version of hell,which lucky for you happens to be Hawaii.”
She shifted inher chair to get a better look at me. I couldn’t see her eyes because of her sunglassesbut I knew she was staring at me intently. She shifted again in her chair sothat she was back to gazing out at the ocean.
“Do you knowwhat you did to end up in hell?” she asked.
“Yeah, I knowexactly why I’m here.”
We sat quietlyafter that for several minutes. When she spoke next it was to ask me why Ithought I ended up in her version of hell. I told her it was probably becauseher version was stronger than mine. “Somehow I got sucked into yours, althoughI’m guessing if I walked back to where I came from I’d find myself again inBrooklyn.”
She picked upher drink and brushed the flower away from her mouth so she could take a sip.She carefully placed the glass back on the stand. “Your level of awareness isquite remarkable,” she said. “Out of the billions of souls here in hell only atiny percentage have any sense of awareness, and very few of those would knowwhat you already do this quickly after dying. Do you feel sick yet?”
“I feel fine.”
“Incredible. Youshould’ve been feeling quite ill by now.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s whathappens when you’re pulled into a stronger reality, at least for the first fewtimes in that same reality.”
A larger wavethan any of the others crashed onto the beach, and it washed a man’s crumpled bodyonto the shore. The suit he wore was badly torn and he was covered in seaweed, andfrom what I could tell it looked like the type of suit someone would’ve worn inthe early nineteen hundreds. His face was hidden from me, but from howunnaturally bloated and white his hands and exposed skin looked I would’veguessed he’d been in the water for months, if not much longer. It probablyshouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did when he pushed himself to hisknees and crawled back into the ocean, and he soon disappeared under anotherwave.
“Those souls outthere drowning,” I said. “What is it with them?”
“You should beable to explain that as well as I can.”
