Tag Archives: Mystery

Dec 03 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Announcement #3 – Pop Culture Mysteries Is On

Hi again, 3.5 readers.

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Why Delilah spends her time representing BQB will become part of the mystery.

In case you didn’t realize it from Announcement #2, then yes, Pop Culture Mysteries is officially a go.

I am the president of the television network inside my mind and I just gave this endeavor the green light.

At the risk of being vaporized by the Mighty Potentate, Undesiredverse will be on hold.

I like Undesiredverse.  I think its a continuation of my “so funny you’ll have a good time but serious enough to make you want to know what happens next” style.

But after thinking about it, I barely have enough time to see one project through and I have no clue how I’d be able to juggle two at the same time.

So as the president of my mind, I’ve decided to put all my eggs in the Pop Culture Mysteries basket for the foreseeable future.

I’ve been attempting to write a novel for years now and I continue to get trapped by the idea that “oh, this NEW idea is really EASY to write and I’ll bang a rough draft out in a month then pop it right out there!”

That’s why I thought I’d give Undesiredverse a go.  Man and Alien become caretakers of strange woman.  They must get her to safety and in the process, find out why all the evil doers want her.

I know why.  I can’t tell you why because hopefully I’ll write it one day.  BUT – as I thought about it, explaining WHY they wanted her became complicated.

There just is no such thing as a “I’ll bang that out lickety split!” novel.  There’s no simple fix.  If you want the quality, you have to put the time in.

So Pop Culture Mysteries it is.  I’m going to let my attorney, the enchanting Delilah K. Donnelly, make the formal announcement, but here are my preliminary thoughts:

THE BLOG

I found a blog template that looks like a desk, the posts and photos look like they’re on paper – so in other words, ITS AS IF ITS ALL WRITEN BY A DETECTIVE WORKING OUT ALL THE DETAILS!!!  Yup, the format was just too beautiful to pass up.

THE POP CULTURE

My experience writing #31ZombieAuthors cinched the deal for me.

One worry I had was that as Jake (or Mack?) goes on, his reports become less about pop culture and more about his own past and present exploits as a detective, boxer, and war hero.  I need those exploits to sell books.

But I also want the site to be about solving pop culture mysteries.

So:

  • Jake’s still going to solve pop culture mysteries in his own way.
  • Informant Zero is going to pose a Pop Culture Mystery Question once a week, invite readers to discuss, and give the answer the next week and finally…
  • Just as I did with #31ZombieAuthors, I will be seeking out writers who will be deputized as pop culture detectives and they will be given pop culture mysteries of their own to solve (in fact, if you want in, let me know in the comments below.)
  • I’ll also be interviewing mystery writers about their craft.  So ultimately, the site becomes a big mashup of pop culture, mystery, and noir.

I’M GOING TO BE BUSY

It’s December.  I need to write a whole season of Jake’s exploits and get several author interviews/contributions in the can and ready to go.

The main story will go all week but I’m thinking Mystery Author Interviews will be posted on Friday and Pop Culture Detectives will have their posts up on Saturday.  (I’m going to call these “contracts,” as it will be explained that Delilah delivered their cases to them).

I’m hoping if I can stick with it, I’ll be able to launch April 1, but at the latest May 1.  I’m really hoping for April.

Once April or May is here, I’ll have several months of posts ready to go so I can throw them up and then focus my time on Jake’s first book…for sale…for money, because, gosh darn it, I really need this nonsense to start making some money one day in order to justify keeping it going.

CAN YOU TELL US ABOUT THE PLOT?

Jake/Mack/Whoever He Is fell asleep at his desk in 1954.  For 60 years, his friends, Mr. and Mrs. Tsang, took care of him, followed by their daughter, Susan, whom Jake regards as his niece.

A year later after trying to figure out what happened, the mysterious Delilah K. Donnelly pays him a visit.  She’s an attorney for Bookshelf Q. Battler, a world renowned poindexter, etc. etc.

While BQB will remain a goofball on bookshelfbattle.com, he becomes the Charlie from Charlie’s Angels on Pop Culture Mysteries – i.e., he’s always giving orders but he’ll rarely show up in person.  Instead, Delilah delivers his mysteries for him.

A deal is struck.  BQB claims he knows why Jake/Mack/Whoever fell asleep for 60 years and how to get him back to his own time.  But he won’t give up the info until our hero solves 100 pop culture mysteries.

In between tracking down the answers to BQB’s questions, our detective will have to:

  • Adjust to modern life, with plenty of room for witty social commentary on how things that happen today seem odd to a person from the 1950’s.  We’ll discuss the good and the bad.  (GOOD – people have more rights.  BAD – People spend too much time using those rights to post about their lunch on social media.)
  •  Get Real Work – BQB only pays $5 bucks a case and our hero can’t sponge off his niece forever, so he’ll need to find real mysteries he can solve for pay.
  • The Past – tell us about mysteries he solved way back when.
  • Vigilantism – He’ll definitely start dabbling in taking down modern day ne’er-do-wells.  A hot police detective babe will take notice.

THE FIRST NOVEL…

…will be about how our hero punched Adolf Hitler in the face.  In the process of doing so, he obtained a certain item and, well, even though BQB’s blog(s) only get 3.5 readers, a person from his past will come looking for it.

To clarify, the person from the past will come looking for it in the first season of blog posts.  How he punched Hitler and got the item will be the crux of the first novel…which I will sell on Amazon…for many, many, payments of monies.

But not really.  As long as I get $3.5 dollars I’ll write a sequel.

THANKS 3.5 READERS

If you’re a writer of any genre who wants in on a) solving a pop culture mystery or b) a mystery writer who wants to talk about his/her craft, let me know.  Your books/blogs/social media etc will be promoted so check out #31ZombieAuthors for an idea of what I’d do.

 

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Sep 30 2015
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A Guide to the Bookshelf Battleverse

A Guide to the Bookshelf Battleverse – Part 7 – Pop Culture Mysteries

Just as Cheers begat Frasier and Friends begat Joey, so too did the Bookshelf Battle Blog begat Pop Culture Mysteries.

You wish your blog had a spinoff.

DELILAH K. DONNELLY

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Attorney Delilah K. Donnelly of the Los Angeles based law firm of Donnelly and Associates is considered one of the finest lawyers in Hollywood, known for her ability to make impossible deals happen and free even the most guilty looking suspects.  Needless to say, her services cost a pretty penny.

Thus, it’s a mystery as to why she voluntarily serves as Lead Counsel for the Bookshelf Battle Blog, holding BQB’s hand in all murky matters and acting as the rock he needs to lean on when times get tough.

A woman of perfect poise and posture, elegance, class, and refinement, she carries herself in an old fashioned manner, though she gets along just fine in modern times, eating most men who cross her for breakfast with a cunning quip.

Intensely guarded when it comes to her personal life, BQB is fully aware of how lucky he is to have such high caliber representation for a website with only 3.5 readers.

JAKE DASHING

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One of the most infamous lawmen of the twentieth century, Jacob R. Dashing left his hometown of Bayonne, NJ at age 18 with his then girlfriend, Hettie May Blodgett.  The young couple made their way to Tinseltown with stars in their eyes and dreams of fame in their hearts.

Dashing wanted to be an actor, Hettie a singer.  Since Dashing became a drunk and Hettie went on to become legendary Jazz singer Peaches LeMay, the deal worked out a bit better for his better half.

A budding career as a boxer was cut short when Mugsy McGillicuddy’s gang forced him to take a dive lest Peaches sleep with the fishes.

“The Jersey Jabber” sought redemption and found it during World War II, when he was recruited for a top secret mission to punch Adolf Hitler in the face.

Through Attorney Donnelly, BQB and Dashing are currently in negotiations regarding the production of a novel based on Operation Fuhrerpunschen.

Such a move may be risky, as there are forces who would prefer to see the details of this mission stay buried.

Following WWII, Jake found employment with the LAPD, rising to the level of detective, and later became a private investigator.

His three ex-wives include:

  • Trixie, who slept with Jake’s partner, Mickey, but insisted she was fooled.  Since she wasn’t the brightest bulb, her claim wasn’t that far fetched.
  • Muffy, who shot Jake six times, but loved him enough to miss every vital organ.
  • Connie, who was the most loyal woman Jake ever knew, but alas he drove her away with his booze addiction.

POP CULTURE MYSTERIES

In 1954, Jake fell asleep at his desk.  When he woke up, it was 2014.  The Tsang family, who considered him an honorary member, took care of him for close to sixty years while he was dozing.

Cell phones.  Computers.  Color TV.  Women wearing pants and acting like they own the joint.  2014 was not a world that Jake recognized, and he began searching for answers.  Why did he sleep for nearly sixty years and was it possible to return to his own time?

A year later, in the summer of 2015, Delilah K. Donnelly walked into Jake’s office, offering answers…for a price.

Her client, Bookshelf Q. Battler, claimed to have the answers Jake was looking for, and would reveal him in exchange for Jake’s agreement to solve one hundred pop culture mysteries.

The notorious lawman felt a bit silly taking on questions as foolish as “What happened to the original Brady Bunch spouses?” but decided it was worth it if it would get him back to the 1950s.

Like most hardboiled noir style private detectives, Jake is prone to speaking in long, exaggerated monologues.

To date, BQB and Jake have never met.  Attorney Donnelly delivers BQB’s pop culture questions to Jake out of an entirely astute fear that Jake will just strangle the shit out of him until he makes with the answers.

Remember, 3.5 readers.  Many bloggers claim to be great, but only Bookshelf Q. Battler has pissed off a trained Nazi killer/boxer/detective for your personal amusement.

Keep that shit in mind when you’re doling out the leibsters, nerds.

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Aug 24 2015
7 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mystery Revamp?

I don’t think I will do this but I want to get the 3.5’s advice first.
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Suppose I:

  • Remove Bookshelf Q. Battler
  • Remove the Pop Culture Questions
  • Rewrite it as a series about a 1950’s detective who fell asleep, woke up in modern times, and an elegant lady lawyer acts as a go between, bring a new case to Jake every episode on behalf of a mysterious benefactor.  Maybe a rich man who wants justice done or something.  I don’t know.  It’d be some person more realistic than Bookshelf Q. Battler.

Why I Thought About It:

  • We’re reaching a point where Jake barely talks about BQB’s question.  It just usually descends into “Oh, that question reminds me of the time when…”
  • Example.  BQB asks Jake “How did Gilligan get washed up on the island?”  Jake’s response would be, “Ahh that reminds me of the time when I was shipwrecked with a band of pirates, goes on about a shipwreck related mystery, and then briefly at the end also answers how Gilligan got lost.”
  • Will the public at large get “Bookshelf Q. Battler?”

Why I’m Leaning Towards Not Doing It

  • To remove the pop culture is to remove the title, and “Pop Culture Mysteries” is such a catchy title. Sad to say, but often it’s all about the title.
  • I feel like at some point the issue can be addressed with something like:

DELILAH:  Mr. Hatcher, Mr. Battler has become very disappointed with your reports.  He asks you a simple question and all you do is drone on and on about your adventures instead.  Could you perhaps reign it in?

JAKE:  What?  And deny the 3.5 my stories?

I don’t know.  Let me know what you think.

As I’ve said before, I started writing this in April and September is around the corner.  It’s the longest I’ve kept going on a project and mainly because when it’s just a guy sharing his memories, it’s kind of impossible to “write myself into a wall” the way I’ve done with other ideas.

Any feedback you can provide on these stories (good, bad or otherwise) is welcome.  My goal is to finish the series of posts by the end of the year, edit and rewrite them, starting posting them daily on a Pop Culture Mysteries spinoff blog next year and then work on and release a Jake novel next year.

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Aug 22 2015
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Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Smeller vs. Denier (Part 9)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Part 1

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

“Hold me, Jacob!  I’m scared!”

“Don’t worry, baby,”  I said as Muffy threw herself at me.  “I’ve got you.”

“Oh the humanity!”  cried Lord Blackburn.

Our hosts, the Count and Countess, were utterly confused, trading glances across the table at one another, trying to figure out how their fancy party devolved into a down and out stink fest.

Charbonneau stood up and pointed an accusatory finger at Sir Rupert.shutterstock_179164640

“You!!!  HOW DARE YOU, SIR?!”

Rupert was on his feet now.

“How dare I what?”

“You know what you did!”  Charbonneau said.  “I came to you, in the name of peace, and delivered a fine proposal that would benefit our nations and you dared to reply with such an insulting smell!”

Rupert choked.

“Oh God!  I can taste it in my mouth!”

The Brit fell backward into his chair, guzzled his wine, then gargled with it.

“It burns!”

“Serves you right!  I shall report your chicanery to my government at once, sir!”

Muffy buried her face in my chest, trying in vain to escape the odiferous air.

Lord Blackburn weezed and gasped for breathe.

Across the table, some of the guests began standing up.

“Patrice, you silly git,”  Rupert said.  “You really think I’d break wind as a means of turning down a diplomatic proposal?”

“Indeed I do,”  Charbonneau replied.  “The UK has thumbed its nose at my people for the last time!  This means war!”

“War?  Oh Patrice, the gas is attacking your brain now.

I was stroking Muffy’s hair and whispering some reassuring, “there theres” into her ear when I realized the Count was suddenly whispering into mine.

“Is Mrs. Hatcher all right?”

“She’s a tad upset,”  I said.  “The smell reminds her of youth on the bayou, especially the swamp where a ferocious alligator devoured her beloved grandpappy right before her eyes.”

Muffy burst into tears.

“Oh, grand papa!  How I miss you so!”

“I’m so terribly sorry,”  the Count said.  “But Hatcher, you must do something!”

“I cannot take this any longer!”  said Yakubovich.  “I’m leaving!”

The Countess made an attempt at calming everyone down.

“Everyone, please, I’m sure…”

She made the mistake of sniffing the air in too deeply and her face turned white.

“Oh dear…”

The monocle she’d been wearing popped right off and landed in her full tea cup.

“I’m sure…oh, my Heavens…I’m sure if we wait a bit longer the fumes will dissipate…”

“If we wait any longer we’ll all surely die!”  Signora Bellavenuti responded.

Meanwhile, diplomatic efforts were crumbling.

“I demand you apologize immediately and accept my proposal.”

“Patrice, you drama queen,”  Rupert said as he poured himself another.  “You can stick your proposal up your ass.  For all I know, you’re the culprit and this is a pathetic effort on your part to bully me into a one sided solution.”

“One sided?  My plan was very reasonable!”

“You absurd wanker,”  Rupert said.

He really was more level headed off the sauce.

“Do you realize that the United Kingdom is recovering from a war fought on a massive scale?  That for quite some time, our nation stood ALONE against the atrocities of the Third Reich?  And after all the help we provided your countrymen you’d balk at a few measly extra sense on your blasted croissant shipments?”

“WAR!”  Charbonneau said.  “France will demand satisfaction for this and I guarantee our navy will land on your shores by Saturday!”

“And I guarantee they’ll toss their hands up and surrender by Sunday!”

“Hatcher,”  the Count said.  “You must fix this.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“You’re a detective.  Detect…

“What?”  I asked.

“Who did it,”  the Count replied.

“Oh come on,”  I said.  “I don’t think it’s even possible to narrow down who…”

Rupert’s face was as red as bowl full of cherries.

“If you want a war, Frenchy, you’ve got it!”

Yakubovich and Bellavenuti were still bickering with the Countess, demanding passage out of the room.

Professor Fremont had passed out, his head smushed into a half-eaten souffle.

Lord Blackburn sat motionless, his eyes wide open.  He was trapped in a catatonic state.

“Oh mon cheri,”  Muffy said.  “I feel so lightheaded.”

“Come on, baby,”  I said.  “Let’s get you some fresh air.”

I stood up and offered Muffy my hand.

“Hatcher,” the Count said.  “Please.  Europe has been embroiled with war for the first half of this century.  I cannot allow the history books to say that the seeds of a third global conflict were sewn in MY dining room.”

“Tough luck, Fabes,”  I said.  “I don’t think there’s anything that I…”

I patted my inner jacket pocket to make sure the check was still there.

“…that I…”

It was gone.  Twenty-five grand.  Missing.

I checked my pants pockets.  Pulled them both inside out.

I looked around on the table.  On the floor.  Nowhere.

“Enough of your insolence, woman!”  Yakubovich shouted.  “Get out of the way at once!”

“WAIT!”  I shouted.

All eyes looked at me.

“NOBODY MOVE!!!”

I’d been so forceful and commanding that everyone was now hanging what I had to say next.

“Ladies and gentlemen, a terrible crime has occurred.”

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Aug 17 2015
1 Comment
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Case File #005 – Smeller vs. Denier – (Part 6)

Salacot-explorer

“There I was, naked as the day I was born, strung up by my toes, flapping in the breeze over a pot of boiling
water.  The local primitives were restless, dancing about in a circle and preparing to boil me alive for their supper!”

Lord Alistair Blackburn was a corpulent fellow.  A charter member of Her Majesty’s Society of Royal Adventurers, he wore a khaki colored shirt and shorts and a pit helmet to top it all off.  He was a bit of a bombastic blowhard, offering up tall tales and exaggerated yarns to anyone who would listen.

I hate it when people do that.

Muffy and I smiled politely.

“How’d you escape, Al?”  I asked.

“Luckily I’d studied that particular tribe’s dialect and told them I taste terrible.  They set me free but I had to walk for an entire day in my all together until I found an outpost.”

I felt sorry for every animal who had to witness that.  Blackburn was definitely not skipping any meals.  In fact, if his story was true, then those bushmen must have had some extra strength rope.

The great game hunter was just one of the people who’d received an invitation to the Count’s dinner party that evening.

Count and Countess Rickard were famous all over Monaco for their dinner parties.  They collected people like a hobbyist might gather up rare coins.  They loved entertaining and they threw a top notch soiree.

We were all gathered in the Rickards’ sitting room, an expanse that was greater than the average person’s home.  It was fancy cigars, premium brandy, and good conversation until dinner was ready.

“Now then,”  Blackburn continued.  “Halfway through this most treacherous trek, I had the misfortune of coming face to face with a pack of unruly hyenas…”

Change that to mediocre conversation.  The Muffster and I were bored out of our gourds.  I tuned out Lord Blackburn and perked my ears toward the conversation happening on the couch opposite the one I was sitting on.

Signora Bellavenuti was whirling her brandy sifter and doing her best to ignore the ramblings of noted philosophy professor Arthur Fremont.  A fellow American, Fremont was a twitchy little fella with a mop of curly hair and a lazy eye.

“A true nihilist would argue that life has no meaning but if a lack of meaning brings meaning to a nihilist’s existence, then can there really ever be a true nihilist?”

The Signora was not as good as Muffy and I were at nodding politely in the face of less than stellar chitter chatter.

“Ugh, darling, please,”  Signora Bellavenuti said as she flapped her fingers up and down toward her palm, waving goodbye, “I have spoken to burros with more interesting things to say.  Shoo!  Shoo!  Away with you!”

Crestfallen, Fremont marched off to the back corner, where he nursed his drink.  Yakubovich was already there, still licking his wounds from the drubbing I’d given him earlier at the poker table.  The Count decided it would be sporting to invite the loser to break bread and it wasn’t mi casa so who was I to argue?

“The first seven hyenas I was able to take out with a stick I’d managed to chew to a point with my teeth, but the eighth I had to strangle with my bare hands.  And do you know it continued to laugh until its very last breath?”

The Lord’s chubby face grew grim.

“The image of my hands wrapped around that beast’s throat as it giggled like a school girl haunts my nightmares to this very day.”

“Whoa,”  I said.  “What a predicament.”

“Indeed.  Now, let me tell you about the rhino I stabbed in the face in Botswana.  It was charging at me, you see, and…”

Lord Blackburn’s rant was being drawn out by a conversation happening to my left.  Two men sat in oversized comfy chairs, wrapped up in a heated debate.

One of them was Sir Rupert Roundtree.  I considered him a friend.  The first time I met him was in North Africa during World War Two.  He was a tank commander then and saved me from a band of angry, sword swinging locals.  The second time was in Hong Kong not long after the war.  By that time, he’d been appointed as Chief of Police in the then British controlled city state, and he and his men stopped a band of thugs who wanted to slice and dice me.

Since then, Rupert had worked his way up in the world.  He’d gotten himself elected to parliament and was currently serving as the British Secretary of State.

As you can imagine, I had a lot of respect for him.  Roundtree was physically fit, an athletic type.  He had a thick handlebar mustache that took up half his face and long sideburns.

Charbonneau had a poor excuse for a toupee.  It looked like a damn chinchilla taking a nap on his head.  The coloring was off.  The hair on his sides was silver but the toupee a deep black.  You’d think someone at the rug factory could have peppered it up a little.

The man chewing Roundtree’s ear off was Patrice Charbonneau, the French Ambassador to England.

“Patrice, old boy,”  Roundtree said.  “Must we dampen the evening with talk of politics?”

“Yes monsieur.  French merchants simply cannot operate with the outrageous tariffs imposed on goods exported to your country.  Something must be done.  There is no precedent for the current rates and if you consult the treaty that was signed in 1949, you’ll see clearly that…”

Roundtree spaced out of the lecture he was getting and looked around the room only to do a double take when he spied my kisser.

“Pardon me, Patrice, I have to go see a ghost from my past.”

“But the hardliners are calling for action and I cannot hold them back any longer!”

“Yes,”  Rupert said as he stood up and patted Charbonneau on the back.  “Let’s put a pin in this conversation for later, shall we?  I swear I’ll return and listen to all your problems posthaste.”

The MP strolled over to me and I stood up to greet him.

Lord Blackburn didn’t even notice.

“That beast came close to goring me but I managed to dodge its thrust at the last minute and smash it right between the eyes with my machete.”

“Lord Blackburn!”  Rupert said.  “Might I steal Hatcher away from you for a moment?”

Copyright (c) 2015 Bookshelf Q. Battler 2015

All Rights Reserved.

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Aug 16 2015
2 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: Smeller vs. Denier (Part 4)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES..

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

Sergei Yakubovich chomped on a cigar and studied his hand like a sinner looking for a loophole in the bible.

“You are bluffing, Mr. Hatcher.”

“There are two things I never do, Sergei,”  I said.  “Bluffing’s the first.”

The Muffster

The Muffster

“And the second?”

I took a hearty swig of of scotch.

“Drink with a commie.”

I motioned for the waitress to fetch me another.

“But in your case, I’ll make an exception.”

Sergei had a permanent dour glare on his face, as if someone was perpetually pooping on his party.

He looked down his nose at me over a pair of circular spectacles.

“You are full of the shit of a bull, American swine.”

Yakubovich held himself out to the world as a legitimate businessman, though it had long been rumored that he had secretly made his scratch by using his politburo contacts to obtain and sell Russian arms on the black market.

One of the many reasons why I despised the pinkos.  The guys who always got on their soapbox about how the villagers should share toilet paper rations were always the first ones to get all capitalist when it came to their own personal wealth.

“Only one way to find out.”

The waitress, a darling auburn haired lovely in a skimpy black dress, set another scotch down in front of me.

I flipped her a chip.

“Keep ’em coming, doll.”

“Oui oui, monsieur.”

Muffy rested her chin on my left shoulder.  One whiff of her perfume was all I needed to feel like a man.

“I thought I was your doll?”

“You know you are, my sweet souffle.”

Sergei pushed a large mound of chips into the already heaving pot in the center of the table.

“Prepare to be crushed, comrade.”

Count Rickard tossed his hand down on the table and backed away.

“Mr. Hatcher,”  my former client said as he stood up and fastened the top button of his coat.  “If there’s one lesson I learned when you bailed me out, it’s how to not be drawn in by greed a second time.”

Signora Isabella Bellavenuti was quite a sight.  She was an Italian fashion designer of world renown, though what passed for trendy finery back then always amazed me.

Coincidentally, it still does today.

She wore a white mink stole, likely produced from the pelts of a hundred deceased varmints and an elaborate hat, festooned with feathers and miscellaneous plumage, curving at various, oddly chosen angles.

PETA would be up her ass with an electron microscope if she were around today.

“This is, how you say, ‘Too rich for my blood?'”

She too backed off and sucked on her filtered cigarette as if it were her last.

Yakubovich and I engaged in a stare off.  Neither one of us was going to budge

“Your will is like that of your countrymen, Hatcher,”  my Soviet adversary said.  “Bloated, lazy, and soft.”

I belted down my newly arrived scotch.

Then, I pushed the remainder of my chips in.

“Au contraire, Yakubovo-whatever,”  I said.  “Your resolve is like the Communist Party’s motto: sacrifice is great, especially when the other guy’s doing it.”

The tension between us grew thick and palpable.  You could cut it with a knife, eat it up and still have enough left over for seconds.

Signora Bellavenuti lightened the mood.

“Marone!  Had I wanted to witness a pee pee measuring contest, I’d of watched my last two lovers duel over my hand!  Show your cards already!”

Yakubovich splayed his cards out on the table.  Eight, seven, six, five, four.  All hearts.  A straight flush.

The looky lous who’d gathered round the table emitted a collective gasp.

“Sacre bleau!”  Muffy cried.

Old Sergei had played better than I gave him credit for.

“What in the name of Barbara Stanwyck’s underpants?!”

The Russki snickered and started raking the pot towards his side of the table with his hands.

“I guess I underestimated you, Yak-a-boo-boo.”

“Is Yakubovich,” my nemesis said.  “And yes, you failed to recognize Russia’s might, just as your leaders will when we fly the hammer and sickle over the White House.”

“Over my dead body,”  I said.

“That is idea.”

I stood up.  I looked around the room.  All eyes were on me.

The French waitress brought me another shot.  I drank it, then slapped the empty glass down on the table.

“That’s good,”  I said.  “That’s really good.”

“Do not embarrass yourself, Hatcher.  Take your lumps like a man.”

“Say Yaka-bo-bo, what did the Queen do after she dropped a big steamer?”

I tossed down my hand.

Ace.  King.  Queen.  Jack.  Ten Spot.  All clubs.

You could have knocked that Bolshevik over with a feather.

“A Royal Flush?”

Cheers.  Applause.  Accolades.  And most of all, money.  Sweet, glorious cheddar.

It was mine.  All mine.

Twenty-five thousand smackers.

I know, 3.5.  That sounds good, but not life changing, right?

Wrong.  Adjusted for inflation, I was staring at the modern day equivalent of a quarter million.

Muffy hugged me like she wanted to push herself through me.  She planted her lips on mine and we sucked face like a pair of flounders who’d just crashed into one another on the ocean floor.

And not for nothing, but as soon as that bread was the property of yours truly, a lot of chickadees in that joint started giving me that look.  You know the one.  Like we were on the plains of the Serengetti, they were jaguars, and I was a nice, ripe, juicy caribou butt that they wanted to sink their teeth into.

But as far as I was concerned, Muffy was the only kitten I was interested in.

Outraged, Yakubovich slammed his fist on the table and stormed off.

Count Rickard shook my hand and it was congratulations all around.

An attendant gathered up my chips.

“I’ll cash you out sir.”

I accepted adulation for awhile until Fabian’s wife, Arianna, the Countess Rickard, found us.  She was an average looking broad.  Wouldn’t knock your socks off but you wouldn’t turn her down in a pinch either.  She had a slight hair lip, though it was nothing that a little hot wax couldn’t have cured.

“Muffelia!  I’ve been looking all over for you!”

The Countess had taken a real shine to my better half, treating her like the daughter she never had.

“Come dear,” the Countess said.  “I simply must introduce you to the Duchess of Shropshire.  I think you will both get along famously.”

“Merci.  Excuse moi, Jacob.”

The missus wasn’t gone for more than a few seconds when I felt a strong hand slap me on the shoulder.

I turned around.

“Frank?”

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Aug 15 2015
3 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: Smeller vs. Denier (Part 3)

Monte Carlo

June 1952

I was having a ball.

Muffelia

Muffelia “Muffy” Bordeaux aka the Second Mrs. Hatcher

No really, I was in attendance at an actual, bonafide ball.  I was wearing a fancy white tuxedo and everything.

Toward the front of the room, a conductor whirled his baton about, back and forth, leading strings, winds, and all manner of instruments in a breathtaking waltz.

Meanwhile, the second Mrs. Hatcher and I were cutting a rug on the large, luxurious floor.

“You dance divinely, mon cheri,” my partner whispered in my ear before nibbling ever so suggestively on my lobe.

“You’re not too shabby yourself, my little creme brulee.”

Muffelia “Muffy” Bordeaux.  She was a sultry Cajun coquette, the type of woman who made men’s hearts overflow with passionate lust.  Like the bayou she was born and bred on, she was mysterious, mischievous…and oh so dirty.

Sorry 3.5 readers.  I didn’t mean to scandalize you.

I love it when a broad wears her hair up, mostly because I spend the whole evening in anticipation of when it comes down.  And Muffy was the Queen when it came to finding out what made my blood pump.

Her lips were red, full, and so very kissable.  Her hair was blacker than a coal miner’s boots and that night, she wore a silver gown with dangly earrings to match.  Men aren’t that hard to please, ladies.  We like shiny things.

For the first time in my life, I was on top of the world.

I’d left the LAPD and put up my own shingle.  Hatcher Investigations was in full swing and in the City of Angels, there was no shortage of wealthy folk with problems that required a man with my special skill set.

My secretary, Connie Connors, who I swiped away from my former boss, Capt. Thaddeus Talbot, was back home holding down the fort.  I owed my success to her.  She kept the business running like a well oiled machine, did all the filing, filled out all the paperwork, and most importantly, played nicey nice with the clients

Thus, all I had to do was the sleuthing.

My bank roll was fat, my car was sporty, and best of all, I had the type of wife who, with just one look, could make a man pitch a tent faster than a master outdoorsman.

Today, at ninety-five, I realize that’s not the only quality a man should be looking for in a significant other, but forgive me, because back then I didn’t know any better.

In my defense, the Muffster excelled at switching off a man’s brain.

Her accent made me putty in her hands, and she never missed an opportunity to bend me any which way she wanted.

She insisted on calling me Jacob, but she pronounced it, “Zsa-Cob.”  “Zsa,” like Zsa Zsa Gabor, the actress from Green Acres, and “cob” like what you hold when you’re eating corn.

“I want you to hold me in your arms forever, Jacob.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice, baby.  You make me feel like a million bucks.”

SPOILER ALERT:  I’d later learn that the “forever” Muffy had in store for me was a mere six months and coincidentally, she’d shoot me six times and leave me for dead over the same amount of money, not to mention run off with Roscoe, my lousy excuse for a kid brother, God rest his soul.

But put all of that out of your mind for now, 3.5.  That night, I was convinced we were both happy.

And why wouldn’t we be?

We were on our honeymoon.  A free honeymoon.   A glorious fortnight in Monaco, the tiny European principality where all the beautiful people of the world gathered to hob knob, rub elbows, trade gossip and measure each other’s bank accounts.

We were the guests of Count Fabian Rickard, heir to a lavish Hungarian dynasty, and between you and me, a bit of a gullible old goose.

He’d managed to get nearly his entire fortune tied up in an elaborate real estate swindle and hired me to track down the fraudulent huckster who bilked him.

The nogoodnik was hiding out in LaLa Land and yours truly located him, put him behind bars, and most importantly, reunited the Count with his cabbage.

He was so grateful that when I mentioned I was about to tie the knot, he insisted that the new Mrs. Hatcher and I be his guests at his chateau, a vacation home he visited quite frequently.

The Waltz wrapped up and the band took a powder.

Our benefactor strolled up to us with a bubbly champagne flute in each hand.  He offered them and we accepted them gladly.

“Ahhh, young love,”  Count Rickard said.  “What I wouldn’t give to return to the days when the Countess and I gazed at one another the way you two do.”

The Count had a devilish black beard that came down off of his chin in a point and a heavily waxed mustache that curled up on both ends.

“Come now, Fabes.”

Fabes.  A little nickname I had for him.

“I bet whenever you’re gone, the little woman counts the seconds until you return and stir her goulash.”

Count Rickard looked at me, trying to figure out what I meant.  Then he let the guffaws fly.

“Oh Mr. Hatcher, you are a card.”

“He is an ace!”  Muffy added.

As jokes go, it wasn’t that funny, but Muffy was hotter than the surface of the sun, so we laughed anyway.

“Come my boy,” the Count said as he wrapped an arm around me.  “You must try your luck in the casino.  Are you a betting man, Mr. Hatcher?”

“Oh, I don’t know,”  I replied.  “Pa Hatcher always told me that games of chance are the devil’s work.”

Muffy looked at me with those dark, hypnotic eyes and straightened my bow tie.

“Come Jacob.  It will be fun.”

Yep.  All it took for me to ignore the sage advice of the wisest man I ever knew was a coy pout from a Southern belle.

Oh well.  Men had done worse things for far less.

“Lead the way, Fabes. ”

Copyright (C) 2015.  All Rights Reserved.

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

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Aug 13 2015
2 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries: Behind the Scenes – What is the Role of the Bookshelf Battle Blog in the Story?

Hey 3.5 readers.

“It’s a blog that writes about itself. Exceptionally confusing.”

Welcome to another “Pop Culture Mysteries: Behind the Scenes,” the only column where I, Bookshelf Q. Battler, ask random Internet folk for writing advice because my friends and family are such that they’ll laugh their asses off if I tell them that I’m helping a 95 year old private dick write his memoirs.

There’s been an issue in the back of the mind and it starts to come to the forefront in the Informant Zero story.

OK.  Stay with me here.

  • Jake is a writer for the Bookshelf Battle Blog.
  • The Bookshelf Battle Blog exists in the Pop Culture Mysteries world.  It has to, because Bookshelf Q. Battler bosses Jake around through his attorney, Delilah K. Donnelly.
  • Ergo, won’t people, when they meet Jake, look up the Bookshelf Battle Blog and learn about Jake’s past and his special abilities (non aging, invincibility, etc)

Originally, I thought I’d go with that old cliche where the special hero doesn’t reveal his special-ness to people he meets.  The vampire hides his fangs and blends in with the norms.  Superman puts on a pair of glasses.  Bruce Wayne pretends to be an do-nothing playboy.

Wait, let’s back up a minute.

THUS FAR, WHO KNOWS THAT JAKE IS A 95 YEAR OLD PRIVATE DICK?

  • Ms. Tsang, obviously, because she took care of him while he was asleep for decades.  Eventually, I’ll work it into the story how that burden really sucked for her and kept her from doing a lot of things she wanted to do in life, including starting a family, because, you know, how do you explain to people that there’s a gumshoe upstairs that just sleeps forever, never grows old and stays young?
  • Delilah K. Donnelly and Bookshelf Q. Battler – Battler’s claim to be able to answer Jake’s question of why did he sleep for 60 years is the center point of the series.  Battler knows, his trusted attorney Delilah knows, but they aren’t telling until 100 Pop Culture Mysteries are solved.  (Or does Battler know – is he just yanking Jake’s chain for the unscrupulous purpose of bringing a writer with an interesting story to his blog?)
  • Others from Jake’s Past, Who May or May Not Start Appearing in the Future, and If They Do, Only BQB and Delilah Will Know Why Past People are Showing Up in the Future – We’ll get to that.  Mickey Finn (Jake’s old partner), first girlfriend Peaches, his three ex-wives and anyone else from the past is fair game to return to the future.

THUS FAR, WHO DOESN’T KNOW THAT JAKE IS A 95 YEAR OLD PRIVATE DICK? – Agnes Abernathy, aka Agnes the Librarian, is Jake’s unwilling research assistant.  As a public librarian in a busy city library, she’s used to all types wandering in and bugging her to look stuff up for them.  Hobos and bums often use the library as place to hang out and up until Fan Dime Drops, Agnes thought that Jake was another bum.  She still thinks Jake is odd, but after seeing Delilah meet with Jake, she at least believes that Jake writes for the Bookshelf Battle Blog.

BUT – she has yet to realize that Jake is a 95 year old private dick.

BUT – if Agnes keeps helping Jake research “cases” for the Bookshelf Battle Blog, wouldn’t Agnes one day be curious enough to take a peak at the Bookshelf Battle Blog and therefore, read Jake’s tales of stuff that happened to him long, long ago?

THUS – I’m not sure how I’ll handle this.  Right now, I’m leaning toward the possibility that:

  • Agnes checks out the BB Blog.
  • Agnes does read Jake’s stories that happen long ago.
  • Agnes assumes either a) Jake’s a nut (like she already does) or b) Jake’s just a modern day 35 year old and he’s just really into historical fiction and roleplaying and enjoys it so much that he walks around in a fedora and trenchcoat.

BUT – Will Jake openly share his “secret” with people?

OPTION 1 – Yes.  After all, Ma Hatcher taught him never to tell a lie.  He’ll wander LA, openly telling people he’s 95 years old and slept for 60 years without reservation. Most people won’t believe him, but at least he didn’t lie.

OPTION 2 – No.  Best to keep it hush hush.  Yes, I, Jake, do claim to be 95 years old on the blog, but that’s just for fun, don’t believe it.

Either way, most people Jake meets in modern times will not believe it.

WHAT ABOUT FUTURE MODERN WORLD CHARACTERS JAKE WILL MEET?

Remember that story, The Wrong Guy, I half finished?

I decided it was too early for all the revelations in that, and to hold off.

SPOILER ALERT:

BUT  – I hope that story will end with Jake meeting a female present day LA police detective.

Female dick...er, detective.

Female dick…er, detective.

Remember how Jake took out a few drug dealers?

The female detective will look at Jake as an off-kilter vigilante and start watching him, looking for a way to bring Jake in.  More and more, Jake will start using his private dick powers to help modern day people.

So, yeah.  Jake’s kinda like Batman.  And the female detective will kinda be like the cops that think Batman’s a menace.

Or maybe Jake’s not like Batman.  Maybe Jake’s honest to everyone about his powers and no one believes him.

It’d be like if Bruce Wayne were to walk around shouting, “I’m Batman!” and everyone’s like, “That’s impossible!  Stop lying, Bruce.”

(Will Jake and the female detective ever come to an understanding and work together? Your guess is as good as mine).

BUT – I guess, like AGNES, the question will be, will the female cop, after reading the BB Blog to find out more about Jake, believe Jake is 95 or just assume he’s crazy or writing fiction?

OTHER ISSUES:

  • INVINCIBILITY – In the Wrong Guy, (there’s already some posts that show it) we learn that in modern times, Jake doesn’t just not age.  He’s invincible.  Shoot him.  Stab him.  Toss him off a building.  Whatever.  Jake still keeps ticking.  Note in the past, from 1920 (his birth) to 1955 ( his nap) he was mortal and could have been killed, but now he can’t.  It’s all part of the mystery that we HOPE Bookshelf Q. Battler will reveal once the 100 mysteries are solved.
  • HOW TO HANDLE THAT – It’s the blog issue all over again.  If Jake writes about his invincibility on the blog, won’t characters read about it?  Will Jake just be honest and tell them, “Yup, I’m invincible” will he hide it or will characters just assume he’s lying until they somehow see it happen ( They witness Jake get shot and get back up and are like, oh ok, Jake’s not lying.)
  • BB Blog vs. PCM Blog – Once I write the rough draft of the first season here on the BB blog, I’ll rewrite it, revise it, and then start posting it on the PCM Blog.  So should I not refer to BB Blog and just have Delilah recruit Jake to work for the PCM blog?  I actually think I should just start the season with a note that this all started on the bookshelf battle blog, this is how Jake solved a bunch of mysteries for the bb blog at first, and then work it into the story (I start to in Informant Zero) that Jake will be shifting to the PCM blog.  So the first season will be about how Jake moved from BB to PCM.
  • AGNES – Do you guys like the Agnes character?  I’m toying with the idea that she eventually leaves the library and becomes Jake’s secretary.  On the PCM blog, she might get a regular column where she promotes indie authors by listing five-ten indie books she’d like to see in her library.  (Of course, then she can’t become Jake’s secretary, she’ll have to stay at the library.

SO HOW THE HELL WILL JAKE FUNCTION IN THE MODERN WORLD?  

Eventually, Jake’s going to need:

  • Money – And more than BQB’s cheap-o $5 bucks a case.  Per Delilah’s suggestion, Jake will have to start looking for actual, REAL mystery having clients who pay a lot more than $5.  Ms. Tsang can’t carry Jake’s ass forever.
  • Papers – Jake’s 95 years old.  His driver’s license, documents, etc., they’re all 60 years old.  Maybe Ms. Donnelly can work some of her legal magic to get Jake recognized as an actual citizen…which will require them to show he was born in 1981!  (Hell, maybe that’s a job for an Informant Zero).

AND FINALLY, WRAP YOUR HEAD AROUND THIS ONE….

  • If Jake was an infamous lawman in the 1940s and 50’s
  • Then surely, like Elliot Ness and other famous crimefighters, news articles were written about him.
  • Those articles probably printed his picture at the time.
  • And that picture will look like Jake now.
  • So if a) Jake tries to not let people in on the secret that he’s 95 OR if people refuse to believe it even though he’s up front about it:
  • Then how do we reconcile this?

I’M LEANING TOWARDS – People have a habit of explaining away the supernatural.  That bump in the night isn’t a ghost.  It’s your house settling.

(Calm down!  It’s not really a ghost!  Sheesh!)

OPTIONS:

  1.  If Jake hides his secret, he tells people who ask about the resemblance to past Jake that he’s the grandson of infamous 40s 50s lawman Jake Hatcher and was named after him.
  2. But I think I’m leaning towards Jake just is open and honest to everyone that he’s 95 and if they don’t believe it, that’s their problem.  Because people are quick to rationalize the supernatural, these people, like Agnes or the female detective, might just write the resemblance off as a coincidence.
  3. Maybe Delilah goes behind Jake’s back and tells them “Hey, yeah, Jake’s really the grandson of Jake Hatcher from long ago and he just likes to play pretend.”

I dunno.  Many possibilities there.

What I’m realizing is when you move from an idea to actual publication, so, so many loose ends pile up then you have to tie up.

Maybe that’s why so many aspiring novelists quit.  Every new plot point raises more questions to be answered.

But I don’t want to quit.

BUT WAIT A MINUTE, DOESN’T THE BOOKSHELF BATTLE BLOG ONLY HAVE 3.5 READERS?

Yes.  I’m also thinking maybe it’s possible to completely, totally, and utterly WIPE OUT all my above worries by plugging in the following joke somewhere into the season:

JAKE:  Ms. Donnelly, I don’t get it.  I’ve publicly written on the Bookshelf Battle Blog that I’m 95 years old, that I was once a famous lawman, and that I took a 60 year nap.  Why doesn’t anyone I meet ever ask me about that?

DELILAH:  Because no one ever reads the Bookshelf Q. Battle Blog, Mr. Hatcher.  It only has 3.5 readers.

JAKE:  Well, what do you know?  I’m hiding in plain sight!

If I go that route – NO ONE bothers to read the BB Blog because it’s so obscure.  Agnes never reads it.  The female detective never reads it.  They wonder why Jake looks like Jake Hatcher from the 40s and 50s, and Jake tells them he’s his grandson, and because the blog only has 3.5 readers, Jake’s secrets are safe.

Of course, that’ll only work for the first season, and then the joke will have to transfer to the PCM Blog and become that Pop Culture Mysteries only has 3.5 readers, or that anything BQB is involved in is cursed to only have 3.5 readers.

OK then.  Thanks 3.5.  Your feedback is appreciated.

Images courtesy of a shutterstock.com license.

Copyright BQB all rights reserved 2015

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Aug 06 2015
3 Comments
Pop Culture Mysteries

Pop Culture Mysteries – Fan Dime Drops – For the 3.5 (Part 2)

PREVIOUSLY ON POP CULTURE MYSTERIES…

Part 1

AND NOW THE POP CULTURE MYSTERIES CONTINUE…

In a cramped study room, we sat across a table from one another, sizing each other up, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Delilah was a gorgeous specimen of a lady, everything perfect, not a single hair out of place.  My inner animal wanted to gobble her up, but we weren’t there for hanky panky.

We were there to bargain.

Never cross a lady lawyer.

Never cross a lady lawyer.

She clacked open her briefcase and handed me a dossier.  Inside?

Printouts from the Bookshelf Battle Blog.

“Your reports have pleased Mr. Battler.  Sometimes his readership spikes to a grand total of 17.5 readers when there’s a Pop Culture Mysteries post.”

“Good for him,”  I replied.  “He might as well start packing his bags for LaLa Land.  He can have it.”

“Mr. Battler’s readers have enjoyed your files to the point where they have mysteries of their own.”

“As much as I’d like to stare at your lovely face all day, Ms. Donnelly, I’ve got a beep boop machine class to get back to, so let’s grab a pair of scissors and cut to the chase, shall we?”

“Very well.  Three readers have stepped forward with entertainment related questions that deserve an answer and as Mr. Battler’s resident detective, that task falls on your shoulders.”

“How much?”

“Nothing,”  Delilah said.  “You’ve already agreed to do it gratis.”

The conniving counselor handed me the contract I signed the night I first met her, as well as a magnifying glass.  I scrutinized the document and low and behold, she wasn’t just whistling dixie:

Mr. Hatcher agrees to solve any Pop Culture Mysteries posed to him by Mr. Battler’s 3.5 readers.

Take a note.  When you’re dealing with a foxy broad, always check the fine print.

“What in the name of J. Edgar Hoover’s evening gown are you trying to pull here, sister?!”

I took another peak through the magnifying glass.

“What’s this about selling my kidneys?!”

Delilah snatched the paper back.

“Best we focus on the matter at hand, Mr. Hatcher.  You should be delighted.  Mr. Battler’s renewing your tales for a second season.”

“I don’t care about any of that, doll.  I just want to go home.  Your client is a real snake in the grass for holding out on me.”

“Our client, Mr. Hatcher.  Now then, Mr. Battler does not expect a thorough investigation for these questions.  He has simply asked me to relay his 3.5 inquiries and to obtain your reaction.  Certainly, these shorter mysteries will be no match for a investigator of your skill.”

I doubt she meant it, if there was any way to win over the shattered pieces of my heart, a compliment from a good looking lady was it.

I’m sure she knew that and used it to her advantage.

DELILAH:  Mr. Hatcher, Michael Gunter of “Michael Gunter’s Tales of Today and Yesterday” contacted Mr. Battler with this concern:

Here’s one for ya, Hatcher!

The mark’s name is Nedry. Dennis Nedry. He ticked off the wrong people (don’t mess with mega-corporations) and got eaten by a dinosaur. But that’s not your problem. What we want to know is why the idiot shut down ALL the security systems. If he programmed the whole system, why didn’t he just set it up so he could shut down specific systems, instead of letting every dinosaur in the park loose? I’d make a joke about buggy code, but he got eaten, didn’t he? Joke practically wrote itself.

I lit up my cigar and had a puff.  The carcinogens danced to and fro in my lungs as I mulled over my answer.

“Gunter,”  I said.  “Another one of these Mickey Spillane types with a blog-a-ma-call-it?”

“Indeed,”  Delilah said.  “I’ve heard he can even be followed on twitter @GunterWriting.”

I turned away and exhaled my exhaust.  I’d no sooner coat Ms. Donnelly’s visage with fumes than I would the Mona Lisa.

“I’m the last cat you want to be asking questions about beep boop machines,”  I said.  “After all, I am a student in an introductory computer course taught by an old broad who can beep boop laps around me.  Why was this Nedry character on the lam?”

“Corporate espionage,”  Ms. Donnelly answered.  “Mr. Nedry was secretly paid for a rival company that wanted Jurassic Park’s dinosaur genetic material.”

“Yeesh,”  I said.  “The stuff that passes for cinema now.  Well, like I said, computers go over my head higher than a Boeing, but I’ve caught a lot of crooks and I’d wager Nedry did it just to screw with the employer he was already screwing.  Maybe he thought it’d be harder to track him down if his co-workers were busy wrangling dinosaurs.  Or, and I know this is probably an unsatisfactory answer, but maybe he just did it because it wouldn’t have been much of a flick if all the dinosaurs remained in their cages in a safe and secure manner.”

“An astute answer,”  Delilah said.  “I shall have Mr. Battler contact Mr. Gunter with the details shortly.”

“Who else wants a piece of the Jersey Jabber?”

Do you have a Pop Culture Mystery?  Drop a dime!  Tweet your entertainment questions to @bookshelfbattle or leave them in the comments below.  

Copyright (c) 2015 Bookshelf Q. Battler.  All Rights Reserved.

Image courtesy of a shutterstock.com license. 

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Jul 22 2015
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Self Publishing

Pop Culture Mysteries: Sneak Peak of Operation Fuhrerpunschen

shutterstock_193545215Before he became BQB’s Pop Culture Detective, Jake Hatcher was a down and out boxer forced by the evil Mugsy McGillicuddy to take a dive, thus tanking his chance at the big time, not to mention his budding romance with singer Peaches LeMay.

When Jake tries to escape his past by enlisting, he gets a second chance at the greatness he missed out on when he’s recruited by General George S. Patton, President Roosevelt, and Pre-CIA Agent Carmichael to take on the most daring mission in the history of warfare:

Infiltrate Das Fuhrerbunker and punch Adolf Hitler in the face before an equally skilled puncher sent by the Russians can.

Why?  Assassination attempts by his own men have left Hitler paranoid in the final days of World War II.  He’s banned all staff from carrying weapons, leaving him the only armed individual in the bunker.

No guns.  No knives.  Nothing.

Thus, Uncle Sam needs a man whose weapon is his fist.

Is this a viable novel idea?  Would you want to read a book about Hitler getting punched in the face?

The first three proposed chapters and outline of the rest:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Outline of Rest 

Tear it apart, 3.5 Readers.  Be brutal and let me have it.

By the way, the Mr. Devil Man sneak peak was well received by the 3.5 and I plan on working on that too.  Ultimately, I hope to put both out.

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