Friday, April 13, 2012

Spring Forward, Fall Down and DIE!

DEADLY EQUINOX is available for free as a Kindle Ebook for the next five days:


You can buy the books for 99 cents on Amazon now; I've actually moved a few units and somebody wrote a glowing review of CHURCH OF THE ETERNAL SUCCUBUS recently.

I'm busy with some actual working-for-the-man type work, but I vow, with Sachet Saperstein as my witness -- this summer, massive promotional blitz for the PAC Squad, even if I have to outsource it to the Chinese or Indians, or whatever.

And I'll get some more PAC Squad stories posted including -- THE REVENANT, and the eagerly-awaited EGGBERT'S REVENGE.

Here's a little excerpt from DEADLY EQUINOX:

08:45 am
Sachet Saperstein pulled his Pacer up to the curb outside Jack Rayon’s apartment. He walked up to the door and knocked, ignoring a group of street toughs nearby who shouted epithets at him, casting aspersions on his manhood.

“JACK!” he yelled, knocking harder. “C’mon man, trouble! We need you!”

Rayon wasn’t “on call” so he hadn’t been answering his phone. He was, in fact, drunk out of his mind on Jack Daniel’s whiskey. He fumbled the many locks open and answered the door, unshaven,T-shirt covered with spilled whiskey and cigar ashes.

“Jesus, Jack! What the heck’s wrong with you?” lisped Saperstein, walking gingerly into the dank apartment.

“I had a rough night,” mumbled Jack, pouring another plastic cup full of whiskey.

“It certainly seems so! You …” Saperstein noticed the crystal skull on the night-stand near the bed, which had suddenly begun to glow with an ethereal light.
“Look out, Jack!” yelled Saperstein, rushing between Jack and the skull as a flowing bolt of ectoplasm erupted from it. Crackling and thrumming, the ethereal blob of energy enveloped Saperstein.

Jack rubbed his eyes blearily. “What the hell …? Did you do that, Saperstein?”

Sachet Saperstein opened his eyes and smiled. “My name isn’t Saperstein. It’s Klapper. Victor Earl Klapper.”

Jack stood unsteadily, staring at Saperstein through squinted, bloodshot eyes. “Who …? What? You’re Sachet, man, the queer-boy, the right brain of the PAC team …” Jack slurred, swigging his whiskey.

Sachet stared at Jack Rayon coldly, his arms crossed across his chest. Then he grinned hugely, his eyes hooded in the sharp shadows cast by the glare of the unshaded light bulb hanging from the ceiling by a frayed cord.

“Yes, that’s right. My name is … Sachet Saperstein, and I’m a fellow member of something called the ‘PUCK’ team group … homo, eh? Wanna buttfuck, Jack?”
Sachet laughed maliciously at the expression on Jack’s face. “Just kidding, Jack,” he said, taking the bottle from Rayon and gulping down a hearty swig as he sat astride the one rickety wooden chair in the room. “Now, tell me more about this PUCK team of yours, Jack. Omit nothing.”