I want to Welcome Victor J. Banis the author of the Deadly Mystery Series available from MLR Press.  Today he shares a little about himself and a fun little free read from the first book in the series Deadly Nightshade.  Thanks Victor!  – Terry Kate

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MLR Press Author Victor J. Banis

I started out to tell you about myself, but really, you can learn everything you want to know at http://www.vjbanis.com.  And if you still want to know more, pick up The Golden Age of Gay Fiction, edited by Drewey Wayne Gunn, and available from www.mlrpress.com . I’m in there, too.

But, really, a writer is all about the writing, which is to say, the best way to introduce myself to you is to share a few excerpts from some of my books. There are a lot of them, but most recently I’ve done a series of mysteries for MLR – Deadly Nightshade, Deadly Wrong, Deadly Dreams, Deadly Slumber and Deadly Silence. Though they are mysteries, the books really focus on the ongoing relationship between the two leads, Tom Danzel and Stanley Korski – or, as the blurb puts it, – Straight Cop, Gay Cop.  Readers tell me they enjoy the books because they find the characters and their ongoing and difficult (aren’t they all?) relationship intriguing.

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I started writing the first book, Deadly Nightshade, the same way I start writing every book—the same way, really, every writer starts writing a book, to learn what he knows. I wanted to learn what I know about men, about love, about relationships—but the funny thing, if you’re doing it right, at some point, the book goes right past you. It ends up knowing more than you do.
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Here is an excerpt from that first book in the series, Deadly Nightshade by Victor J. Banis, available in print and e-format at www.mlrpress.com. I’m still sorting out what it knows that I don’t.

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Straight cop, gay cop, and a woman who “isn’t real.” Tom and Stanley are on the trail of a drag queen serial killer, and along the way, they find themselves engaged in a more intimate pursuit, trying to resolve another mystery: their unexpected attraction to one another.

Excerpt:

“‘A little silver slipper of a moon,’” Stanley said.

“What?”

“Oh, just a line from a play.”

Tom looked searchingly at him. “You really like all that stuff, don’t you?”

“Stuff?”

“Plays, poetry—I’ll bet you like to hang out at art galleries.”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Stanley’s smile was a little embarrassed. “Too fruity for you, I guess.”

They passed the joint back and forth. Tom considered Stanley’s remark for a moment. “No,” he said finally, actually looking up at the moon. “I don’t know any of that shit.  I’m just a dumb cop. It’s kind of nice, to tell you the truth, knowing someone who does. I guess I could learn stuff from you.”

“You’re not dumb,” Stanley said. Tom only grunted again.

The sun was almost up now, hurrying before the night changed its mind, the gray sky enameled with streaks of bronze and amber, the famous skyline silhouetted against them. The ocean was dark gray and green, like the verdigris one sees on old brass, and the headlands in the distance were smoke purple, flecked here and there with a dusty gold, as if a painter had just
daubed at them with his brush. There were those little flecks of gold everywhere, really—gold gray, gold green, gold purple. A pair of early rising gulls called to one another, celebrating the day to come, or maybe jeering their lay-a-bed cousins.

Stanley had seen all this many times, but never before at this time, at this late night, early morning hour, and not from the bridge. It was a spectacular sight.

“It’s beautiful,” he said.

“I never get tired of it.” Tom flicked the roach over the railing, a wink of red as it disappeared, and did the one-handed thing with a stick of gum. “The bridge, the hills, all of it. I come here when I need to quiet my mind down. I guess it’s my kind of poetry.”

Headlights brushed over them. A lone car, its windows down, went by headed for Marin, leaving little flecks of ‘Pretty Woman’ in its wake

Stanley glanced at Tom then, and he had a sudden, almost frightened realization of Tom’s beauty. Oh, he’d known all along that he was good looking, sexy, hot—he just had not until now thought of the word “beauty” in connection with him.

But he was, though, as beautiful as any museum statue or great painting. Not just handsome, which all at once Stanley found too inadequate a word for that dark nest of curls that was his hair, for those brown eyes that glinted sometimes with gold and could turn as dark as thunderclouds in an instant; for the full-lipped mouth—how he had loved kissing that, more than he would have dared admit—and the high cheekbones as if carved of marble. He felt his knees grow weak, and was unaware that he was staring until Tom glanced back at him, his expression puzzled.

“What?” he said, chewing.

Stanley felt something inside himself stir. He wanted to fling his arms about Tom, but he knew that he did not dare. He was afraid to speak, even, to shatter the spell. He took a tiny step closer, not quite close enough to touch, but close enough that he was sure he could feel the warmth of Tom’s body. It made his breath quicken, and he had to cough into his hand to disguise his arousal. He opened his mouth, fully meaning to say, “I love you.”

What came out instead was, “I saw a flying saucer once. When I was twelve.”

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Again, read about me at http://www.vjbanis.com and check out all the great reading
available at www.mlrpress.com