Title: Beasts of Burdin (Beasts of Burdin #1)
Author: Alexander Nader
Publisher: J. Taylor Publishing
Release Date: February 10, 2014
Demon hunter Ty Burdin hung up his guns, knife, trench coat and fedora a year ago. Bags packed, hands washed of all demon politics, he’s done. Forever.
In fact, to get far far away, he dragged Nora, his rockabilly secretary, from Miami to the Tennessee mountains where he’s lived a life of peace—if peace can be defined as drowning in scotch and taking private eye jobs to keep the lights on. Jobs for real people. Not demons.
He’s retired from that. Remember?
Demon hunters aren’t a dime a dozen, though, and when Ty’s brother asks him for a favor—just one—what’s a brother to do? Agreeing to take down one hillbilly demon shouldn’t take that long. In. Decapitate. Out. Favor complete. Back to the office where Nora and his bottle of whiskey are waiting.
Unfortunately for Ty, staying retired doesn’t seem to be in the cards, and an avalanche of bad luck draws him right back to an agency he despises and the career that nearly cost him his sanity.
This time, Ty has no way out and will have to face his own demons just to survive.
Hi, everybody. I’m Alexander Nader and my new book Beasts of Burdin has just hit the shelves/e-reader-of-your-choosing. Thinking of private eye/demon hunter main character, Ty Burdin, this seems like a good time to talk about my favorite novel PI.
There are a ton of choices, both modern and classic, and I struggled not to say Phillip Marlowe or Sam Spade. I like Marlowe a lot, but that just seemed like too easy of an answer. Others at the top of the list were Nick and Nora Charles from The Thin Man, Driver from Drive, and Bucky Bleichert from The Black Dahlia. I know those aren’t all PIs per say, but I’m stretching the meaning to noir main characters.
So who did I pick? Dave Klein, main character from James Ellroy’s White Jazz. And just why do I like Mr. Klein so much? Don’t quote me on this but, he is the poster-boy of noir fiction. He is the main character and a cop, but he’s not a good guy. Really. He’s a dirty cop doing work for a gangster on the side. He brutalizes witnesses for information. He kills a guy in witness protection so the guy can’t testify against his boss. Yeah, definitely not a good guy, but he’s doing what he has to. Everyone would do some pretty terrible things if they were given no choice.
The way Ellroy writes the story has you pulling for him. You know Klein deserves all of the crap that’s about to drop on his head the entire novel yet you still want him to get out of it clean. Did I mention Klein admits to having slept with his sister? Yeah, weird, not good guy. Did I mention he has a sword he brought back from World War II? If only he carried it on him he could get in to a sword fight with Ty Burdin. You know, the two of them might get along pretty well as long as neither got in the other’s way. Both Dave and Ty are willing to do whatever it takes to get what they want even if that means blood is on their hands.
“Ty Burdin! Answer the phone already. It’s your brother.” The voice comes from the next room in a tone usually used by stress-fried mothers, not twenty-something-year-old receptionists. The harsh words crack through my whiskey-soaked brain like someone snapped a bullwhip in my ear. I pick my head up off the desk and wipe the drool from my mouth, as she bursts in the door.
“He’s adopted, and good morning,” I say, opening the drawer to my desk and digging through it.
“It’s not morning. It’s past noon, you lazy drunk.” Her tone is accusing, but there’s a slight smile to her ruby red lips. I really do think Nora gets enjoyment from trying to keep me in line. Her rockabilly style, all tattoos and polkadots, might scare some people off, but honestly, I think it’s kind of cool.
“Fine, I was wrong about the time, but you’re wrong, too,” I say.
“Oh, yeah? How’s that?” Nora kicks her hip to the side and props a hand on her leopard print skirt.
“I’m not drunk. I’m hungover.” I pull out a flask full of scotch and take a long drink. “I’m working on getting back on track, though.” I tip the flask toward her.
“I swear someone’s gonna find you in a ditch one day.” Her voice has a trace of concern, but it’s mostly drowned out by annoyance.
“In my line of work, that’s almost a guarantee. Now, can you tell me why you disturbed my ugly sleep?” Ugly sleep is a gross understatement. No amount of alcohol ever seems to drown out the vision of the young, innocent girl burned into my memory. The scene is even more ominous in my dreams than it was in real life.
A thunderclap breaks the silence of my memories. Nora stares down at me, hands stuck together. “Wake up, drunkard. Hartnet’s been trying to reach you on the phone for the past fifteen minutes.”
The pocket of my jacket buzzes, probably been ringing the entire time. Nora walks over to where it hangs by the door and withdraws the phone. “Jesus, Ty. You’ve got four missed calls, ten new messages, and over twenty emails. Do you ever check this thing?”
“No.” I have the phone, but honestly, I hate it.
Nora sets the still ringing phone on my desk, puts her hands on her hips and, using only facial expressions, guilts me into picking up.
“Hello,” I say into the phone that smells of smoke. I use my free hand to dig out cigarettes and a lighter.
“Ty! Finally, man, where you been?” Hartnet asks.
“Oh, you know me. I just got back from hiking the Swiss Alps with Edmund Hillary.”
“Real funny, Ty, but I imagine you’ve been spending more time with Jim or Jack.”
“God, no, I hate southern whiskey,” I say. “I prefer a fine scotch, Macallan to be specific.”
“You prefer whatever’s in front of you as long as there’s a proof label on the bottle,” Hartnet says.
I don’t have any argument for that. “So, what do you want?”
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About the Author
Alex lives in the tourist infested hills of east Tennessee with his amazing wife/muse and three superb children. He would tell you more about how awesome they are, but you probably wouldn’t believe him. When he’s not hanging out with them he’s making pizzas. When he’s not doing that he’s working at a bookstore and occasionally he jots a few words down. He’s a big fan of good music, good storytelling, and mixed martial arts.
He once wrote a short story about pirates to his wife via text message that blossomed into a full length novel and never stopped after that.
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