Down and out private eye, Joe Nails, has a problem.
He endures a brief series of surrealistic dreams, in which his long-lost friend pleads for his help before turning a gun to his head and firing. Joe discovers the suicide did occur, a month before his dreams began, so he deepens his probe beneath the mystifying and smoky noir underbelly of 1958 San Francisco, where he encounters rising walls of lies and heartbreak from amorous and anguished women alike, and where he stumbles across incomprehensible goons and vicious killers longing for further bliss, and where he descends deep down into a rathole to become painfully bound to a ruthless yet respectable kingpin bent on reigning over him.
Joe Nails has a problem all right, an entire shopping list of them, but as he speeds down an unrelenting road of murder and mystery with no off-ramps, he just may solve a few…providing the approaching .357 yearning for another victim allows it.
My name is Ryan Janz and I live in Anytown, USA, and I have chosen not to include my photo on my book jacket or Facebook page in the abject fear I will be recognized and therefore mobbed by crazed fans. For example, say I post my picture, and let’s also say I’m walking my dog down my friendly neighborhood street, you know, Main Street, and as a result the unthinkable occurs:
1. I am breathlessly asked by a passing neighbor to autograph my thrilling new Noir/Private Investigator novel, Boulevard Dreams, or I’m pretty sure that’s what he said.
2. My neighbor doesn’t have the book with him, or as he put it, “I’ve never heard of your stupid piece of trash and you frighten me”.
3. I give him a copy I happen to be carrying in my wheelbarrow.
4. My neighbor is hesitant in believing I wrote the book.
5. I produce my driver’s license for proof of my authorship, careful to place my thumb over my picture because I do not wish to be recognized and therefore mobbed by crazed fans.
6. My neighbor threatens to call the police.
7. My dog insists we hastily return home, and as we do, I lower my baseball cap across my face because I do not wish to be recognized and…etc.
8. I hear police sirens and as I hide below the trap door in my basement my dog decides to move out.
9. While living under my basement and perusing a handy book containing chock full of fun survival techniques, it occurs to me I don’t own a dog.
10. Having read how baked rat can easily be transformed into a healthy snack while overthrowing the government, I hear a dog howling in the distance, reminding me it’s time once again to collect my wheelbarrow and join my best friend for a pleasant walk down Main Street, USA.