Jan 27

Site Update

Hi Po$$e members,

I hope the new year is off to a great start and that 2015 ends up being your best ever!

You’ll notice that I’ve done a pretty major overhaul of the site. It was long overdue and I think you’ll find it easier to navigate. One of my New Year resolutions was to share a lot more information through the site on a regular basis and, since January is almost over, it seemed like a good time to get started.

I want to thank all of you for your support in making the launch of Either Ore, the first book in my new series, The Cautionary Tales of Either Ore, so successful. Sales and early reviews have been terrific and I’m so glad that everyone seems to be enjoying the book.

That is, everyone except one individual who gave me a one-star review because I use that word…(rhymes with duck) and they couldn’t get past the first couple of pages. Too bad, because they missed out on what I think is a really strong and very funny book. Nobody likes to get the dreaded one-stars; they’re rare, but they happen. And, invariably, it’s because the book just happened to land with someone who isn’t a fan of the genre I write in.

But onward we go…as you all know all too well, I write comic crime that is for adults and make no bones about it. And people, like Either and Casper who steal diamonds for a living, tend to use words that rhyme with duck…and flit.

I’m currently working on the next book in the Damaged Po$$e series, something a lot of you have been asking about. I’m hoping for a summer launch and it’s more of a thriller than previous books in the series. In short, it’s about what happens when technology meets End of Days prophecies head on. All the usual suspects are back and Merlin is in a particularly foul mood. And that fact doesn’t do much for the other Po$$e members’ moods since they end up having to clean up a pretty big mess.

Stay tuned. I think it’s going to be a good one.

Be well, my friends.

Dec 31

Happy New Year!

new years copyI’d like to wish all of you a fantastic New Year.

I hope 2015 brings you nothing but peace, prosperity, and joy!

Thanks, as always, for all your kindness and support this year!

Be well, my friends.


bucket champagne 5-26-14 copy

Dec 14

Either Ore is Available for Pre-Order

Either Ore cover final 12-5-14 copy

I’m sure you’ve all had days like this.

About four months ago, I had one of those mornings when – with full deference to Harry Potter – the Muggles were winning big. And on days like that, I’ll often head to an Indian restaurant near my office to get away from the noise, clear my head, and enjoy an extra-hot Vindaloo. On those days, I bring along my notebook just in case…

And on that extra-hot Austin day in August, as I was nibbling a piece of naan, a thought just popped into my mind: What would happen if two jewelry thieves met while they were robbing the same house?

One hour later I left the restaurant, very full, with a complete outline of my new book, Either Ore. The idea was so good, and the storyline so clear and fully-fleshed, that it simply pushed every other writing project I was working on aside. Fully-formulated stories and characters rarely emerge from the subconscious, and when they do, I tend to get focused in a hurry.

So it is with considerable pride, and a healthy dose of fatigue, that I present to you the first book in my new series; The Cautionary Tales of Either Ore. I already have the next two books in the series sketched out, and I know that, before too long, the characters from the Either Ore series and the Damaged Po$$e gang will be meeting head on. But I’m getting ahead of the story…

Either Ore is launching on January 1st but, as a special thanks to all of you, I’m offering the book via Amazon’s Pre-Order process for $0.99. Click the link below to reserve your copy for ninety-cents and, on New Year’s Day, it will magically appear on your e-book reader. For those of you who prefer paperback, you will have that option available from the same link.

Get Either Ore here:

I think you’re really going to enjoy Either Ore. If you have half as much fun reading it as I did writing it, you’re in for a real treat.

As always, thanks so much for your ongoing support. I’ll be in touch soon.

Here’s the synopsis and first chapter to get you started.

Be well, my friends.


Either Ore cover final 12-5-14 copy

Either Ore and Casper Dupree, two of the best jewelry thieves to ever work the circuit, first meet during a chance encounter when they realize they’re inadvertently robbing the same house. They meet for the second time three years later after Either has been released from prison and Casper has launched a fledgling career as an author of romance novels. And now Either has come up with the perfect way for them to pull off the ultimate road trip caper, as well as help Casper sell a few books in the process.

Hitting the road in a leased Winnebago, Either and Casper embark on the next chapter in their career in crime as coconspirators of Casper Dupree’s Endless Book Tour. Along the way they partner with Coco, a femme fatale with a penchant for classic noir and creative crime. They also manage to attract the attention of an FBI agent who has a history with Either and is determined to do everything in his power to make sure that the bad guys don’t win.



Either Ore further reinforces B.R. Snow’s position as one of the funniest writers working today and the book is the latest example of Snow’s ability to produce great characters and write dialogue that pops off the page while keeping readers turning the pages to find out what happens next. But beyond the humor, Either Ore is a terrific narrative about friendship and choices and the consequences that follow.

Chapter 1

Casper had strolled out of the second floor master bathroom, drying his hands with a monogrammed towel, when he saw the guy for the first time. Only ten minutes earlier, Casper had been cursing his inability to decipher the wall safe. But this guy already had it open, making Casper feel like a fucking amateur.

Casper had needed a break when his stomach, always touchy during B&E’s, began fighting back against the extra-spicy, mega bean burrito he’d scarfed down earlier in the car. His stomach now settled into a slow roil, Casper leaned against the door and studied the guy taking items from the safe and sliding them into a large cloth sack. Casper snapped on a fresh pair of work gloves, then reached into his jacket pocket.

Upon hearing the snap, the guy emptying the safe turned and the small flashlight in his left hand lit the gun extending from Casper’s right. Casper’s first impression was that he was impressed by how the guy managed to stay so cool. Here he was, caught red-handed with a Glock pointed at his chest from eight feet, and the fucking guy just smiled and tossed another piece of jewelry in the bag. The room was dark, but Casper had seen enough sparkling to know that whatever it was, it was made out of diamonds. The guy glanced down into the bag, then back at Casper. The smile never left his face.

“Find what you were looking for?”

The guy focused on the Glock, probably deciding at that exact moment if Casper was going to shoot him, he’d have already done it.

The guy flashed that smile again.

“I guess. I was hoping for a bit more cash since, every time I have to fence jewelry, I always end up getting screwed on the exchange. But, yeah, I can make this work.”

“I’m impressed,” Casper said, nodding at the safe. “How’d you get it open? I was starting to think I was going to have to blast my way in.”

“I can open anything.” He shrugged. “Don’t know why. It’s just always been that way. When I was a kid, the neighbors were always stopping by the house when they had a pickle jar or some shit they couldn’t open.” He nodded at Casper’s hand. “Triumph brand, right?”

Casper, still impressed by how in control the guy was, nodded and said, “You know, it’s funny. I’m holding a gun that can turn you into hamburger, but you want to talk about gloves.”

“Hey, every two bit thug out there carries a gun, but only a total pro would understand the importance of good gloves. Those the Triumph Micros?”

“Yeah, only ones I use,” Casper said, starting to warm up to the guy.

“Me too,” he said. “The Micros are super thin. And all the neurosurgeons and cardiologists swear by them. I’ve worn condoms that weren’t as sensitive as these things.”

“I’ll remember that the next time I want to practice safe wanking.” Casper pointed the Glock at the bag. “You want to put that down on the table next to the bed?”

“Not really,” he said. “Whatever happened to possession is nine tenths of the law?”

“Nothing. But you’re possessing a bag.” Casper waggled the gun. “I’m possessing this.”

“Is that the Glock 19?”


“Shit, man. I’ve got the same model, right here in my pocket.” The guy patted the right side of his jacket.

Casper fully extended the arm holding the gun. “You think you can get it out before I blow a hole the size of that safe in your chest?”

“Hey, relax, will ya? Don’t go losing your fucking mind. I was just trying to make a point.”

“And what would that be?”

“The point is that we got stuff in common. Same gloves, a smart business decision on both our parts that can’t be underestimated. Same gun, lightweight but powerful. And reliable. When you need it, you damn well want to be sure it’s gonna do the trick, right? Same kind of shoes, ones that are both quiet and comfortable. Shit, we even picked the same house to rob. Shows we have good taste and a sense of style.”


“So the point is, maybe it’s a sign.”

“A sign.”

“Yeah, a sign that maybe the two of us should be working together. At a minimum, we could probably get a discount on gloves. You know, buying in bulk and all.”

Casper laughed. Definitely the coolest crook he’d ever met. Guy staring down the barrel of a Glock but still able to find the funny and improvise on the fly. Casper shook his head.

“Sorry, I work alone.”

“I got a ton of ideas, man. Really good ideas, but I’d need a partner to make some of them work. What do they say? Many hands make light work, or some shit like that.”

“No, you got it right. So why don’t you just hand it over and I’ll be on my way. But feel free to help yourself to what’s in the fridge before you go. That way your night won’t be a total loss.”

“Real funny. It ain’t fair. Wasn’t for me, you’d still be scratching your balls, wondering how to open that safe without waking up the whole neighborhood. Aren’t you the least bit interested in what I’ve got to say? Or learning about my skill set?”

“Actually, what I’m interested in is what’s in that bag.” Casper wagged the gun at the small table next to the bed.”

The guy held one hand up as a sign for Casper not to shoot him and inched his way toward he table. He slowly emptied the bag and trained the flashlight on the contents. “Earrings, necklaces, couple of bracelets…all diamond. Six Rolexes; three men’s, three women’s, if you can believe that. All those watches, and these rich pricks are probably so out of touch they don’t even know what month it is, much less the time. Couple bundles of cash, looks like twenty K each. Not bad for fifteen minutes work…would have been less than that, if you hadn’t felt the need to threaten me with a gun and slow down my progress.” He stopped and cocked his head. “What the hell was that?”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Car door. Two of them…but soft, like somebody didn’t want anybody to hear them close.”

The guy crossed to the window and peered out through the side of the curtain. “Damn.” He stepped back from the window, the smile gone.

“What is it?” Casper said, approaching the window. “Cops?”

“Worse. Security company. At least cops will give you a chance to give yourself up. The rent-a-cops the security companies hire are so bored most of the time, they’ll shoot you just for something to do.” He peered back through the curtain. “Goddamn it.”


“They’re coming up the driveway. Two of them. A silent alarm must have gone off.”

“That’s not possible,” Casper said. “I turned the security system off before I came in.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said. He paused and stared at Casper. “Shit.”

“You must have turned it back on.”

“Son of a bitch. How the hell did I do that?”

“Nice going, Mr. I Can Open Anything.”

“I can,” he said. “But I have a problem with computer shit.”

“Ya think?”

They heard the front door click open and muffled voices downstairs in the foyer.

The guy turned the flashlight off.

“Well, how do you want to play it?” Casper whispered.

“Well, I sure don’t want to stick around here and shoot it out with a couple of nine dollar an hour cowboys. I guess we’ll need to go out the window.”

The guy snuck another peek through the curtain then slowly slid the window open. He stuck his head out and looked both ways along the edge of the roofline.  “There’s a small ledge I think we can get to. We can climb out and work our way over to the garage. We should be able to jump down from there.”

Casper poked his head through the window and did a quick assessment. “Okay, let’s do it.” Casper put his gun back in his pocket and started to climb through the window. The guy grabbed his shoulder.

“Hang on. One more thing,” he whispered.

“What’s that?”

“The stuff. How we gonna divide it up?”

Casper glanced at the table, then back at the guy. “Focused little prick, aren’t you?”

“Hey, man,” he said. “I’m trying to make a living here. This is business, not personal.” He crossed to the table and refilled the bag. “Tell you what…you take the forty thousand in cash, I’ll take the jewelry. By the time I get it fenced, I’ll be lucky if I get anywhere near forty for all of it.”

“Bullshit,” Casper whispered. “My three-year-old nephew could get forty for all that.”

“Be that as it may,” the guy said. “I’m still getting the short end of the stick, but it ain’t like either one of us is in much of a position to stand here and haggle.”

Casper thought for a moment, then nodded and stuffed the two bundles of cash into his pocket. “Okay, let’s go.”

The guy folded the bag and placed it inside his jacket, then zipped it tight. He watched Casper swing his legs out the window, then heard a soft thud as he landed on the ledge below. He looked down. Casper, through the moonlight, gave him a thumbs up. He swung his legs out the window and joined Casper on the ledge. Facing the house, they inched along the ledge shuffling sideways.

“By the way,” Casper said. “I’m Casper Dupree.”

“Good to meet you. I’m Either Ore.”

“Either or what?”

“Either or fucking nothing. That’s my name.”

Casper continued to shuffle along the ledge heading towards the garage roof. “Either? Your name is Either?”

“Yeah. Either Ore. That’s O.R.E. You got a problem with that, Casper?”

“No. No problem. Your parents must have a sense of humor.”

“They liked to think so.”

“Pretty unusual. Be a hard name to forget,” Casper said, slowing a bit as they approached the garage.

“Yeah, well, if you end up getting pulled in by the cops, just make sure it manages to slip your mind.”

“No problem. I’ve never divulged anything to the cops in my life, and I’m not about to start. And I’m safe assuming you’ll extend me the same courtesy?”

“Man, do you ever listen to yourself? Sometimes you sound like you’re trying to come across as some kind of professor.”

“Fine. How’s this…can you keep your fucking mouth shut if you get arrested?”

“No worries there. I already forgot your name, Casper.”

They reached the point where the ledge met the garage roof, jumped, and each landed with a soft thud. They walked to the edge of the garage roof and looked down.

“It’s only about ten feet,” Casper said, staring down at the concrete driveway. “If we tuck and roll, we shouldn’t break anything.”

“That’s very comforting,” Either said, looking down for a landing spot.

Casper checked that the two bundles of cash were secure, then inched his way to the edge of the garage room. “See you on the other side.”

Either came to a stop.

“Wait, I heard something.”

“Man, you got good ears,” Casper said. “What is it?”

“Sounded like a growl.”

Casper peered down through the darkness.

“Shit, you’re right. Dog.”

“Dog? Fuck.”

“Big dog…cop dog.”


“No. German Shepherd. Where’d you ever see a Rottweiler that was a cop dog?”

“I’m telling you, I’ve seen it.” Either started walking in small circles. “Damn. I hate dogs. Especially cop dogs.”

“How can anybody hate dogs? What the hell is the matter with you?”

“Let’s just say I’m scared of them and leave it at that.”

“Well, suck it up,” Casper said. “Let’s go.”

“Not with that dog down there.”

“You’d rather stay here and get shot?”

“Hey, I raise my arms up here, I don’t get shot. I raise my arms down there, the only thing I do is make it easier for that dog to bite my balls off.”

Casper glanced back towards the house. Lights were coming on one room at a time as the security guards conducted their search. Casper reached down and removed his shoes. He whistled softly, then threw one into a large shrub off to one side of the garage. He heard a growl and the sound of the dog’s nails scratching on the concrete. Silence. Then they both heard a throaty growl directly underneath them on the ground below.

“Jesus Christ,” Casper said. “Listen to that.”

“I’m trying not to,” Either said.

Casper threw his second shoe deeper into the shrub. The dog barked and scrambled off towards the bush.

“Okay, it’s now or never,” Casper said.

Either, paralyzed with fear, shook his head. “Never.”

“You’re joking, right? You’d rather get arrested than take your chances with a dog?”

“You ever see how much damage a pissed off cop dog can do?”

“Okay, it’s your funeral.” Casper jumped off the garage, landed and tumbled, managing to only bang his knee and roll an ankle. He scrambled to his feet and looked up. “You coming or not?”

“Where’s the dog?” Either said.

“He’s in the bushes, but I’m sure he’ll be back soon. C’mon.”

“No. I can’t do it.”

“Don’t be such a pussy,” Casper said, shaking his head.

Either stayed right where he was.

“Well, at least toss down the bag.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“You want to give it back? Or get arrested holding it?”

“Shit.” Either unzipped his jacket and tossed the bag down to Casper, who caught it, then started running up the driveway with a limping gait.

“And I want it back. You hear me?”

Either’s voice, well above a whisper, caught the dog’s attention. It returned to the driveway and sat growling directly below the fear-stricken Either. Casper paused halfway up the driveway and watched the two security guards climb out a bedroom window onto the garage roof.

“Freeze, asshole!”

Either slowly raised his hands and turned to face them as they slowly worked their way across the roof.

“Don’t fucking move!”

“Relax cowboy,” Casper heard Either say. “I know the drill.”


Nov 22

The Damaged Po$$e Celebrates Black Friday

Hi folks,

As Thanksgiving approaches here in the U.S., millions of people are gearing up for Black Friday which, if it was a sport, would be a delightful combination of football and hockey. Personally, Black Friday is something I prefer to celebrate from the comfort of home since shopping on that day and severe bruising followed by a trip to the ER seem to often go hand in hand – I guess that’s what happens when you advertise incredible, over-hyped, Don’t-Miss deals and get a 1,000 people in your store fighting over the 6 items actually available at that price.

But no sleight of hand-tricks or false advertising on this site!

I am getting into the holiday spirit and trying to do my part to help our still-struggling economy.

Starting Monday, November 24th at 12AM PST, the first four books in my Damaged Po$$e series will go on sale for the very cool price of .99 and stay available at that price for a week. Yeah, for a buck you get your choice. For less than four bucks, you get all of them.

What better way to make it through the second-half of some of the inevitable snooze-fest games we’ll be subjected to? Or after you’ve exhausted every family conversation and watched Home Alone for the 30th time, you’ll be able to curl up with some great reading. So load up your Kindle, make yourself a turkey sandwich and enjoy!

OK, my totally self-promoting, over-hyped, Don’t-Miss sales pitch is done.

As always, thanks so much for your ongoing support!

I continue to have the best group of readers on the planet!

Be well, my friends.



American Midnight final v2 6-2-2013 copy




Doc White wakes up in a Las Vegas hotel suite a very confused man with a massive tequila hangover. As he reflects on the previous day’s events that included his wife walking out on him and with their joint savings, the return of the voice in his head, his subsequent loss of another $150,000 at the blackjack tables, and then waking up next to a total stranger, Doc’s already damaged life has taken another serious dip downward.

In order to pay off his new debt, Doc is forced to do something he vowed years ago never to do again; take a corporate job. Doc’s new boss, an octogenarian Chinese casino owner with a taste for curling and political intrigue, along with the return of an old love help to reenergize Doc as he tries to rebuild his life in Sin City. At a major crossroads, Doc draws on the expertise of Merlin, his coke-addled, phobic colleague from a prior life and Summerman, a part-time ghost who is certain he can help Doc deal with the voice in his head. By the time this initial installment in B.R. Snow’s Damaged Po$$e series is wrapped up, Doc, Merlin, and Summerman have joined forces and are armed and ready to wreak havoc on the bad guys as well as themselves.


Larrikin Cover 12-30-2012 small copy




Gene has a bit of a problem. Several actually. He’s wrapping up a year-long, high-end matchmaking scam that has proven to be most profitable but, in the process, he’s lost the love of his life to a billionaire. Now to help mend his broken heart, he’s back in Las Vegas finishing up another lucrative scam. But the FBI is on his trail and Gene discovers that the agent in charge is none other than the hapless Roger Gentry, a high school acquaintance with whom he shares a tenuous past. To make matters worse, Gene is soon sleeping with the other agent on the case who turns out to be Gentry’s fiancé.

To cool things off, Gene decides it’s time for a well deserved vacation Down Under. He brings along his father, an ex-convict whose biggest wish in life is to work one scam with his son before he dies. And before Gene can even get a chance to catch his breath and enjoy his time off, he finds himself running the ultimate con; one that threatens to irrevocably change his life. Fortunately for Gene, the Po$$e needs his help and Doc, Summerman and Merlin follow him to Australia to do a little recruiting and provide Gene with a possible way out of his current predicament.


Sneaker World cover final 5-18-2013 copy




Sir Bentley Carruthers, sneaker magnate and exploiter of the poor on four continents, has decided to expand his empire into the lucrative field of biopiracy. He’s purchased a small group of islands from the Indian government ostensibly to assist with recovery efforts after a devastating tsunami. So he’s built a sneaker factory on one of the islands along with a high-end resort that caters exclusively to the uber-rich.

Unfortunately for Sir Bentley, Doc and the rest of the Damaged Po$$e are well aware of what his real motives are. And the fact that Sir Bentley has been selling weapons technology to the highest bidders also hasn’t gone unnoticed. After the Po$$e arrives on the island, they embark on their strangest and funniest adventure yet that is filled with dense jungles, a lost tribe, cantankerous girlfriends, shoulder-fired missiles, and a safari suit wearing antagonist you’ll love to hate.


Summerman Final Cover 6-2-2013 copy




In the eagerly anticipated fourth book in B.R. Snow’s popular Damaged Po$$e series, Summerman finds himself staying close to home and, of course, he isn’t shy about enlisting the help of his three cohorts in crime. Set in the magnificent surroundings of the Thousand Islands, Summerman needs to juggle several problems simultaneously and each one brings along its own challenges and predictably hysterical outcomes. Summerman is faced with stopping his uncle’s Senate campaign, along with the plan he and his defrocked priest partner in crime have come up with. Summerman also has to deal with the return of his ex-girlfriend, Grace, and her two daughters as well as his nephew’s plan to put Summerman’s band back together. On top of all that, Summerman’s grandmother, Mamo, has a few surprises in store as well. Doc, Merlin, Gene are all back as is Murray and, unfortunately for Uncle Dick, he is in particularly fine form.


Nov 08

Either Ore is Launching Soon!

Hi Po$$e members,

I hope everyone is doing great and I’m sorry I’ve been absent here for a while. But I’ve been busy working on my latest book. It’s currently with my editor but it will be launching next month in time for Christmas.

And, yes, I think it will make a great stocking stuffer – not to mention that it will also look great on your Kindle.

I thought you’d like a preview of the cover and the book blurb.

I think you’re really going to enjoy Either Ore.

I’ll be in touch soon!

Be well, my friends.


Either Ore cover 11-2-14 copy

Either Ore and Casper Dupree, two of the best jewelry thieves to ever work the circuit, first meet during a chance encounter when they realize they’re inadvertently robbing the same house. They meet for the second time three years later after Either has been released from prison and Casper has launched a fledgling career as an author of romance novels. And now Either has come up with the perfect way for them to pull off the ultimate road trip caper, as well as help Casper sell a few books in the process.

Hitting the road in a leased Winnebago, Either and Casper embark on the next chapter in their career in crime as coconspirators of Casper Dupree’s Endless Book Tour. Along the way they partner with Coco, a femme fatale with a penchant for classic noir and creative crime. They also manage to attract the attention of an FBI agent who has a history with Either and is determined to do everything in his power to make sure that the bad guys don’t win.

Either Ore further reinforces B.R. Snow’s position as one of the funniest writers working today. And as fans of his work would expect, he simply couldn’t write a book like this without making satirical observations about the writing process and publishing that will leave readers, especially industry insiders, with a big smile on their face. Either Ore is the latest example of B.R. Snow’s ability to produce great characters and write dialogue that pops off the page while keeping readers turning the pages to find out what happens next. But beyond the humor, Either Ore is a terrific narrative about friendship and choices and the consequences that follow.

Aug 11

American Midnight Promotion Continues

Hello Po$$e members,

I want to thank all of you for helping make my current promotion of American Midnight, book 1 in my Damaged Po$$e series, so successful.

It was very satisfying to watch the book climb the Amazon rankings over the weekend and I truly appreciate everyone’s ongoing support.

I continue to be blessed with an amazing collection of friends and fans.

For those of you who haven’t had a chance to take advantage of the promotional rate of only 99 cents, you still have a few days left to grab your copy.

Just click the link below.

Have a great week and happy reading!

Best wishes,


Aug 09

American Midnight Promotion Is Underway

Hello Po$$e members,

The 7 day promotion of American Midnight, book 1 in my Damaged Po$$e series has started. For the next week it will be on sale for the very low price of 99 cents. Yes I know, I’m practically giving it away!

Click the cover image below to grab a copy.

Enjoy your weekend and happy reading!


Aug 03

American Midnight Promo – August 9th – 16th

American Midnight final v2 6-2-2013 copy

Hi folks,

I hope your summer is going great and that you and your family and friends are getting the chance to relax and have some fun!

I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be running a seven-day promotion of American Midnight, Book #1 in my Damaged Po$$e series. The book will be on sale for 99 cents. Yes, it’s only a buck so if you haven’t already read it, here’s your chance to get it at a very low price.

Here’s a bit of information about the book along with some actual reviews and the first chapter to get you started.



Doc White wakes up in a Las Vegas hotel suite a very confused man with a massive tequila hangover. As he reflects on the previous day’s events that included his wife walking out on him and with their joint savings, the return of the voice in his head, his subsequent loss of another $150,000 at the blackjack tables, and then waking up next to a total stranger, Doc’s already damaged life has taken another serious dip downward. In order to pay off his new debt, Doc is forced to do something he vowed years ago never to do again; take a corporate job. Doc’s new boss, an octogenarian Chinese casino owner with a taste for curling and political intrigue, along with the return of an old love help to reenergize Doc as he tries to rebuild his life in Sin City. At a major crossroads, Doc draws on the expertise of Merlin, his coke-addled, phobic colleague from a prior life and Summerman, a part-time ghost who is certain he can help Doc deal with the voice in his head. By the time this initial installment in B.R. Snow’s Damaged Posse series is wrapped up, Doc, Merlin, and Summerman have joined forces and are armed and ready to wreak havoc on the bad guys as well as themselves.


I discovered B.R. Snow last year when I read his very funny ‘Divorce Hotel’. I promptly posted up a five-star review on my blog and recommended it to all my friends on various social networking sites.

Why am I not surprised that ‘American Midnight’ is another five-star offering?

Snow has an original voice. His writings are deceptively easy to read, yet his light touch conceals a myriad of profound observations on humanity. His plots are unpredictable and often move off in surprising directions – unlike a lot of the formulaic offerings which abound. His characters tend to the offbeat, and humour is never far away.

‘American Midnight’ – a reference to the possible end of US world-dominance – is the first in Snow’s ‘Damaged Posse’ series. Without straying into spoiler territory (and it would be a great shame to spoil any reader’s enjoyment of this unusual novel), this work features a wily octogenarian Chinese casino owner, ex CIA operatives, a part-time ghost and a host of other memorable individuals; all of whom are in some way ‘damaged’. Many of them stray into morally dubious territory – a feature that I like very much. The plot twists and turns like a pit of snakes, yet Snow still gives us plenty to smile about. There are a few genuine ‘laugh out loud’ moments.

Book Two of Snow’s series – ‘Larrikin Gene’ – is already on my Kindle. In my humble opinion, this series has the potential to be huge.

A really strong opening novel in what has real potential to become an incredibly popular series. It’s unusual to see multiple, fully-developed main characters juggled as seamlessly as they are here and B.R. Snow has set the Damaged Posse series up in a way that provides himself with a wide variety of directions to move in future volumes. The storylines are compelling, the characters pop off the page, and Snow displays a sense of irreverence which serves him well as he takes on greed, hypocrisy, and the vagaries of relationships. Best of all, he is one very funny writer. Don’t miss this one and the ones that follow. Comic crime hasn’t looked this good is a very long time.

Enjoyed this book more than many I’ve been reading lately. Very glad I came upon this author. It’s an adult book, the first in a series, sharp and well-written. The style is almost an updated noir, for the tech age, with the same kind of edge and slap, yet there is a real humor that comes from the finely crafted details and engaging characterizations all through it. I was baited from page one, but have to admit the hook was really sunk at the point where Doc (a very complex individual) newly divorced, leaves his wedding ring on the paw of a dead skunk thirty miles outside Barstow (I laughed out loud), this on his way to a real bender in Vegas where all the fun begins. From there, it was a fast and enjoyable read through to a tempting tease of an ending. Glad this is a #1. If the rest of the books are as enjoyable as this one, and the author gives me no reason to believe they aren’t, it will end up being a thoroughly enjoyable read all around.


Chapter 1

I woke at five with an empty heart and a head full of tequila. Two hours of sleep had no effect on my internal clock that over the years had developed its own on-off switch. I did maintain some control over when to turn it off; but the on-switch flipped at five.

I swayed as I got out of bed, amazed I had regained consciousness. Knowing all too well that gambling and drinking were a deadly combination, I cursed my stupidity. I had certainly planned on getting drunk, but only after winning a few grand at blackjack. Some plans were meant to be broken. This wasn’t one of them.

I shuffled across the suite. A mirror beckoned but I couldn’t bring myself to look. Not yet anyway.

Last night started to come back.

Stacks of chips. Green, black, purple. How much had it been? Seventy, maybe eighty thousand? Certainly not major league, but big for me.

The woman in the red dress. Perched against my right shoulder, nuzzling my neck, whispering in my ear. Her words lost in casino noise and my lack of focus on what she was saying. But I remembered the nuzzling.

I remembered my cockiness too. The early evening success that followed the utter despair of the day.

And the booze. Alcohol was a regular companion, but pounding tequila shooters at the blackjack table was incomprehensible.

And unforgivable.

Don’t drink and gamble, the voice had warned.

Absent for the past several weeks, the voice had returned yesterday and refused to leave.

From the corner of my eye, the mirror beckoned. I moved forward cautiously and scanned the dresser top where my clothes and belongings were heaped.
No chips. That was probably bad news.

Keys, wallet, cigarettes, cell phone, watch…something was missing. Silently, I repeated the list. Keys, wallet, cigarettes, cell phone, watch…wedding ring. Wedding ring. In a flood of emotions too powerful for a half-drunk, hung-over man old enough to know better, I remembered why I came to Vegas in the first place.
Yesterday morning my wife of only a year and a half had announced as I stepped naked from the shower she was leaving. And she left. For Greece. Something about finding a real man, a man bronzed by the sun, to love her and treat her like the lady she was. Or did she say could be? I couldn’t remember her exact words because at the time I was busy getting soap out of my ears. I did remember my response.

“Leaving? What a good idea.”

At least it had been until I called the bank thirty minutes later to check the status of our joint account. The automated voice on the end of the line was far too unemotional in announcing the account’s current balance was $1. That is, it was $1 after my Greek-god-seeking, soon to be ex-wife had withdrawn $187,892 via wire transfer to the Fuck You, Be Glad I Left You a Dollar Bank of Athens.

So the wedding ring was off the list. I had removed one of the six items that told me my life was in order and prepared for another day of battle against the onslaught of the grind. I lit a cigarette and sat naked on the edge of the bed out of the mirror’s line of sight.

I ran through it again. Keys, wallet, cigarettes, cell phone, watch. It was concise and certainly simpler. I liked the rhythm and it had a nice ring to it.

The ring.

I remembered yesterday’s most impressive accomplishment.

I’d been driving to Vegas from LA in a roller coaster mixture of elation and rage with the music loud and the cruise control set at a hundred. For the past hour, I’d been holding the wedding ring, occasionally turning it around in my fingers pondering the beauty and social significance of its simplicity. And it’s seamless completeness. I was torn between hurling it out the window or selling it and using the proceeds for one hand of blackjack. A winning hand would be an omen of better times ahead, but a loss would only reinforce my latest financial debacle. The last thing I needed was a reminder.

Thirty miles past Barstow, I passed a dead skunk on the side of the highway. After a quick U-turn, the overpowering stench left me wondering how long a skunk, like my defunct marriage, had to be dead before the smell disappeared. The body, while not decomposing, was in definite stages of decay. I knelt along the side of the road, oblivious to the speeding cars. Whatever questions the drivers may have had about the man dressed in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt kneeling alongside a dead skunk were of no concern to me.

It wasn’t very big and, beneath its fur, the skunk looked skinny. I wondered if this was normal or if the skunk just hadn’t eaten in a while. Its fur flickered as the desert wind gusted. The skunk was on its back, the body rigid with its legs stuck straight up in the air. The feet – or were they called paws – were perfectly symmetrical. Flip him over and he would make a perfect, yet unusual, little table. But where would you put it? Perhaps the zoo? A little zoo table. A place for all the resident skunks that didn’t have to worry about getting whacked by speeding cars to rest their feet.

The only sign of bodily damage, apart from it being stiff as a board, was a missing toenail. Clipped off by the wheel of a speeding truck? Broken as he rolled from the impact? Lost in a fight with Mrs. Skunk? I studied the skunk’s eyes. What do the eyes say about the last thing in any creature’s mind the second before death? I recoiled from my own question. It was at that moment the voice returned.

Don’t go there.

I cocked my head and waited. “Are you back?”

We’ll see.

I nodded and refocused on the skunk. Its eyes portrayed shock. Shock from the impact, or maybe it had had time to ponder its impending fate. Few outward signs of damage, but an internal system scrambled and rearranged, the ability to function forever lost. I took the wedding ring from my shirt pocket and placed it on the skunk’s left paw on the claw most resembling a ring finger.

I stood and stared down at the rigid body. The skunk appeared different. It was now a member of society’s most sought after and misunderstood club. It had acquired the means to generate sympathy from passersby who might wonder if the skunk had kids and how the family must be devastated by the loss.
I decided it was time for a drink.

The skunk was dead. But I, although very much alone, was still alive. And I’d stumbled onto the perfect resting place for the ring. Thirty miles outside of Barstow, adorning a dead skunk’s foot. Its life, like mine, permanently altered in the amount of time it takes to step in front of a speeding car.

Or out of the shower.

The pounding in my head was relentless and I knew from experience this would be an all-day hangover. I pulled on a bathrobe, sat on the edge of the bed and tried to summon details from last night. I came up blank.

That can’t be good news.

I appreciated the voice’s whisper. The more I tried to concentrate, the more my head pounded. My stomach churned and I tried to remember if I’d eaten dinner. A soft constant sound worked its way into my consciousness. Air conditioning? No. Running water.

I carefully hoisted myself off the bed and shuffled to the bathroom door and inched it open. Amidst the steam, I admired the muscular back of a woman washing her hair. I focused on the woman’s taut buttocks. I continued the journey down her lean thighs and calves. My eyes drifted back to her tight bottom.

“World class,” I whispered.

Despite the headache and nausea, I began to get aroused and cursed my alcohol consumption. To have shared intimacy with this woman would have been extraordinary. To not remember would be criminal. I silently pulled the door shut and returned to the edge of the bed. The water stopped, the sound replaced by familiar sounds of post-shower activity.

Who is she and how did she get up here?

I was hoping you’d be able to tell me.

A hooker, I decided. Given my condition last night, I couldn’t imagine any other woman agreeing to a sleepover. The bathroom door opened and she appeared wearing a towel around her waist and another wrapped around her head. She jumped when she saw me.

“Sweet Jesus,” she said, catching her breath. “You’re up. I was going to leave you a note. Good morning.” She cocked her head at me. “You look like shit.”
A smile was fixed on her face as she watched me glance back and forth between her eyes and breasts. Making no attempt to cover herself, she stood still and allowed me some time. I marveled at their slight upward turn. The air conditioning applied the finishing touches.

They’re perfect.

I nodded.

“Do you mind if I use one of your bathrobes?”

“As long as you don’t mind if I ask you who you are and why you’re in my room.”

She laughed and padded softly across the carpet. She grabbed a bathrobe from the closet. She smiled and released the towel from around her waist.
“I’m Grace.”

“Grace. As in state of?”

“That depends.” She focused on untying the knot on the bathrobe’s belt. “I’m here because you asked me. Besides, I wanted to make sure you got home safe.”
I tried to focus on her words but was distracted by the sight of her sliding effortlessly into the plush robe. A knock on the door broke what was left of my concentration.

“Oh, good. Breakfast is here.” She tightened the robe and went to the door. “Good morning, Ernesto. Just put everything on the table over there.”

“Good morning, Grace. How was your evening?”

“Tragically uneventful.”

The waiter chuckled as he rolled a large cart across the room. He noticed me sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Good morning, sir.” His tone was cheerful and upbeat. I barely managed a nod in response.

“Thank you, Ernesto.”

“My pleasure, Grace. Enjoy your breakfast.”

He waved goodbye to her, smiled at me and departed. I continued to sit lifeless on the edge of the bed.

“Why don’t you grab a quick shower before we eat?”

I looked at the woman who had taken charge and nodded. I stood and shuffled toward the bathroom.

“I’ll get this set up. How do you like your coffee?”

From the bathroom doorway, I turned. “In solitude?”

She smiled and waited.

“Just cream,” I said, closing the door behind me.

When I returned several minutes later she was fully dressed in a beautiful red evening gown. A memory returned. Green eyes. Red dress. I remembered first seeing her in one of the cocktail lounges late yesterday afternoon.

The shower helped. Now I sought additional assistance. She poured coffee and juice for both of us and started to eat. I watched the precise strokes she made with her knife and fork as I took a sip of juice and found it lacking. The coffee was more satisfying so I stayed with that. I warily eyed my breakfast. The woman called Grace noticed and reached into her purse. I accepted a small handful of aspirin and washed them down with a sip of juice.


The woman finished chewing a mouthful of bagel and pointed at me with her fork. “You really shouldn’t drink and gamble,” she said, sipping her orange juice.
“By themselves, they’re fine. But not in combination.”

“That was my point.” She continued to smile and study my face.

“How long were you with me at the tables last night?”

“Long enough.”

My curiosity took over. “I lost…didn’t I?” I caught a touch of sympathy in her expression. “How much?”

“About a hundred and fifty.”

“We are talking thousands, right?”

She nodded and went to work on her omelet.

“Expensive day,” I said.

330 thousand? Nice to meet you, Mr. Rockefeller.

The woman, oblivious to the voice, nodded in agreement. She finished her breakfast in silence as I went back and forth between watching her and staring down at my plate. I picked at my food but did manage to keep down three cups of coffee. The woman pushed her plate away and I lit a cigarette. She frowned, but said nothing. I coughed and sipped my juice.

“Look…Grace. Do I owe you any money?”

Her eyes flared briefly, but then relaxed. “Of course not. I’m not a hooker.” She then turned playful. “But we should try this again when you’re…”


“I was going to say functional…but yeah, let’s go with sober.”

“I’m sober now.” I forced a weak smile and shook my head. “Maybe not.”

She laughed. “That’s okay. It can wait. I’ll be around.”

“You live here in Vegas?”

“I work for the Casino.”

Midway through a piece of bacon, I paused. “Doing what? I thought the idea of casino employees dating guests was a no-no.”

“We’re dating? How sweet.” She laughed.

“What would you call it?”

“Oh, just keeping an eye out for someone who’d had way too much to drink.”

She said it far too casually and, despite his hangover, my instincts kicked in. “So last night, did we…?”

“What do you think?”

“I’m betting my plumbing was out of order last night.”

“Finally, you win a bet.” She laughed at her joke and cocked her head. “You’re staring. What?”

“I’m just wondering what your job is. You’re so beautiful.”

“You’re too kind. Let’s call it Guest Relations and leave it at that.” She looked at her watch. “I need to run. And I definitely need to change. A woman wearing formal attire at six in the morning can only mean one thing.” She stood and kissed him hard. “I’ll see you soon.”

I watched her leave and stared at the closed door then crawled back into bed and dreamt hard.

Fortunately, the voice slept soundly.


Jun 29

Robert Carter – A Deadly Playground – Review and Author Interview

B.R. Snow’s Review of Robert Carter’s A Deadly Playground

One of my favorite writers, Robert Carter, is back.

And he’s back with a vengeance.

Those of you familiar with Mr. Carter’s work will remember that he has already delivered outstanding historical fiction set in a wide variety of settings including; revolutionary France, India, and China among others.

Mr. Carter’s latest book, The Deadly Playground, is the first installment in what I hope will be a long run of terrific books about a British family of means, the Barrington’s, and their extended circle of friends and acquaintances. Set in 1912 against the backdrop of the impending World War, the book focuses primarily Jimmy Barrington, the free-spirited son, and his friend, Stanley Walker, a young man of humble background and modest means. When war breaks out with the German invasion of Belgium, Jimmy and Stanley decide to join the Royal Flying Corps. During their initial training their fates take different paths and their days as carefree youths soon become fodder for fond memories and late-night pub tales.

As I was reading, I was struck by the relatively low-tech of warfare in the early 1900s and reminded that it’s only been just over 100 years since aircraft have been available for use in war. Mr. Carter deftly takes us back to those early days when pilots and their gunners were using pistols and rifles to shoot at enemy aircraft. And that’s the sort of thing that Mr. Carter does. He takes on big ideas – in this case, the uncertainty of one’s place in and ability to positively contribute to a world at a tipping point and battered by war – and weaves an intricate narrative using real, and, quite often, the small moments of daily life that resonate and give flesh and bone to his central theme. And Mr. Carter is so gifted at handling these moments, as readers, we find ourselves there, in the moment, with the sights and sounds of canvas wings and barking artillery surrounding us while, as an author, several times I was forced to reread a paragraph and left to wonder, “How the hell did he do that?”

When reading a book these days there is a tendency for us to gravitate to what sort of film, or in the case of The Deadly Playground, miniseries would the book make. That’s all well and good because I can already visualize what this material could look like on screen as well as name a wide variety of potential cast members. But that degree of visualization is only possible because the book is so well written. And the talent required to write a book like this is rare and needs to be appreciated, honored and, yes, even savored.

Mr. Carter’s attention to detail, grounded in meticulous research, is one of his hallmarks. The care and feeding his gives his craft is a trait I greatly admire and all of his fans, a growing group I’m a proud member of, need to thank him again for delivering such a strong work of historical fiction. At times his work with detailed description reminds me of Tom Clancy. It’s not easy making aircraft and weaponry both educational and entertaining. Yet Mr. Carter does a terrific job in these areas because he obviously knows what he’s talking about and he works very hard to get it right.

But there is another writer that Mr. Carter’s work reminds me of. Taylor Caldwell also told grand tales filled with small moments on an epic scale. I have no idea if she is someone Mr. Carter enjoys reading or whether he will find this comparison flattering or worthy of disdain. All I do know is that if he is able to continue developing this series in the manner he has unfurled it in this first volume, I sincerely believe that The Deadly Playground has the potential to become Mr. Carter’s The Captain and the Kings.

Big themes, small moments, great writing.

Don’t miss this one and the ones that follow.

Author Robert Carter Interview

BR – Welcome, Robert. I finished A Deadly Playground recently and really enjoyed it. And thanks for agreeing to be interviewed. Fitting this in around the World Cup was probably tough to do. But I know the Po$$e members will find what you’ve got to say about the book and your writing process very interesting.

RC – Thanks, Bernie. It’s great to be here. And since England went out so early in this year’s Cup, sadly, I do have a bit more time that I had originally planned.

BR – You’ve written several great historical novels that take readers to a wide variety of settings and time periods. What is it about writing historical fiction that is so appealing to you as an author?

RC – History is our memory. I believe everyone should be aware of what has happened in the world, or we are doomed to repeat our mistakes. History is also used by those who are interested in selective memory and self-serving myths, so it’s interesting to review well-known events in a new light. I hope always to leave my readers with a more accurate sense of the times I write about. History is also a wonderful source of “story” as the word “history” implies.

In addition, the more I read, the more biographies I stumble upon, I have found that there are so many people who have done astonishing things – people completely overlooked by history. I like to find those people – to bring their courage and commitment to the reader’s attention. Sir Sidney Smith (Courage) and Frederick T Ward (Barbarians) to name but two, incredible people who changed history and not many people know about them. My personal crusade, if you like.

BR – When reading your work it quickly becomes apparent that you do a tremendous amount of research. Could you describe the process you go through from a research standpoint? I’ve been wondering for a while if you get an idea for a great story and then start researching, or whether you’re a history buff who tends to discover events and then decide, “Hey, that might make a good book.”?

RC – I read generally, and in that process discover stories that interest me and sometimes I think they might make good novels. That is, the template of the drama is real events and the way real people reacted to what happened. After initial research, in which I read more closely around the period / events – everything I can find (for 6 months I read nothing else and steep myself in it). I then look for material that allows me to construct a story within that framework and begin to put together my outline. I do all this before a single word of the novel is written.

BR – As I said here and in my review, your new one, The Deadly Playground, is terrific. For those folks who haven’t read it yet, could you a take a couple minutes to outline the basic storyline?

RC – The story concerns two friends who are attending Oxford University in the summer of 1912. One is a scholarship boy and the other is the sun of the richest man in Britain, from a banking and shipping family. But the world they have grown up in is about to change. War comes and Stanley Walker and Jimmy Barrington decide to do their duty by their country. I wanted to remind the present generation who are often too ready to dismiss people and attitudes of former times that very real threats to freedom and democracy have affected the world much as they do today. The men who rose to the challenge of protecting liberal values have much in common with those who protect those same values today.

BR – The timing of The Deadly Playground was great for me. My new book that should launch this fall is set in the present day but has a ‘near-future’ premise behind it that is heavily driven by the advancements in technology. And when I was reading yours, I was struck by how primitive warfare was back then compared to the weaponry of today, less than 100 years removed from World War I. Did you come across anything during your research that surprised you and made its way into the book?

RC – The driver of new technology is frequently warfare and no more so than in aeronautics. I have always thought it astonishing that the Wright Brothers and the moon landing (both great American achievements) were separated by a mere 65 years. Coincidently both events were in the lifetime of my own grandfather.

Some of my RAF (Royal Air Force) friends fly WW1 aircraft for recreation at Shuttleworth Air show. Who can blame them? When you see a Typhoon fly over, it drives home the realization of just how far we’ve come.

The aircraft in WW1 were made of wood and fabric by furniture makers. The seats made out of wicker. The cockpits were open so the pilots wore heavy coats, huge boots known as fug boots, lined with sheepskin and leather helmets, with NO parachutes. One thing that amazed me was the fact that the designer of the aircraft that fell from the sky over Port Meadow (at the start of the book) was a man called Henri Coanda and he also designed a jet aircraft made back in 1910!

BR – I’ve likened the epic scales and settings of your books to Herman Wouk and Taylor Caldwell. You certainly aren’t afraid to take on really big subjects. Who are some of your favorite authors you like to read and those who influence your work?

RC – James Clavell’s Shogun is a peerless work and strongly influenced my approach to my writing. I read biographies most of the time and I search for them on the internet and in old bookshops. Often I find the real treasure in biographies written about people who are not so well known these days, but who were heroes in their time.

BR – I think that this will turn into a series with long legs and I know you probably don’t want to give away too much at this point, but could you give us some idea of what we can expect to see in upcoming books about the Barrington family?

RC – Some people have kindly said that the Barrington saga stands comparison with Herman Wouk’s Winds of War. This may be premature, but I see what they are saying. Essentially, my story is based on a real family and their interaction with the worlds of high society and high finance.

The USA entered the Great War quite late in the proceedings, but some prominent American citizens were involved behind the scenes at a very early stage. You never read about many of the events that took place in WW1, and in Volume Two of the Quintet, much is revealed about war that was secret at the time. As I said, I’ve read lots of memoirs.

Thanks for inviting me over, Bernie. I enjoyed it.

BR – Many thanks for stopping by, Robert. Again, congratulations on a terrific new book and I wish you great success with it. Hope to catch up with you soon.

Jun 28

Thank You So Much!

Hi everyone,

I just wanted to thank all of you for helping make last week’s promotion of Divorce Hotel such a huge success. Sales were terrific and I couldn’t have it without your assistance. I truly appreciate it.

A lot of people have asked me to do the same thing for the Damaged Po$$e series so I’ve started to take a look at some summer promotions of American Midnight, Larrikin Gene, Sneaker World, and Summerman. Stay tuned for those as soon as I figure out a schedule.

Don’t miss tomorrow’s post. I’m posting my review of Robert Carter’s new book A Deadly Playground as well as my recent interview with him.

Robert is a terrific author of historical fiction and his new one is great. He’s a very interesting guy and I think you’ll enjoy what he has to say about his books and his approach to writing.

See y’all tomorrow and thanks again!

You continue to be the best group of friends and fans anyone could ask for!



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