More Excepts from the Next BJ Vinson Novel

THE BISTI BUSINESS by Don Travis

A BJ Vinson Mystery Novel

Chapter 1 (Third Installment)

I returned to the visual meditation of the landscape outside my window. As nature’s glow dimmed, man-made lights came alive: amber lampposts, white fluorescents, flamboyant neons, yellow vehicle headlights reflecting off wet pavement, and far in the distance a tiny spot moving slowly across the sky—one of the aerial trams hauling patrons up Sandia Peak’s rugged western escarpment to the restaurant atop the mountain.

By leaning forward, I caught the faint, rosy underbelly of a western cloudbank, the lingering legacy of a dead sunset. Was that what had drawn Orando and Dana to the Land of Enchantment? Spectacular scenery and surreal sunsets? Or was it our rich heritage of Indian and Hispanic art? The two were history majors, and Albuquerque had a long history. It was approaching its 300^th birthday, while Santa Fe and many of the nearby Indian Pueblos had longer lifelines.

Beyond my line of sight, the city’s original settlement lay to the west where one- and two-storied adobe shops—some ancient and some merely pretending to be—hearken back to their Spanish colonial roots. Now known as Old Town, it was founded in 1706 by Governor Francisco Cuervo y Valdez as the Villa del Alburquerque—some say Ranchos del Albuquerque. In either case, the Spanish colonial outpost was named in honor of New Spain’s Viceroy in Mexico City. The second “R” of the Duke’s name disappeared in 1880 with the coming of the railroad to New Town, located two miles east of Hispanic Old Town, a signal the Anglos had successfully wrested the heart—if not the soul—of the community from its founders.

It seemed as though a similar battle was being waged between Dana Norville and Anthony Alfano for the heart and soul of Orlando. Papa Alfano had given me cell phone and pager numbers for his son. He kept his pup on a short leash—or tried to. Not only that, but the old man had checked Norville out at the first signs of a budding friendship between the two. I’d bet Alfano was accustomed to throwing his weight around, railroading or buying whomever he wanted, including his son. My instinctive dislike of the homophobic bully made me wonder how far he would go to “turn his son around.” Maybe Orlando went on the run to get out from under the thumb of his tyrannical patriarch.

Spinning back to the desk, I went on the hunt for information over the Internet. According to Dun and Bradstreet, the Alfano Vineyards’ net worth was somewhere around $100,000,000. Although California is notoriously anal retentive about releasing it’s criminal records, the Superior Court websites I searched revealed nothing on Alfano, but that only meant he wasn’t a known murderer, rapist, or kidnapper. He would have bought his way out of anything less than that. Orlando, on the other hand, had a sheet in Los Angeles. From the limited information available, it looked to be nothing more than a couple of disturbing the peace charges. Norville’s record was about the same, leading me to believe they had been activists in their early university days. Maybe they met while agitating for some cause or the other. Gay rights? Voting rights?

There was no answer at their room in the uptown Sheraton. Well, no surprise there. The call to the kid’s cell phone went to a message center. I left a callback on the pager without much hope. Things are never that easy.

I had finished dictating instructions for the Alfano contract and was reaching to snap off my old-fashioned, green-shaded banker’s lamp when the telephone rang again. Maybe I’d caught a break. I hadn’t, but the sound of Paul Barton’s baritone sent my energy level soaring.

“You still at work?” he asked.

“Just finishing up. How about meeting somewhere for a late dinner.”

A deep chuckle. “Meet me at 5228 Post Oak Drive NW.”

“You’re home?”

“Yep. And I have a surprise for you.”

“Let me guess—green chili stew and warm, buttered tortillas. Uh…what’s for dessert?”

“I’ll leave that to your imagination.” He hung up in the middle of a wicked laugh.

This is the end of Chapter 1. For the Prologue and previous installments of Chapter 1, please see the prior three posts.

Please feel free to comment. I encourage feedback from readers. Thanks.

More Excepts from the Next BJ Vinson Novel

THE BISTI BUSINESS by Don Travis

A BJ Vinson Mystery Novel

Chapter 1 (Second Installment)

“Now wait a minute.” Anthony Alfano obviously was not accustomed to getting the brush-off. “I know all about you. And except for that—nonsense—you’ve got a good reputation. You can move in both the straight world and the gay world. You’re the one I want. Find my son, Vinson, and send him home to his mother and me.”

“It’s Mr. Vinson.” Might as well set the bigoted SOB straight right at the beginning.

“All right, Mr. Vinson, score one for you. Are you sure you’re gay? You don’t sound it.”

“Does your son?”

“No, but—”

“But in your dreams he’s not twisted, right? How about Norville? Am I looking for a flaming queen?”

“Of course, not. Lando wouldn’t hang out with someone like that. No, I’ve got to admit, looking at Dana Norville, you wouldn’t suspect.”

“Then how can you be certain?”

“I did a quick background check on Norville when the two of them started bumming around together, and the guy was clean. But when they…uh, got close, I took another look and found the man Norville had been shacking up with before he latched onto my son.”

“Very well, Mr. Alfano, I’ll look into the matter. I’ll do it for Orlando and Dana, but you’re going to be footing the bills.”

He promised to have his secretary in California call Hazel tomorrow with the credit card information for my retainer and to provide anything else we requested. I asked him to email color photos of the two men. If they were as close as he believed, there would be a few around somewhere. He also gave me his son’s cell and pager numbers.

After hanging up, I tapped my desk blotter with a gold and onyx letter opener fashioned into a miniature Toledo blade. I sighed aloud. The Alfano case had all the hallmarks of developing into a nightmare. Working for attorneys was easier; they understood the process. Private individuals had a warped idea of what a PI did, which was nothing more or less than gathering information. But I was committed, so I might as well make the best of it.

Next Week: Third Installment of Chapter 1

To read the Prologue and the first installment of Chapter 1, please see the prior two posts.

PS: Please feel free to comment. I appreciate receiving feedback from readers.

More Excepts from the Next BJ Vinson Novel

THE BISTI BUSINESS by Don Travis

A BJ Vinson Mystery Novel 

Chapter 1 (First Installment) 

Albuquerque, New Mexico 

The telephone jolted me out of my reverie. Hazel Harris, my secretary, aide, and surrogate mother, had left for the day, but the answering service could field the call. Ninety percent of my clients were attorneys, and there weren’t many of them working this time of day. But when the phone shrieked a second time, I glanced at the unfamiliar long-distance number on the Caller ID and caved in to curiosity.

“B. J. Vinson, Confidential Investigations.” 

“Who’s speaking?” 

“B. J. Vinson. What can I do for you?” 

“What’s this?” a gravely voice demanded. “Some rinky-dink outfit where the boss answers his own phone?” 

Curiosity has its limits. Without another word, I dropped the receiver back into its cradle. It usually takes a while to recognize a problem client, but this obnoxious prick had done me a favor by convincing me of it within a couple of sentences. 

I swiveled my chair around to return to what I had been doing, savoring the view from the north-facing window of my third-floor office in one of Albuquerque’s historic buildings at Fifth and Copper. I often undertook this ritual before heading home. It was my favorite vista at my favorite hour in my least favorite time of year—about three-quarters of the way into evening on a muggy summer’s day made uncomfortable by the lingering humidity of an earlier quick-moving thunderstorm. Fortunately a more hospitable autumn hovered just around the corner. 

The phone intruded again. Determined to cut this guy off at the pass, I snatched up the receiver, but before I could say anything, a loud laugh threatened to burst my eardrum. 

“Short fuse, huh? Okay, I can respect that. Look, I’m in Hawaii on business and lost track of the time difference. Sorry to call so late.” 

The bastard was pretty good at defusing things. 

“Let’s start over, shall we? I’m Anthony P. Alfano. I run Alfano Vineyards in Napa Valley. I’ve got a problem out there in New Mexico, and I think you’re the guy who can help me. I got your name off the Internet. I like your website. It’s a solid professional layout.” 

He left me little recourse except to respond gracefully. “Thanks. I assume you checked me out with someone, too.” I exhaled and tried to ignore the feeling I was being manipulated by an expert. “Okay, what’s the problem?” 

“My son. He’s missing. Probably nothing serious, but I need to locate him.” 

Orlando Selvanus Alfano—was this family Italian, or what?—twenty-one, and a graduate student in history at UCLA, had left on July twenty-second for an extended vacation. He and his traveling companion, another student named Dana Norville, intended to explore the natural wonders of the great Southwest and sample the wares of local vineyards. Even though they were three days late returning home, the vacationers were still registered at the Albuquerque Sheraton on Menaul and Louisiana across the street from Coronado Mall. Repeated phone messages left at the hotel and on Orlando’s cell phone had gotten no response. The two were going to miss the first classes of the fall semester if they didn’t return immediately. 

“I take it the other student—this Dana—is his girlfriend.” 

Alfano’s pregnant pause and terse answer raised my antennae. “It’s Dana James Norville. One of those names that can go either way.” 

So that’s the way it was. Alfano needed a gay PI to look for a gay son. “Does he? Go either way, I mean?” 

His rage was palpable. “Only one way. The wrong way.” 

“And your son?” 

Instead of the expected explosion, Alfano sighed heavily. “You have to understand something. Orlando’s not queer. Hell, most of us jerked off with buddies when we were kids. We grew out of it, no harm done. Lando’s just a slow developer. He hasn’t come out of it yet, but he will.” 

“How about Norville?” 

“That bastard’s a dyed-in-the-wool pansy, and he’s contaminating my son.” 

I bit my tongue at the sophomoric outburst. “For your information, Mr. Alfano, I’m pretty ‘dyed-in-the-wool’ myself. I think you need to call someone else.”

Next Week: Second Installment of Chapter 1

To read the Prologue of the novel, see the previous post.

PS: Please feel free to comment. I solicit readers' opinions of my writing.

Excepts from The Bisti Business

THE BISTI BUSINESS by Don Travis

A BJ Vinson Mystery Novel

PROLOGUE

Bisti/De-Na-Zin Wilderness, South of Farmington, New Mexico

A lopsided moon daubed wispy tendrils of scattered clouds with pewter. Glittering pinpricks of muted light smeared the Milky Way while moon shine bleached the barren landscape silver. Sharp-edged shadows shrouded the feet of mute, grotesque gargoyles of clay and sandstone: hoodoos masquerading as monumental toadstools, spheroid stones aping gigantic dinosaur eggs, and eroded clay hills with folds like delicate lace drapery.

A great horned owl soared above the high desert floor, its keen eyes scouring the panorama below. The plumed predator dipped a wing and veered eastward, attracted by the dull metallic shine of a large foreign object. Quickly discerning it represented no culinary opportunity, the raptor flew in slow, ever-widening circles in search of something more promising.

The huge bird’s flitting shadow startled two figures, interrupting their heated argument. Both glanced up quickly. Taking advantage of the moment, the larger man snaked a belt from his waist and slipped behind the other. He whipped the leather strap over his victim’s head, driving him to the ground with a knee to the back. After a short, desperate struggle, the man sprawled in the cooling sand ceased to resist. The violent tremors in his extremities passed, and he lay still.

Panting from his exertions, the killer rose and began the hunt for a suitable crevice to hide the body. It wasn’t difficult to find one in the unstable terrain of these remote badlands. Satisfied his cairn of loose stones and sandy soil blended well with the rest of this weird, other-world place, he turned and plodded toward his distant vehicle.

Next Week: Installment One of Chapter 1

PS: Please feel free to comment. I'm interested in readers' reaction to my writing. Thanks.

The Gestation and Birth of the BJ Vinson Series

A reader—actually a dear friend and fellow scrivener—commented on my last post and suggested I describe how and why I wrote the BJ Vinson books. THE ZOZOBRA INCIDENT is available as both an ebook and in print. THE BISTI BUSINESS, the second in the series, will be coming out shortly in ebook form with the print version to follow. The third, called THE CITY OF ROCKS, is already in the hands of the publisher. A fourth, with the working title of THE LOVELY PINES, is in the works.

I am, and always have been, drawn to mystery novels. James Lee Burke, Robert B. Parker, and Stuart Woods are among my favorite writers. So it was natural that I decided to write a mystery. Maybe even a series. But who would be the hero…the protagonist…the doer of great deeds?

As I began to think about the possibility, a name popped into my head. Burleigh J. Vinson. Burleigh? An unlikely name for a fellow who had to carry the load for an entire series. But there it was, and it wouldn’t go away. He could be known as Burl. Or Leigh. Neither rang a bell. But B. J. Vinson sounded pretty good. Okay, so it would be BJ…with no punctuation. I liked that. Punchy. What did the J stand for? Nothing. It was a MIO…a Middle Initial Only. Why? Because I didn’t want to burden the guy with any more letters of the alphabet.

Now that was settled. But when you got right down to it, BJ didn’t have an intimate sound. Because my hero was a flesh and blood guy, he had to have some cozy moments. In a previous post, I explained why he was gay, therefore I won’t cover that ground again. So how about Vince (taken from his last name) for those who were closest to him? Sounded good to me. In the post titled “Who is BJ Vinson and Why is He Gay,” I gave you his history and threw in the fact that he was independently wealthy—thanks to his parents—which allowed him to pick and choose his cases. That was important since I wanted to write about is this great, big, beautiful state I have chosen to call home.

New Mexico is truly an amazing place. Members of my family, who hail from Oklahoma and East Texas, come for visits and shake their heads because everything isn’t covered in carpets of green. There are places lush with grama and buffalo grass, but there are also great swaths of stark, barren rock. There are exotic, unreal places like the Tent Rocks, the Bisti/De Na Zin Badlands, the black lava beds of the Valley of Fire, the enormous caverns at Carlsbad, the Rio Grande Gorge…and other places too numerous to mention here. That was what I wanted to write about…the State of New Mexico. I wanted to share the beauty of this place with readers. 

One way to accomplish this is to send the intrepid BJ all over the state on behalf of his clients. Each of the novels takes him to different parts of the state. The Zozobra Incident is set in the Albuquerque-Santa Fe corridor. In The Bisti Business, BJ travels from Albuquerque to the Continental Divide, to Taos, Farmington…and finally the Bisti/De Na Zin Wilderness area. The City of Rocks sends him to Deming and deep into the Boot Heel country. The Lonely Pines, puts him squarely in the wine country north and east of Albuquerque. 

BJ is an ex-Marine MP and an ex-Albuquerque Police detective, so he is seldom satisfied with simply collecting information (which is essentially a private investigator’s job). He’s compelled to dig into it and see what lies behind the data he collects. He’s gay, but he doesn’t serve just the gay community. Some of his cases involve homosexual clients, but in others there isn’t a gay in sight…except for BJ and his companion, of course.

I also have an abiding interest in various cultures, and New Mexico is awash in them. So BJ deals with Anglos, Hispanics, Pueblo Indians, Navajos, and in one case, Swiss immigrants.

This is a very lengthy way of saying BJ Vinson was created as a foil to indulge my passion for history, love of my adopted home, a fascination with diverse cultures, and the intrigue of a good mystery. I pray my writing enmeshes the readers in these fascinating subjects, as well.

Getting Personal

Okay, BJ Vinson is going to have to fend for himself this week. I, Don Travis, his creator and master (I like to believe) am going to hog the spotlight. It’s been an “interesting” couple of months. On Saturday, August 4, I thought I was a young squire again. You know, one who could walk and chew gum at the same time. After all, I was on my way to pick up a lady named Bobbi for a nice dinner out. Well, I walked straight off two steps and ended up falling on my hip. A neighbor helped pick me up from the concrete, and I limped the rest of the way to my car. I went to dinner, as planned, and figured things weren’t too bad.

Yeah, right. By Wednesday or so, I was virtually helpless. After considering my options, I dialed 911 and took my first ride in an ambulance to the Veterans Administration Medical Center in Albuquerque. The Emergency Room of any hospital is not normally a pleasant experience, but those folks took pretty good care of me. Most likely, because they recognized I’m a big baby when it comes to pain. The long and the short of it is, I was admitted that night and had surgery for a herniated disc between L4 and L5 (and there are more of you out there who understand that terminology than I would ever have believed) on the 16th. They either felt I was recovered sufficiently to release or got fed up with my mewling, because they threw me out on the following Monday. But since I live alone, I was delivered into the hands of the lady who went to dinner with me that fateful night of the fall. 

I am sufficiently recovered to return home; however, as fate would have it, my Florence Nightingale had surgery on her right hand, and now we provide mutual help. She’s the legs, and I’m the hands. Together, we manage to get everything done, despite the fact she has six dogs, a cockatiel, and three canaries.

Next week, I’ll try to do better.

The Bisti Business, a Novel

A few days ago, Robert Brown, the publisher of Ampichellis Ebooks, sent some suggested cover art for the next BJ Vinson mystery. He also asked for the back cover blurb, a dedication, and acknowledgments for The Bisti Business. That means release of the E-book is getting close. Hopefully, Martin-Brown Publishers will follow with a print copy soon thereafter.

In this novel, the second of the series, a phone call from Anthony Alfano, a wealthy Napa Valley vineyard owner, sends BJ on the hunt for Alfano’s younger son and his traveling companion. The trail first leads to the Continental Divide country on Interstate 40 west of Albuquerque. Then the Porsche Boxter the two young men are driving is reported in Taos. BJ charters a Cessna for a quick trip to the historic town, flying over the Taos Box—which will mean something to the white water rafters among you—and soaring over the great steel bridge spanning the gorge in time to see a bright orange sports car crash through the protective fencing, plunge into the canyon, and crash into the river 650 feet below.

It takes some time to determine the younger Alfano and his gay traveling companion, Dana Norville, were not in the car, and requires some good, solid detective work to determine the two were separated from the vehicle in Farmington, an oil and gas town in the Four Corners area of the state. From there, the trail leads south to the Bisti/De Na Zin Wilderness area—as weird a landscape as you’ll ever see. There, a grisly discovery turns the investigation on its head.

During the course of this tale, we visit the awesome volcanic plug called Shiprock and the great Navajo Reservation. Hopefully, readers unfamiliar with our state will discover interesting and beautiful places, and those who are will find themselves visiting treasured locales.

I don’t know about you, but I can hardly wait for the publication date.

More Characters from The Zozobra Incident

In the real world: Last week’s Burning of Zozobra at the Santa Fe Fiesta got a little dicey. High winds delayed the firing of the monster for approximately an hour and a half. But there were still thousands in the park to cheer the ogre’s death. Last night’s local newscast told of a petition being circulated by locals to make the event into a family-friendly affair again. As the event has grown over the years, it has lost a good deal of that air. 

Last week, we learned additional information about some of the people who populate The Zozobra Incident. In addition to BJ, our protagonist, we took a look at Hazel Harris, his secretary, office manager, and surrogate mom. We also looked at Del Dahlman, BJ’s first love and first bitter disappointment, who was now a successful Albuquerque attorney. And finally, we gained some insight into Emilio Prada, the handsome gigolo responsible for breaking up BJ and Del. This week, let’s look at some of the other characters.

Detective Eugene (Gene) Enriquez was just shy of his 41^st birthday when we first met him in The Zozobra Incident. A local (he was born in Bernalillo, a town 15 miles north of Albuquerque) he was stocky, five-seven, and weighed 155 pounds. A Hispanic, he had vaguely Polynesian features a lot of women find attractive. After his army service, he went through the Albuquerque Police Academy and was sworn in as an officer. He walked a downtown beat, and even rode horse patrol for a short period, but his interest was in becoming a detective. Some years after he achieved his goal, he found himself assigned to a new partner…a gay partner. B. J. Vinson. It bothered him at first that BJ, who could have passed as a hetero, didn’t bother to deny his homosexuality when asked about it. Before long, he came to admire his new partner’s honesty. The guy was gay, and that was that. Once Gene learned he could trust his partner’s judgment and instincts, they got along professionally and socially. Gene took some flack from other cops about riding with a queer, but he was married to Glenda, an attractive woman with whom he had five kids, and he figured that provided all the cover he needed. He took it hard when BJ nearly died while they were apprehending an accused murderer, but he kept in touch when his partner took medical retirement and opened a confidential investigations office. He was one of the few people who knew BJ inherited a fortune upon his parent’s death. 

Paul Barton looked Hispanic to Anglos, and Anglo to Hispanics. When BJ first met him, the family name “Barton” took him by surprise. He expected it to be Spanish. But it was Paul’s mother who carried the Latin blood. Paul was born on June 13, 1985 in Albuquerque’s South Valley. That made him twenty-one at the time of The Zozobra Incident. BJ first spied him with a cowgirl on the dance floor at the C&W Palace, the city’s biggest boot-stomping joint, and was drawn by his good looks and lean frame. BJ later realizes the kid was the new lifeguard at the North Valley Country Club where he swam as therapy for the bullet wound in his thigh. Once he made the connection, the mutual attraction soon became evident. This was the first time BJ has been tempted since Del’s betrayal. But Paul was not only a lifeguard, he was also a full time student at UNM pursuing a degree in Journalism. He worked in the school’s cafeteria so he can live on campus his senior year. Paul was 5’11” and weighed 155 pounds. He had brown eyes, brown hair, a swimmer’s build, and has a small dragon tattoo above left nipple. Fiercely independent, he drove old Plymouth Coupe even though BJ offered to buy him a more recent model. He was an expert swimmer, played soccer and golf, and loved to dance. His father, Paul Barton, Sr., was a carpenter who died of TB when Paul was ten-years-old. His mother, Luisa Maria Arrullar de Barton worked two jobs thereafter to raise her son. He was exposed to gang activity in the South Valley, but resisted temptation to join. Once Paul and BJ get together, Paul was absolutely devoted, even though there were some stormy times ahead. 

And then there’s the fun character, the surprise, the widow. Mrs. Gertrude Wardlaw has lived across the street from BJ for as long as he can remember. He considered her as this frail diminutive old woman who wore her white hair like a helmet and spoke in a thin, tremulous voice. But when the chips were down, he learned she and her late husband Herb (whose ashes rested on her fireplace mantle) were both retired from the DEA, and she still had the spirit…as well as the will of a fighter. 

Next Week: We’ll have to wait and see.

Other Voices in The Zozobra Incident

 Today…or rather tonight…is the annual Burning of Zozobra, a historic event which plays an important part in the book. I had planned to be present and participate in the festivities, but my recent back surgery put an end to those aspirations. Would that I could be there! 

Last week, we learned a little more about the protagonist of The Zozobra Incident, BJ Vinson, so I thought it might be fun to take a deeper look into some of the other voices in the novel, starting with Hazel Harris, BJ’s office manager and surrogate mom. 

At the time the Zozobra Incident takes place, Hazel, who is a retired teacher and the best friend of BJ’s deceased mother, Frances, is sixty-three-years-old. She stands 5’5” and weighs 150 pounds. She is plump, rather dowdy, gray-eyed, and considers it her responsibility to be a stand-in mom. Although he tweaks her nose now and then, BJ puts up with Hazel’s smothering because he is truly fond of her. Besides, she’s runs the office—and sometimes him—efficiently and makes sure the clients pay their bills…something BJ wouldn’t be nearly as efficient at doing. Plump, efficient, and nosy, she reminds him of that sassy maid of comics and TV who runs the fictional Baxter household. She doesn’t approve of his gay lifestyle, but loves him like a son. We meet her throughout the series. 

Delbert David Dahlman, known as Del to his friends and associates, is slender, blue-(sapphire) eyed, blond, and trim with an athletic build (obtained in a gym). He stands 5’11” and weighs 160 pounds. Del possesses an eternally youthful appearance that seems to defy ageing. A Chicago boy who came to the UNM law school after high school, he’s practiced mostly corporate and tax law in Albuquerque ever since 2001. He is an associate attorney with a large local firm named Stone, Hedges, Martinez, Levishon, etc…or the Blahs, as BJ calls them. He is thirty-two-years-old in 2006 when he comes to BJ and asks for help running down a blackmailer. He had met BJ in the line of duty, and when they were attracted to one another, they ended up living together in BJ’s home on Post Oak NW until BJ was seriously wounded in the right thigh by a bullet from an accused murderer’s gun. During the long recovery, Del wasn’t able to take care of the home nursing and allowed himself to be seduced by a handsome gigolo named Emilio Prada. The manner of the split-up makes it hard for him to come to BJ when he assumes Emilio is handing around some raw pictures of Del and himself. Nonetheless, he swallows his pride and asks BJ for help. 

Emilio Prada is a twenties-something legal immigrant from Durango, Mexico. He is handsome in that way some Hispanic juveniles are prettier than their girlfriends, although “Milio” never grew out of it. Rather than work for a living, he uses his looks and slender, wiry build to make his money. He is amoral more than immoral. He sees nothing wrong with selling himself to men or women. In fact, he enjoys the seduction. When he meets Del Dahlman, he figures he’s found a goldmine…the answer to his dreams. Here is a handsome, successful man wealthy enough to take care of him for the rest of his life. Besides, the sex is good. But Milio likes to dominate his marks (and that’s what Del is) and oversteps the bounds of their relationship. When Del sends him packing, he takes some very graphic pictures of the two of them with him, the genesis of Del’s belief Milio is behind the blackmailing. 

But things are not as simple as they seem. 

Next Week: More voices from The Zozobra Incident. 

Who is Burleigh J. (BJ) Vinson?

When I write a novel, I constantly struggle to avoid “over describing” my major characters. This is to allow readers to paint a mind picture of these individuals for themselves. Apparently, I succeeded with BJ. When Robert Brown of Martin-Brown Publishers and Ampichellis Ebooks and I were trying to settle on a book cover for The Zozobra Incident, his business partner and wife, Sharene, proposed a dramatic cover of the head and torso of a bearded young man surrounded by flames. The cover art held a great attraction for me, but I couldn’t accept it because BJ is clean-shaven. In fact, none of the book’s characters who might be displayed in the cover art had facial hair. When I expressed this objection, I remember quite clearly that Robert said, “He could have. You haven’t given us a clue as to whether or not BJ is bearded.” So I was successful in my goal of allowing the reader to for his or her own image. Please feel free to picture the Albuquerque PI as bearded, if you wish.

Actually, I have a very firm idea of how he looks, acts, thinks, and feels. I know who he is because I created him. I know, for example, Burleigh was a family name (his mother’s father’s name, as a matter of fact), and that J. was a MIO…middle initial only. He was born September 12, 1972, and was 36 at the time The Zozobra Incident takes place in 2006. 

His parents, Robert and Frances Vinson, were both educators. They raised him with a steady, firm hand and always sought to guide rather than impose. His father was a very strong influence in his life and probably knew BJ was gay before he did. Robert was always supportive and encouraged him to play football in high school and even backed his son’s decision to join the Marines. In later years, BJ understood this was not an attempt to “convert” him, but was rather to provide as normal a background as possible to give BJ as rock-solid basis for deciding who he was and who he was going to be. 

BJ came to grips with the fact he was gay slowly, finally accepting his sexual orientation in his late teens. Since he had a strong, supportive father and a nourishing, yet not dominating, mother in his life, he came to the conclusion his homosexuality was “hard-wired.” Thereafter, he accepted who he was without obsessing over it. He neither hid nor flaunted his sexuality. As a result, he moved easily through all spectrums of Albuquerque society. 

The senior Vinsons died on January 2, 2003 in a car accident on Interstate 40, leaving their only son and heir an estate of $12,000,000. Some years earlier, they had loaned a struggling local business a modest amount of operating capital. That business later moved to Seattle and became Microsoft. By the time of their deaths, BJ had a degree in Criminology from UNM and was a detective with the Albuquerque Police Department. A little over a year later, he was shot in the thigh while he and his partner, Gene Enriquez, attempted to apprehend a murder suspect. That occasioned both the breakup between BJ and his lover, Del Dahlman, a local attorney, and his medical retirement from APD. 

Even though he was independently wealthy, he continued to live in the home his father built at 5228 Post Oak Drive NW in Albuquerque’s North Valley. The residence was located in a ’50’s middle class neighborhood, which is growing a bit geriatric by now. The home, a contemporary red brick, white trimmed, cross-gabled structure with stone foundations, had a basement—something unusual for Albuquerque at the time.  

 BJ was incapable of sitting around and living on his inheritance, so on September 18, 2005, he opened B. J. Vinson, Confidential Investigations. Referrals from his many cop friends help turn the business profitable. He hired his mother’s best friend, a retired public school teacher named Hazel Harris, as secretary and office manager. What he got was a surrogate mother, whom he suffered fondly. 

Eleven months after opening his office doors on the third floor of a historic building across the street from the Albuquerque Library’s main facility, Del Dahlman came to ask his help. He was being blackmailed. Against his better judgment, he accepted his former lover’s request and thus The Zozobra Incident began. 

We will meet BJ again in the upcoming Bisti Business and The City of Rocks. 

Next week: Still to be determined.