Just wanted to post a reminder about these eBay auctions, which have two days plus change left and aren't doing particularly well.

Because I am too sore from packing books over at the house all day to write a real entry, but I hate to just post about my auctions, here is a special wholly impromptu sneak preview from Chapter 3 of Dead Shrimp Blues:

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Oscar De La Cerda stood at the Carousel Bar at the Hotel Monteleone, shuffling his feet to maintain his balance as the bar made its slow rotation, trying to catch the bartender's eye. The Carousel had barmaids who would come to your table, but he didn't feel like waiting for one to show up; he wanted a drink now, because he thought his meal ticket was about to make a big, expensive mistake.

Lenny Duveteaux wasn't only his meal ticket, of course. In the ten years that De La Cerda had handled Lenny's legal business, the attorney and the celebrity chef had become friends of a sort. However, his friends made big, expensive mistakes all the time -- boats, houses, bastard children -- and it didn't cost him a cent. If Lenny's considerable fortune was ever threatened, De La Cerda might have to work a lot harder for a living.

He didn't really think this shrimp deal would threaten Lenny's fortune, though he did believe it would cost Lenny serious money. Mostly, he supposed, he just had his panties in a wad because Lenny was ignoring his legal advice. This was nothing new, but it was always annoying.

De La Cerda got his Stoli martini, grabbed a bowl of snack mix, and headed back toward the table where Lenny was meeting with Jimmy Pride, pushing his way past little knots and drifts of tourists. The Carousel Bar wouldn't have been his meeting spot of choice. Like the majority of places in the French Quarter, it mostly got the out-of-town trade. It was loud with the sound of blaring TVs and people who couldn't hold their liquor, and the gaudy décor made him nervous: the bar made out of a real merry-go-round, the paintings of circus animals, the wall sconces shaped like human arms holding torches. Despite his high-powered occupation, De La Cerda was a shabby guy who felt comfortable in shabby places; his favorite bar was a sticky-floored dive near the courthouse, a hole in the wall whose name he wasn't even sure of. But apparently Jimmy Pride always took a suite at the Monteleone when he was in New Orleans, and since Lenny was courting Pride as much as the old man was courting Lenny, this had determined the venue. Besides, Lenny said the Carousel Bar was "elegant." It just went to show that no matter how long an out-of-towner lived here, New Orleans would always be able to seduce him with a little dazzle and flash.

Back at the table, Lenny and Jimmy Pride were having an animated discussion about something. De La Cerda eventually gathered that the subject was tabasco peppers. He regarded the two millionaires through the pleasant haze of a slight vodka buzz: his employer dark of jowl, squinty of eye, and smiling dementedly; the spice king looking roughly two thousand years old, but still ready to go a few rounds with his favorite local call girl after dinner tonight.

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By the time Dead Shrimp Blues appears in print, you will have forgotten all about this blog entry, and you will experience an odd feeling of deja vu when you read these (probably somewhat revised) words. At least one person will probably misremember it as being from an earlier book and write an Amazon review accusing me of repeating myself. Don't be this person.