Manic Monday, Part II

(Editor’s note: The first installment of British correspondent Ali Karim’s two-part report can be found here.)

Brett Battles and the ubiquitous Ali Karim

So, after enjoying what we could of this year’s Ellis Peters Historical Dagger Award presentation, Barry Forshaw, Mike Stotter, and I rushed off to dinner with American novelist Brett Battles. The meal was being held courtesy of his publisher, the new and rather exciting Random House imprint, Preface. Both Stotter and Forshaw had consumed plenty of champagne by this point in the evening, while their trusty driver was stone-cold sober (though in desperate need of a toilet, thanks to the quantities of orange juice I’d consumed).

Thanks to the wonders of my GPS system, it took us only 15 minutes to reach the exclusive London district of Belgravia from Fitzroy Square, where the Ellis Peters party had been held. Preface had booked us all a table at the renowned French restaurant La Poule au Pot on Ebury Street. While Stotter and Forshaw checked the reservation with the maître d’, I located a toilet fast. Then we were escorted downstairs, to be greeted by Rosie de Coursey and Trevor Dolby, the British publishing giants behind Preface.

As we took our seats, De Coursey thanked me for my enthusiasm regarding Tony Black’s debut novel, Paying for It, which was the first crime thriller Preface acquired. I’ve known Black for a few years now and am excited that he finally broke through. Seeing copies of his book all over the UK gives me intense satisfaction. (If you’ve not sampled Black’s prose, then it’s time you did.) Similarly, I have known Battles since before he was a published author; I met him at the first ThrillerFest conference in Phoenix, Arizona, in 2006. So I was pleased when De Coursey suggested that I sit near the head of the table with Battles and his charming partner, Kelly.

It was actually a bit strange seeing Battles in Belgravia, as when we first met, it was in the bar at the Arizona Biltmore Hotel. He was then part of the Killer Year collective. Battles had come toward me rather shyly, proceeded to introduce himself, and then told me that he’d enjoyed reading my reviews and author interviews at the e-zine Shots. After a little small talk about what books we enjoyed, he indicated modestly that he had recently sold his debut novel, The Cleaner, to Delacorte Press, and wondered if I--being a nut for thrillers--might be interested in having a read. After he gave me the premise, I was hooked, so he handed me an advance reading copy. The Cleaner’s back jacket copy told me more about what to expect:

Jonathan Quinn: a freelance operative with a take-no-prisoners style and the heart of a loner. His job? Professional ‘cleaner.’ Nothing too violent, just disposing of bodies, doing a little cleanup if necessary. But in Brett Battles’ thrilling debut novel, Quinn’s latest assignment will change everything, igniting a harrowing journey of violence, betrayal and revenge. The job seemed simple enough: investigating a suspicious case of arson. But when a dead body turns up where it doesn’t belong--and Quinn’s handlers at ‘the Office’ turn strangely silent--he knows he’s in over his head. With only a handful of clues, Quinn scrambles for cover, struggling to find out why someone wants him dead--and if it is linked to a larger attempt to wipe out the Office.

I remember remarking to Battles at the time that I was amazed his protagonist’s “profession” hadn’t generated more attention over the years. Apart from, say, Harvey Keitel’s portrayal of Winston “The Wolf” Wolfe in Pulp Fiction, and perhaps Charles Bronson and Jan-Michael Vincent in The Mechanic, no one had featured a “cleaner” as the star of a thriller before. I thought it was a mental idea, and sure enough, I was proven right.

In the summer of 2007, I encountered Battles again when we both attended ThrillerFest in New York City. In fact, he and I shared a panel discussion on the topic of thrillers and Internet blogging. And just this year, Preface (and Delacorte in the States) published the follow-up to The Cleaner, titled The Deceived. That story turned out to be even more intriguing than its publicized synopsis:

As a professional ‘cleaner,’ Jonathan Quinn disposes of bodies and ties up loose ends. Doesn’t get his hands dirty, no wet work. But when he discovers he’s been hired to vanish all traces of Steven Markoff, one of his best friends who just happened to work for the CIA, his job suddenly hits too close to home. This time, it’s personal. Quinn is determined to get justice for Markoff. Plus, now, Markoff’s girlfriend Jenny, who had been an assistant to an ambitious Congressman, has also disappeared. Racing from the corridors of power in Washington to the bustling streets of Singapore--along with his smart, eager apprentice Nate and brilliant, beautiful Orlando, his closest friend who’s saved his life more than once--events quickly spiral dangerously out of control. With an addictive momentum and fascinating characters, The Deceived takes us on a thrilling, nerve-wracking journey.

During our dinner in London, I recalled for Battles how far he’d come since we first met. He blushed modestly, and then went on to change the subject, talking about the trips he and Kelly had been making recently around Europe, as he’s researched both his third Quinn book (tentatively titled Shadow of Betrayal) and his still-evolving fourth novel. He wrote about those travels in a post for the blog Murderati:

I don’t remember exactly when I started THE CLEANER. And with THE DECEIVED, I know it was the summer of 2006, but that’s only because I had turned in the first 50 pages with my proposal to my editor then. My third novel, SHADOW OF BETRAYAL, was started much in the same way in the summer of 2007. And for my next novel (we’ll call it Quinn 4--or simply Q4--since there’s no title yet) I also wrote a few chapters just this July to get my publisher on board.

But in the months since I sent those pages off, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the new book. And as I mentioned in my last post, I’ve also taken a recent trip to the UK and Paris to do location research. Because of all this, the way the book starts has been morphing in my mind. I no longer think what I wrote this summer is the way for the book to begin.

The reason this is pertinent to my post today is because I made a plan several weeks ago to get Q4 going on November 5th. Why the 5th? One, because it would be enough after my return from Europe that I shouldn’t be effected by jet lag any longer, but mainly because it was the day after [the presidential] election here in the States, and I knew it would be stupid to start before that was over.

So now I’ve begun. And I can truly point to the 5th of November as the day when Q4 began. (Okay ... for you purists, of course it began the first day I started thinking about it, but I’m talking about real words on paper, most of which will--hopefully--make the final cut!)

As I might have predicted, our meals at La Poule au Pot were excellent, as were the conversations in which we all indulged. I had to laugh at one point, when Barry Forshaw asked Battles quite seriously what his real name was, as he was convinced that Brett Battles had to be a nom de plume. (Sorry, Barry.) We talked late into that evening about thrillers, the suddenly hopeful state of American politics, our favorite cities (Battles and Kelly said theirs was Paris), Stotter’s favorite karaoke songs (a bit of a conversational sidetrack, but no matter), and much else.

Before we knew it, the hour had turned very late and we had to head off, after thanking the Preface Publishing folks for their hospitality. We all piled into my car, and I dropped everybody off at their respective hotels or homes. Heading back to my own house, I reflected on how surreal life can be sometimes. I mean, one minute I’m sitting in a bar in Phoenix, sucking back a beer with an unpublished and unknown thriller writer with an improbable name; and then, two years later, that same author has a pair of remarkable works selling rather well in the UK, and he’s being fêted by his publisher in a Belgravia restaurant.

Will wonders never cease? I certainly hope not.