Wayne Turmel

Wayne Turmel was born in Canada, but now lives and writes in Las Vegas. Wayne’s a former standup comedian, car salesman and learning consultant, and he’s the author of 15 books: 10 nonfiction titles such as the best-selling The Long-Distance Leader, Rules for Remarkable Remote Leadership. He writes fiction to save what’s left of his sanity.

His novels include 3 historical fiction novels and the Urban Fantasy series, The Werewolf PI. Johnny Lycan and the Vegas Berserker is the second in that series. His short fiction has appeared online and in publications around the world.

Turmel lives with his wife, the Duchess, and Mad Max, the most manly of poodles.

Welcome to Wayne Turmel

Welcome to Uncaged! In December, your newest book, Johnny Lycan and the Vegas Berserker releases, the second book in the Werewolf PI series. Can you tell readers more about this series?

Johnny Lupul is a nice, blue-collar Chicago boy who’s trying to get his act together as he nears 30. After kicking around as small-time muscle for bookies and working construction, he plans to be a Private Investigator. The only problem is, he’s a werewolf. At the beginning of the series, he is hired by a mysterious old billionaire, who wants Johnny to use his “talents” to help him retrieve some ancient relics.

Since Johnny doesn’t believe in the occult, it’s no big deal. But what if there are things in the world he never imagined? He runs into haunted antique jewelry, a stalker, and an old enemy who is out for revenge. Being a werewolf is suddenly the most normal thing in his world.

In book 2, he is sent to Las Vegas, only to meet a psychic pawn broker, a coven of badass witches, and something even bigger and scarier than he is.

What is the most difficult scene for you to write? What is the easiest?

The action “set pieces” are the easiest to write. They play out like movies in my head. I struggle with the bridge chapters… the ones that get you from one cool scene to the next. Dialogue comes pretty easily, and I think it’s a strength of the series. The sex scenes are awkward. They say write what you know, and I’m not exactly coming from a place of expertise there.

What are you working on now that you can tell us about?

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I’m working on the third book in the Werewolf PI series. Johnny’s back in Chicago and dealing with all kinds of crazy including a 400-year-old witch finder, a Native American wendigo, and a whole

bunch of rats. Too many rats.

What behind-the-scenes tidbit in your life would probably surprise your readers the most?

I spent almost 20 years as a professional standup comic before getting a big boy job and being a responsible adult. I’ve written 10 nonfiction books that don’t showcase my silly side at all. My humor is certainly more evident in the Johnny books than in my first three novels, which were historical fiction. My goofy side leaks out in almost everything I write, though.

Which comes first, the plot or the characters in the planning stages?

Great humor comes from characters put in sticky situations. I always think character first, whether that’s my 10-year-old Syrian orphan in the Lucca le Pou Stories, or Johnny, the blue-collar werewolf. Then, as a writer, you get to indulge yourself with the most fun game there is: “what if?”

Do you base any of your characters on real-life people?

I usually cherry pick bits and pieces from people. In the second book, the character of Cree Jensen was based on someone I saw at the gym and thought, “that’s the kind of girl Johnny would fall for.” I never met her or talked to her, (she didn’t need Plotting is the hardest part for me. Getting from one cool scene to the next in a way that makes sense is the most difficult thing there is. I may or may not succeed from book to book.

What are some things you like to do to relax when you aren’t writing or working?

I’m an old workaholic, so relaxing isn’t what I do best. I do love to watch sports (particularly boxing and hockey), and nothing beats sitting on my deck here in Las Vegas with music on and a good cigar going while I watch the hummingbirds.

What’s your favorite holiday? Do you have any special traditions?

I’m not terribly sentimental, so holidays are mostly days when I’m not working. I do admit to having a week spot for Christmas. Growing up in small-town Canada, I have a number of family traditions that I’ve tried to keep alive. My Puerto-Rican wife bakes me all my favorite Canadian goodies (butter tarts and Nanaimo Bars. If you know, you know.) I’ve tried to teach my heathen American neighbors about the joys of Boxing Day. The pressure of the holidays is over, and you can just chill with family and friends.

Do you prefer ebooks, audiobooks or physical books? Are you reading anything now?

I don’t have the attention span for audio books, and I don’t have a commute, so there really isn’t time to listen to them. For nonfiction books, I love a good hard copy (I much prefer paperbacks to hardcovers) so I can make notes and go back and refer to things. For fun reading, what I refer to as “jellybeans,” like urban fantasy and thrillers, the Kindle App on my tablet lets me always have things in queue… even if it does make it too easy to spend money on them. I’m reading the latest installment of Sebastien De Castell’s Greatcoats series… which is like the 3 Musketeers on crack.

What would you like to say to fans, and where can they follow you?

It’s just now occurring to me that I actually HAVE fans. To all of you, I’d say first, thank you for coming along on whatever silly adventures I get up to. Because I have the attention span of a labradoodle, I genre hop and I hope people will indulge me and enjoy whatever I write at that moment. Please take the time to review the books (not just mine, anyone’s) and help others find me and my work.

Stay Connected

WayneTurmel.com

Enjoy an excerpt from Johnny Lycan & the Vegas Berserker

Johnny Lycan & the Vegas Berserker Wayne Turmel Shifter Suspense Available Dec. 8

America’s favorite werewolf P.I. is off to Las Vegas.

What could go wrong? Life’s good for Johnny Lupul. He has a steady gig and a growing reputation as a guy who gets things done. He’s even learning to keep his Lycan side under control—mostly.

But when he’s sent to Sin City on a simple retrieval job, things go sideways. He bumps up against a coven of unconventional witches, a psychic pawn broker, and a mysterious enemy with a secret darker and more violent than his own.

Take a bite out of the exciting second book in this gritty urban fantasy noir series.

Excerpt From Chapter 8:

Johnny has gone to meet his contact at a pawn shop in a shady part of Las Vegas. Before that can happen, he interrupts an attempted robbery…

The hair on my neck stood straight up, and goosebumps rippled like piano keys up and down my arms. A low, wolfish growl bubbled in my throat, and it was a wonder nobody else heard it. Shaggy wanted at this guy, bad.

Just to burn off the energy and keep my worse half under control, I was halfway across the room in a single bound. Getting airborne, I let out a deep growl, and clotheslined the big guy. His thick neck fit perfectly in the crook of my arm and momentum carried us both to the ground. His head struck a shelf bracket, knocking something to the ground. I rolled over him and into a perfect 3-point stance, eyes narrowed and head up, ready for another run at him if I needed one.

I didn’t.

Tweaker Boy dropped his head like a five-yearold. “Sorry about Dickie. He just doesn’t think sometimes.”

Mr. Collins’ voice was tense but level. “Take your friend here and get out. Never come back. Understand?”

The big guy rubbed the back of his head. Out of instinct, he scrambled around for his gun, but I found it first. My boot stepped on it and I shook my head at him. Judging by his expression, he thought about going for it anyway. Any other day, against some other mook, he might have. I’m pretty sure he saw Shaggy behind my eyes, because without breaking visual contact, he accepted his partner’s outstretched hand and rose shakily to his feet. I was mostly right, the left knuckles spelled HAT. His tattoo session must have been interrupted. At least I hope that was the reason, I was trying to be charitable.

Unimpressed, the big guy spat out, “Asshole.” Whether that was directed at me or his partner, who cared? The wannabe robber checked his scalp for blood. His hand came away streaked red, but he didn’t seem worried by the amount. The two idiots staggered out into the blinding light of East Fremont Street, the door closing behind them with a gentle click.

“Are you alright?” Collins and I asked each other at the same time.

The older man chuckled. “I believe I am, Mr. Lupul. Thank you. I prefer to avoid violence whenever possible, but I appreciate the assistance.” He paused before adding, “And your restraint.”

“Restraint? I coldcocked the guy. I think there’s blood on your, uh, display thing here.”

His eyes narrowed but he let out a good-natured chuckle, followed by a cough. “Mr. Cromwell told me that was likely to happen if someone provoked you. Given what he said, you handled yourself very well. I appreciate that.”

“No problem. Just glad you’re okay.” Wait. What? The notion that a complete stranger might know my deepest secret was bad enough, but that my employer was just blabbing it to everyone was really aggravating. “He told you about me? What’d he say?” My charming professional mood went poof-gone just like that.

“We are in a strange business, son. I like to know who I’m working with. Mr. Cromwell knows if I’m going to do business with anyone in his organization, I have to know about them in advance.” “How long have you been working for him?” He scrunched up his face. “With him. Not for him. I don’t care if he tells you otherwise. But a long time. Probably goes back twenty years or more. Known several of your predecessors.”

“Like who?” The question came out needier than I intended. Why does everyone know more about my business than me?

Mr. Collins shook his head. “I don’t tell my client’s secrets, and I expect the same, uh, discretion from them, although some of them might talk more than they should. There were a couple of, what does Mr. Cromwell call them? Relocation specialists. Before you. And of course, Miz Francine. She still keeping the old man in line?” He smiled.

“Oh yeah.” I was dying to ask exactly what he knew about her—and how well, but there was no way to have that conversation without sounding indiscreet at best, and stupidly jealous at worst. Besides, his focus on discretion meant it would be a short and one-sided discussion.

I still had to know. “Exactly what did he tell you about me?”

“Said you had a tendency to act first and think later, but you were a smart young man.”

I’ll be damned. “Really?”

“Well, what he actually said was that you were smarter than you looked. I’m paraphrasing. He’s right for what it’s worth. I appreciate you not busting up my place unnecessarily.”

I shrugged way too casually. My head was full of questions, none of them had anything to do with why I was there in the first place. Focus, you idiot.

As we talked, he reached down to a small refrigerator under the counter and pulled out a couple of bottles of water and offered one. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was.

“Welcome to Las Vegas. Stay hydrated. Best advice I can give you. Probably the only advice you’d listen to “Thank you, sir.” I reached for it and he tilted the bottle out, so I could take it without making contact with his hand. He took the germ thing seriously. We sipped in silence for a bit, and my eyes drifted around the store, organizing the pinball machine inside my head so I could get back to business. “You have a lot of great stuff here.”

“Thank you. They all have their stories, that’s for sure.”

“Like that guitar I was looking at.”

He nodded. “Yup, although that’s not unusual. Just a bad divorce. Some of them, though… “ he pointed a perfectly manicured nail to the watch case. “See that Rolex, there? The one with the stones?”

I nodded.

“Guy came in a month ago. Wanted to leave a stack of cash for his wife. Knew there was a contract out on him and wanted to do the right thing by her. Only decent thing he ever did in his life. I overpaid a bit, but it was a good cause. Two days later they found him out in the desert.”

“He told you all that?”

Mr. Collins snorted. “Him? He didn’t say diddly squat. The watch told me.”

“I’m sorry. The watch told you?” Gramma used to say that about the cards all the time, and I didn’t believe her. Didn’t used to believe her.

Mr. Collins seemed surprised by my response. He gave me the once over before speaking.

“I would have thought you knew, given how free our friend is with information. What did Mr. Cromwell tell you I do for him?”

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“Appraisal. Authentication. Said you knew which of his relic things are real and which are fakes.”

“And how did he say I did that?”

He’d never told me. “I guess, what do they call it at museums? Provenance, right? Paperwork, that kind of thing?”

He sat down on a stool with a heavy sigh and drained his water bottle. “Nah, young man. I’m a clairetangentist.”

He could tell from my dopey expression I didn’t have a clue what that meant. “Means I touch things and they tell me their stories.” I blinked at him. “I can tell by touch whether something is I know when something, or someone, is what they claim to be. That’s why…” He held up his latex-gloved hands in explanation.

“Oh, come on.” It came out ruder than intended. He didn’t seem offended, just surprised. “You work for Oliver Cromwell, and you don’t believe in such things? Either you’re not telling the truth or you’re just not paying attention. Stick around as long as me, son. You’ll see stuff will fry your eyeballs. As the Bard said, there are more things than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio. But yes, everything in here has told me its story.” He was a nice enough guy. I played along out of politeness. “Are they all sad stories like that watch?”

“You ever know anyone who went to a pawn shop with good news?”

I toasted him with my plastic bottle. “Good point.”