“We Found Teeth In The Deposit Slot.”

STONE 2: The Saint of Seven Mile

“Detective, we’ve got him on camera. The bank manager’s got the tape cued up right now.”

“Show me.”

Inside the security room of Detroit First National, the small group of patrolmen and detectives huddle around the black and white monitor. Blurry, grainy, and without color, it’s as surreal a view of the world as the scene they were about to watch. “Wait until you see this, Detective. This guy’s fucking nuts.”

The first view is from the overhead camera of the drive-thru lane. A pale gray Bronco pulls up slowly to the ATM. The camera angle is wide, enough to see the entire vehicle, but not much of the occupants. The window rolls down, and a woman reaches over and begins a transaction.

“Did you run those plates yet?”

“Yeah. New York tags. Comes back to a Sue Peterson. No known address in Detroit, but we’re out looking for the vehicle right now.”

“Can we get a close up? How about the ATM cam? Can we see their faces?”

“Yeah, hang on.” A click of a mouse and the screen changes to a fish-eye view from the ATM itself. The woman is beautiful, even behind large and dark sunglasses. As she leans forward to insert her bank card, the passenger becomes visible over her shoulder.

“That’s our guy, in the passenger seat.”

Suddenly the calmness of the scene becomes something else entirely.


“Yeah, this is where it starts.”

A third figure runs up between the woman and the ATM, putting a gun in her face and pointing at the ATM. For a few brief seconds he waves his arms around frantically, then suddenly he hits the woman in the mouth with the gun.

“He hit her, right? Did he just hit her right there?”

“Yeah. Watch the passenger.”

The man in the passenger seat shifts towards the driver as he grabs the steering wheel and turns it sharply towards the ATM. The car abruptly lunges forward, pinning the robber between the wall and the car. The detective watches intently, chewing gum with loud smacks. “That was slick.” The rhythm of the gum suddenly changes as the passenger exits the car. “What’s he doing now?”

“Go back to the overhead camera.”

“Damn…that’s a big dude.”

At the ATM the robber is still clutching his gun with one hand, and his crushed hip with the other. As the male passenger walks around the rear of the car, the injured thug raises the weapon and points it directly at him. “Look at him. He’s walking right up on the gun like he doesn’t care.”

Then the retribution begins.

“Whoa..damn.” As the detectives watch, the passenger walks up to the robber, grabs the hand with the gun, and violently forces the thug to hit himself in his own face with it. Once, twice, and on the third time the gun goes off. There is no sound from the monitor, but the bright flash of the muzzle is clear as the gun fires straight up into the ceiling of the drive-thru.

“Make sure we get that bullet. Do we have the gun?”

“No. He tosses it into the… right there…”

The man pulls the gun from the thug’s hand and tosses it through the window into the Bronco. The robber is now holding his face with both hands, seemingly trying to cower back, leaning away from the passenger as far as he can. The intended victim, now the aggressor, grabs the thug by the throat with both hands. Looking over his shoulder to the woman driver, they exchange a few words, and the Bronco suddenly backs up, releasing its prisoner from the wall.

“What the hell is this guy doing? Can we go back to the ATM camera?”

“Yeah, but you won’t see much.”


“You’ll see.”

Another click of a button and the fish-eye cam comes into view again. At first all that can be seen is the back of the robber until he is suddenly spun around to face the camera and thrust forward into it, making his face appear to slam into the monitor. The detective’s gum falls from his open mouth.


Again and again the thug’s face is thrust forward into the TV screen. Each time the camera becomes a little more fogged with blood and snot, but each impact makes a clear and visceral impression on those watching. The camera shifts violently with every blow, the entire ATM moving from the force. After several moments the monitor screen is nothing but a smear of DNA.

“Fuckin’ A.”

“Yeah. We found teeth in the deposit slot.”

“You what?

“We found teeth in the deposit slot.”

The detective stared blankly at the officer for a moment, trying to chew gum that was no longer there, before sighing deeply and turning back to the screen. “Go back to the overhead.”

From above, the officers watch the man drop the thug to the ground, then step away towards the Bronco; but he doesn’t leave. “What’s he doing?”

“Watch. He’s asking her for the ATM card.”

As they watch the woman hands the man her card through the car window. He pauses there for a moment, reaching out to caress the woman’s face. He kisses her, then walks back to the ATM, casually inserting the card while standing over the crumpled body as if it wasn’t there. He makes his withdrawal, and then begins walking back to the Bronco. As he crosses the drive lane, he looks directly up at the camera.

“Freeze that, right there. Can you zoom in on that?”


Seconds later the screen is filled with the face of Mason Stone. His steel gaze meets the detective’s eyes; his face expressionless, emotionless, unaffected by the brutal events that occurred just moments ago.

“That’s a cold son of a bitch right there. Let’s make sure we get this guy.”

The Saint of Seven Mile



Here I sit,
My pyre lit,
Vodkas all in a row.
The path ahead,
Same as behind,
Nowhere left to go.

No, I’m not dying. But just like Pink Floyd, I am tired of running around on the same old ground, year after year. The beauty of life is that on any given day you can wake up and change yours, and the beauty of not wearing underwear is when the winds of change blow, you can really feel it.

In two weeks I’ll turn 54. I think I’m a little older than my father was when I watched him die on a hotel room floor. The hotel by the way, that he had just bought – part of chasing his American dream. That dream died with him, just out of reach, by literally minutes. We can all see that any one of us can die any second, but most of us ignore that, live in denial, and waste our living minutes anyway.

Things are changing for me. Or maybe more accurately, I feel the need for some changes so I’m going to make some changes. There is much I have done wrong, and much I can do better. What we often forget while we are thinking of where we want to be in five years, is that it’s what we do today that gets us there. Most people wait until four years and eleven months to realize they never got on the train. Sometimes ten years get behind you, because no one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun. More Floyd, see how easy that is?

Today I’m getting off the hamster wheel. Maybe that means the devil has finally answered my call and I’ve got a soul to sign away, but so be it. My plan was never to be slid into a pine box, it was always to jump off a cliff in a ball of flames. Better to burn out, than fade away. Def Leppard, not Floyd – but it works here.

I’ve had to rethink a lot of things lately. All my life if someone messed with me I beat them up. Now I carry a gun, so a lifelong strategy just went right out the window. Not an easy adjustment. All the things I want to change about my life require time and focus. Maybe even those dreaded twins of dedication and discipline. Almost hurts to say those words. Whenever you apply time and focus to something, it means you remove it from something else. There are several things I am going to be doing less of for awhile, one of them being social media, which is the whole point of this speech. With my books and my social media presence (because the two pretty much go hand in hand if you want to do it right) I have an enormous footprint. No, not a made-up carbon footprint, a real life Google one. Search my name in Google and I pretty much fill the first two pages. Go ahead, try it. I triple dog dare you. It’s fun, but not so fun. It takes… You guessed it, time and focus. Exactly those two things I just said I had to apply somewhere else.

So I’m backing away from social media for a bit, to spend time and focus on some other things. I think it’s a good idea for everyone to do once in a while really. The internet is not the same AOL dial-up fun of “Oh look…porn!” that it used to be before some of you were even born. It’s now a complete shit show of misguided politics, obnoxious ignorant opinions, and the regurgitation of completely false propaganda and no one cares because knee jerk reactions are the name of the game these days. And people literally live in that world day in and day out. Imagine the mental cancer that’s causing. I see some people who do nothing with their life for years but live on social media, and I can only think my god what are you doing to yourself? When you have to be on social media because you want to sell books, it’s goddamn exhausting.

So, I’m out for awhile. How long? Don’t know. Might be twelve minutes, might be forever, but I doubt it. The 8th Day will be out all over the world shortly, provided Covid hasn’t somehow slowed things down at Amazon. I might take all that book money and buy an old Scottish castle and live off the grid, or I might relapse and buy some better and faster internet so I can knee-jerk post better and faster than any of you. We’ll just have to wait and see.

So stay well, try to be kind to each other. Take my advice and try stepping away from the internet for even just a minute. Go outside and look at a tree or something. It just might spark some primordial life back into you.

The 8th Day is coming. Buy it, read it, leave me a review on Amazon and then tell two friends about me.

I’ll see you on the other side, sooner or later.

Here It Comes…

2020 is here, and so is The 8th Day. I can’t believe this was three years in the making. But Judgment was such a great book, it was hard to follow with something even better. But it is, and the ending will leave you speechless. The opening lines of the final chapter are below, but this is all you get until Release Day.

The Darkness Cometh

“Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear she couldn’t go on
Then the door was open, and the wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared
The curtains flew and then he appeared
Saying don’t be afraid
Come on baby… and she had no fear
And she ran to him… And they started to fly
They looked backward and said goodbye
She had become like they are
She had taken his hand
She had become like they are
Come on baby…don’t fear the reaper”

 ~ Blue Oyster Cult


Natalie lay inside the crypt upon the concrete floor, weeds growing up through the cracks to mingle with her flesh. Time had become meaningless. She might have laid there for hours, maybe days, maybe weeks. She had come here to escape the toxic rain, to finally truly die, as this was a place where the dead belonged. The bodies within the walls had sang to her their sad songs of misery, wailing in the darkness, protesting their predicament. They had become silent now, as had the rest of the world around her. There was little pain anymore, perhaps her body’s ability to send and receive nerve impulses between her brain and her rotting parts had finally stopped. There was a strange sensation of nothingness, almost a sense of peace.

She began to dream, and the final remnants of her consciousness knew it was odd as she hadn’t had dreams in quite a long time, perhaps since she was actually alive. Her dream mimicked real life, and she saw herself lying on the crypt floor, dying, rotting, her body barely resembling its former self. The weeds grew and the bugs crawled, and within her mind was a strange nothingness. A moment came when she sensed the arrival of a presence. Something she couldn’t quite comprehend, but it grew in strength until there was that unmistakable feeling of being watched, of knowing someone was there. A scent followed, the powerful smell of a beast, like an animal cage in a zoo. It grew in strength and became overwhelming, as did the feeling of the presence.

A large shape appeared in the entrance of the crypt, a looming dark shadow of great size. As it moved inside towards her, she could hear the clapping of hooves upon the concrete floor. She could see it more clearly now, something half man and half animal. From the waist down it was the body of a beast, its two muscled legs covered with fur that stretched down to hooves instead of feet. Above the waist was the form of a man except his eyes were black as night and great horns protruded from his head. Her fear grew as the great form bent over her. He reached out with a human hand, gently stroking her cheek, his long black fingernails gliding along what remained of her dying skin. In the strangeness that all dreams bring, her skin began to tingle where he touched her. He stared into her eyes, and she into his, the pure black orbs giving no sign of emotion or personality. The tingling spread, from her cheek, across her face, down across her breasts and beyond. It was the feeling of life, of restoration. She could see her body returning, the rotting skin replaced with new, slowly restoring her to who she used to be when she was alive. There was an overwhelming sensation of relief, as if she had been holding her breath for a very long time and suddenly inhaled gulps of fresh air. “My God,” she thought, “I’m alive!”

“No,” came a deep voice that echoed through both the crypt and in her mind simultaneously, “Not God.”



… and what happens next you aren’t ready for.

With the 2020 relaunch of my writing, I’m re-opening the pre-orders for signed copies. You can order one using the link here > The 8th Day Pre-Order

Worldwide release is imminent. Pre-orders will get them first. Cheers and I hope everyone has a great year!


The 2020 Relaunch

Hello world. I’ll keep this as short as possible, but it’s been a long time coming. When my first books came out, everything was great and it was fun for awhile. Strangers from all over the world sent me fan mail, I made lots of new friends, and some crazy people even sent me naked pictures. But being a semi-public figure was never something I was cut out to be, and I had to turn my back on the the whole writing thing for awhile. There’s probably four books at least that have sat 90% done, but collecting dust because I just didn’t want to do it anymore. Writing comes naturally to me, and my talent to string words together in interesting ways has always been one of my strongest attributes, but to do it for others, to put my inner self out for the world to critique is extremely challenging for someone with introvert tendencies. I tried to carry things along, to trudge forward. We set a lot of release dates for The 8th Day that came and went and the book still sits here waiting for me to hit the ‘send’ button. And for that, to all of you, I apologize.

So now, that inner calling has been eating away at me. The need to purge some things from my head grows. Mason Stone’s demons have more to tell us about the dark sadness of a violent and broken mind. Las Vegas – Sin City –  is about to be hit with the biblical apocalypse. There’s two more Das Vampir stories sitting around here somewhere. Some badass patriots are going to save America from itself. My pirates are still out doing battle against the British empire. There’s a lot to do and much to come.

So 2020 is the relaunch of the writing career. The 8th Day will be released very soon, and I really mean it this time. For all of you that have hung around and stuck it out with me since the first book came out five years ago, I thank you. Hang in there with me just a wee bit longer, great things are about to happen.

~ Tom Reinhart

It’s Art, Not Business

Remember when Axl Rose became notorious for always showing up late for concerts, or not at all? I will soon become notorious for never getting a book released on time. The 8th Day, the sequel to Judgment, was do to hit the streets worldwide tomorrow on the 26th. Yeah, well, it’s gonna run a little late. But the 26th is my birthday, so go easy on me. The truth is I actually really stressed over this for the last few weeks, then I realized I need to stop beating myself up. Writing is art, not business. When writing becomes more about deadlines and dollars, it’s no longer art, it’s business. Ironically there is a bit of a business reason for it not being released yet. I’ve been working on becoming my own publisher, under the brand name ‘Visceral Tales’. It had to be trademarked, incorporated, etc. Not only will this allow me to actually make money on my own books instead of some other publisher getting 99% of it, but in the future when I’m old and retired it will allow me to branch off into other projects including helping publish other aspiring writers.

Judgment was a great book, and The 8th Day is even better. Those that pre-ordered will get them first before anyone else or any store. They will be signed, and have a bonus chapter that the retail book in Amazon and Barnes & Noble will not have. They will be rare and maybe worth a fortune after the movie comes out  ; )  .

So stay tuned, it will be in your hands shortly, and thanks for taking this ride with me. There are still pre-orders available, so if you’d like one CLICK HERE.


Saint Monolith 3 Gets An Official Title

We’ve had Saint Monolith, then The Saint of Seven Mile, and now SM3 looms on the horizon later this year. It finally has an official title, “The Demon of Delancey Street,” and it’s origins can be found in my early love of comic books.


Sin City, Natalie, and The Alamo

There was something about Natalie that was mesmerizingly sexy. She had a Brooklyn-esque toughness about her contrasted by an unmistakable femininity all packaged up in a porn star body. The garter of hearts tattooed on her thigh peeked out from behind fishnet stockings, competing against her cleavage for the attention of men’s eyes. A study in extremes, her eyes would beckon ‘come hither’ while the combat boots loosely cradling her ankles said don’t mess with me. She was pure Vegas, pure woman, and pure trouble.

She caught Alex’s attention the moment he began his job at the casino, and after a few weeks of striking up conversations every time he restocked her bar, they began a solid friendship without the benefits he was hoping for. A couple months into the apocalypse they gave the casino a new name, calling it The Alamo, knowing it was where they would probably make their last stand together. Alex knew Natalie was dead and so did she, but they avoided that part of the conversation. Instead the game went on, and the drinks kept coming.

Alex stared at his cards; a king and a four. “Dammit”.
“What are ya’ gonna do stud?”
“I’m fucked.”
“Not yet, but the night’s still young.”
Alex pondered all of that for a moment, carefully considering the fact that Natalie was deceased. “Hit me.”
Grinning, she dropped an eight of diamonds next to his king.
“Son of a…”
Alex took a long sip off of his warm cocktail, ice being a rare commodity at the moment. “You’re cheating.”

Natalie placed her hands on her hips, comedically accentuating the movement. “Seriously dude? What would be the point anymore?” Reaching down below the table she pulled out a bucket full of various colors of chips, dumping a large pile of them in front of him. “How much is that worth?” he asked, briefly noticing her cleavage as she leaned over the table. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe they just still looked great even for a dead woman. She gently spread the chips out across the table, her pink fingernails beginning to stand out starkly against her slowly graying skin. “About a half million. Good luck finding somewhere to spend it.”

She lit a cigarette, taking a long drag as Alex shoved the chips around the table into various shapes and patterns. “Those will kill you, you know,” he said with a grin as he watched the smoke leak from the little bullet hole in the side of her neck. His smile faded quickly as he realized his faux pas. “Sorry, that was messed up.”

Natalie stared at him without expression. “Nah. It’s cool. I’m dead, I get it.” Taking another drag, she looked around the casino. “So is he, and her, and that guy. Fuck…look at him, he’s really messed up.” A few tables away a man was sitting at a roulette wheel, and every time he let go of his head to spin the wheel a large flap of skull and hair would flip down, exposing his brain until he carefully put it back in place. “It used to just be his toupee that would slip.” Natalie began to giggle even before she finished saying it, her laughter echoing through The Alamo. Death had become funny these days, now that you didn’t really quite die.

The 8th Day
Worldwide release April 2020.  Pre-order HERE