Sublime

“His name was Horatio Brown. A throwback,” I said, smiling at the memory. “The type who kept a bottle of whiskey in his desk. Smoked three packs a day. Would occasionally flip through a thick file of his favorite dirty photos that he’d snapped on the job. Believed, as a physical rule of the universe, that every client was lying to him. In that, I’v

They say when death is imminent your entire life flashes in front of your eyes. The only thing flashing before my eyes was a large corrugated iron shed sticking up out of the Louisiana bayou, which I was approaching at a fair old 60mph in an out of control boat. I knew I was going to hit it – and there was nothing I could do about it. I wound up in

Mr. Foote has a talent for conjuring up such images. He has a graphic way of speaking, being from Newfoundland. He doesn’t tiptoe around. He’s built on a square plan: wide torso, thick legs, a short distance between ear and shoulder. It’s a balanced shape, with a low centre of gravity. Mr. Foote would not be easy to upend. Nell expects that’s been

Red Kelley fit right in. He was angry, petty, and violent. He had big ears and about three mustaches’ worth of mustache.

He had short red hair and a face like a collapsed lung. He was as ugly a guy as I ever saw. He

The only gun in sight in the French Quarter was slung on the hip of a young point duty policeman, and discussion revealed that, with his sergeant’s permission, the policeman, with typical Southern hospitality, was quite happy to loan his gun on condition we borrowed him as well. After a street search, the sergeant was found and gave the go-ahead. T