I pack an 11mm Marley I bought at Archie Goodwin’s estate sale.  I know which end the slugs come out of.  But 11mm slugs?  Hard to come by these days.

People say I’ve got attitude.  Attitude they don’t like.  I get that a lot.  The cops and me? We work toward the same end, but we’re like water and electricity. They think I cramp their style. They hate that  I don’t have to play by their rules.

I usually end up  needing a lawyer. I’m between lawyers right now.  I  had one.  He fell off the back of an ambulanceful of mesothelioma patients and got run over by a speeding Cooper.  I’m alone and  on my own.  It’s a mean life.  I’m used to it.

Okay, really, I’m not quite like that.  I’m just a mild-mannered fellow who loves mysteries and detectives (public and private alike). I sit at my desk and drink coffee and daydream. I’ve never gone strapped (except for cash), and I’ve never shot anybody — not even in the army — and nobody ever shot me — not even my wife, though I’m sure she sometimes feels like it.  Actually I’ve been happily married to the beautiful Irma since 1967.  While my head’s in the clouds, she helps keep my feet on the ground (Thank God). 

I’m sure people in law enforcement laugh and/or snort at boo-boos they run across in crime fiction.  They may think the writers are stupid or simply ignorant.  FYI we may or may not know what we’re writing about, but in writing there’s a technical loophole that covers this.  It’s called poetic license. It’s legal. 

I like murder mysteries, «romans durs » and « romans noirs ». A couple of my books are not only murder mysteries, but fall under those classifications as well.