Darkest B4 the Dawn

Got some flash going over at Aldo's Darkest Before The Dawn today. An unusual tale for me, thin on dialogue and without Charlie Byrne's mug getting in the way. Story is called, El Entierro. Read it here.

Ahhhhhhh

Phew. It's over. Don't know about you but for me Christmas is probably the most stressful holiday of the year. Now comes New Year's Eve. Had quite of few slices of fun on New Year's Eve over the years. Crazy parties long past, adventures in NYC, waking up in peculiar places. All dirty water under the bridge unless, of course, they move Bouchercon to New Year's Eve, then all bets are off. This year as for the past three, I'll be doing the First Night Jersey "family" thing in Ocean City. Going to see the ultimate kid's duo Trout Fishing in America, fire jugglers, get slices of pizza, rock some mini golf with temps in the 30s, take the kids on the rides, and maybe even play some skee-ball (a Jersey thing)--all reopened for the eve of 2010. Might even sack-up the 5MM as this Sunday's swell forecast seems, doable. Insane, yes. But doable. Trust me, I won't be the only old man kooking in the lineup. Looking forward to writing hard in 2010! May all your crimedogish wishes come true in the new year.

Big Boy Came

Merry Christmas....

Received so much coffee I do believe I will need and AED device soon.

Happy, to all.

Words to Write By: Bugs Bunny

"Don't take life too seriously. You'll never get out alive." -Bugs Bunny

Oh. By the way. Since Bogart is pictured left, rumor has it Clive Owen? Hollywood is casting him as Philip Marlowe. In development, so we know where that leads.

Ho-Ho-Ho

With a cast like this? How can this miss?

Small Print: Daily News Story-NY Updating Police Line Tape

It's just the nit-picker, producer in me maybe. They may want to add some small print that says "$500 Fine Assessed to Trespassers", because, let's be honest, the vast populace (a) has about as much common sense as Canadian in Tampa skipping the sunscreen and (b) illiteracy rates, especially in areas rife with crime, are not exactly blue-ribboning it. Yeah, yeah...maybe this is more work for the overworked police, but it could spare some smart-ass,bottom feeder from chucking up a red flag in court. It could also bring in some revenue to the city. Am I wrong here? Nope. And for the record, I love Canada and Canadians, I just had to pick on somebody and the magic 8-Ball pointed north. Even dated a girl from Canada once, although I shaved my head to get rid of her. Long story.

Charlie Byrne Surfs CrimeWav(e)

Seth and Aldo have done me a solid for the holidays, and for this I am so unbelievably grateful. Really.

For all those who never got the chance to read the very first of my Charlie Byrne stories "The Lifeguard Method" ...I'm reading it via Harwood's online podcast powerhouse CrimeWav. This is a big thrill for me. Truly terrified of hearing my own voice naturally. Here's hoping I don't sound like too much of a mumbling schmuck. Take a listen to Episode 45 if you dare.

New JH

Nope. Nothing else to say except--stoked. Santa? You listening? Please? I promise to be a good boy until, well, let's just say I'll do my best. Look, my stocking has been modified to include hardcovers? Slide right in there next to Ellroy. Man...Harrison. There's none greater. Essayist, poet, novelist. Updike? Bah. Kiss my behind.

Lights Parade

This is a snap of my friend's Jay's wee Arlberg last weekend for the Annapolis Lights Parade. Boat was full of University of Maryland Medical Students--hence the "healthy holidays." I'm on the stern, behind Jay--one of the few on board without a bloodstained lab coat and sober. Yes. That is a stethoscope on a heart. The lights on the heart beat a steady rhythm. It was freezing and my throat was sore from singing but a real blast.

What a Waste of Time

Of course I was dumb enough to watch Spiderman 3 last night. Good God. Could not turn away from the awfulness. *SIGH* But The Ramones can always pick me up. As did this cartoon when I was a kid (although I was always skeptical that men wearing fedoras were the only ones doing smash and grabs). And the lyrics! Who really ignores wealth and fame? This is America! It's Christmas! Gimme, gimme, gimme some more!

Words to Write By: John Guare

"We live in a world where amnesia is the most wished-for state. When did history become a bad word?" - John Guare

Yep. Mr. The House of Blue Leaves and Six Degrees of Separation. But he also wrote one of the most haunting "crime" plays I ever had the good fortune to be cast in (I played Detective Holahan). Hardcore interrogation, beheading, rolling Johns for drug money, porn actresses...great stuff--Landscape of the Body. It was one of the cruelest roles I ever got to play and I loved making my co-star cry. Get a taste here.

Goodis Grace: January 10, 2010

Just clicked over to Duane Swierczynski's Secret Dead Blog, and I'm thinking...you know what? I'm thinking I'm going to make the drive. Why the hell not? Yeah! YEAH! Why the hell not?! Maybe I can get some Goodis-goodness karma working. Join!

Flash-Fiction Challenge: Airport

BEHIND THE CURTAIN
by: Kieran Shea

“Dude…”
“What?”
“What’s up with the curtain?”
“Huh?”
“I said, what’s up with the curtain?”
“What do you mean, what’s up with the curtain?”
“I mean--”
“How should I know? Pilot wants his privacy. His plane, let him do what he wants.”
…
…
“But there’s only, like, three of us.”
“Your point being?”
“Is it really necessary?”
“Am I missing something here?”
“Last guy didn’t use a curtain."
"Uh-uh."
"Guys before? No curtain with them, but now this Kenny Rogers-looking fly boy uses a curtain? What? He think he’s the Wizard of Oz or somethin’?”
“Kenny Rogers?”
“Got to admit, kind of looks like the guy.”
“You know what? Do me a favor. For once in your life quit being such a colossal tool. This pilot? Stone-cold pro, okay? Been flying product back and forth under the radar since, like, before you were born. Columbia. Venezuela. Heard he even ran guns in West Africa for a time. So just chill, all right? Jeeze....”
“Still..."
"What?"
"I'm just gettin' a weird vibe here is all.”
“Weird vibe. You and your weird vibes.”
“No big deal for you, you got your gun.”
“And that is my problem? You were the one too busy playing kissy-face with your girlfriend this morning. I picked you up and said, you ready? You said yeah I'm ready. Ready means ready. Ready means armed.”
"Yeah, but can you trust a guy who’s got to hide behind a curtain?”
“Cripes. What do you know about flying, huh? Maybe this pilot needs a curtain to concentrate on the instruments. Maybe he doesn’t want to look back and see that ugly shirt you’re wearing. Maybe he’s rubbing one out. What do you care?"
"I don't care..."
"Apparently you do. Jesus. Look out the window and stop worrying so much. Look for whales. Look for Haitian refugees. We’ll be on the key in an hour, pick up, and be back in Miami in no time.”
…
…
…
…
“I like to look out the front of a plane.”
…
…
“You’re fucking with me right?”
“No.”
“Tell me you’re fucking with me. No. Wait. Wait. Don’t tell me you’re fucking with me, because you’re way too fucking stupid to be fucking with me. You know what? Okay. This is it. Prepare yourself.”
“Prepare myself?”
“Yeah.”
“Prepare myself for what?”
“In about three seconds I am going to beat you silly.”
“Hey, now--hey! Knock it off, man! Hey! Ow! Let go of my arm! OW! Cut it out, man! Lay off! Cut it out! I'm sorry! OW!”
“HEY!"
...
...
“YOU TWO BOYS WANT A BREWSKI?!”
…
…
“Um, yeah! Sure! Why not?!”
"Sure, yeah. Why not?!"
…
…
“See? What did I tell you? In flight beers. Told you this dude is cool. And look at that. No curtain now. Happy?”
“Yeah…”
...
...
...
“Hey.”
“Now what?”
“Don't you think we should be flying higher?”
“Flying higher?”
“Yeah. Altitude, man. Look out the window. Ain’t we kind of flying low fo—WHOA!”
“CHRIST!”
“WHAT THE--?”
“JESUS CHRIST!"
"Ha-ha! Sorry, amigos! Your captain here has to use the head in the back of the plane. Just locked this puppy’s auto pilot in is all--sorry about the bumps. Clunkier than a sack of cats, but works just fine with the clear air we got. Let me squeeze by you two. Phew! My bladder’s ‘bout to burst.”
…
…
“Great. A sauced pilot and now we're on autopilot. Great. That's just fuckin' great.”
“Will you relax?”
“There should be a co-pilot on these runs, man.”
“Yeah, well. Deal with it.”
"What if he has a heart attack?"
"God, you're impossible, you know that?"
…
…
“Ahhhh! Now that's more like it. Hey!"
"What?"
"I heard you two boys talking before, you know.”
“What?"
"I said I heard you two talking before."
...
...
"Really?”
“Yeah. You, Mr. Worrypants. Heard you don’t like my cockpit curtain.”
“You heard me say that?”
“Yep. Clear as a bell. Your Kenny Rogers comment too."
"Hey, I was just kidding about that. Sorry, man. Sorry."
"Yeah? Well this headset may make me look deaf but the cabin here is, like, wired for sound. Which makes you the dude packing. So—”
POP!
“GAHHHH! WHAT D’HELL! FUCK! HOLYFUCKINGSHIT!”
“Now, you! Don’t even think of making a move or I will shoot you in face like your buddy here!”
“Jesus! God, man, don’t shoot me! Please! Please God don't shoot me!”
“I’m not going to shoot you, dumbass! Undo your seatbelt and help me dump this guy out the plane!"
"What?!"
"Come on! We have to dump him! We only have a few minutes! Get up! Move!”
“Don’t shoot me! Please God, just please don’t shoot me...."
“I’m not going to shoot you!”
“But why’d you shoot him?!”
“Orders!”
“Orders?! What's going on?!”
“Beats me! Boss said skimming so do me a favor, okay?! You see that strap?! Hold onto that strap and lift that door lever! No, flip the red safety switch off first! Yeah! That’s it! Now pull the lever and give it a good yank and the door should slide open easy! But hold onto that belt, okay?!”
“I’ll be sucked out of the plane!”
“Dude, you feel that breeze?! Cockpit's window has been open for over an hour now! We’re not pressurized! Few thousand feet tops! This ain’t no Lear Jet, Goldfinger, and I sure as hell ain’t no Pussy Galore!”
“He’s really dead?!”
“Of course he's really dead! Close range .22 in the ear kind of scrambles the brain! Now! Open the goddamn door!"
...
"There you go! That's it! Attaboy!"
"Oh God..."
“Good! Now! Get his feet!"
"WHAT?!"
"I SAID GET HIS FEET!"
...
"Good! Now push! Push him out!”
“Push him out?!”
"YEAH!"
"Christ..."
"Now, then! Seeing that you were stupid enough not to grab your buddy's gun you have a choice!"
"What?! A choice?!""
"Yeah! A choice! A...you can jump and have a nice long fall without pain or B...I can shoot you and you can have a nice long fall with some serious pain! Of course there's option C where I just shoot you in the face anyway but that'll be a pain in the ass for me, the mess and all! Me, I’d man up and go for option A, know what I'm sayin'?! Say your prayers, see some of the big world before it all goes black!”
“But you said you wouldn’t shoot me!”
“If you go with option A I won't have to!"
"Please!"
"Trust me, it’ll be painless! Body just pops right open on impact, this altitude!”
"Please! I have money! I can disappear! The boss doesn't have to know a thing! Leave me someplace! Please, for the love of God, don't do this!"
...
...
“Running out of time here! What's it going to be?! Option A, B, or C?!”
...
...
...
"Man. Guess C it is! Bummer!"

Friday Flash Fiction: The Gift

THE GIFT
A Charlie Byrne Holiday Story

As the rumble receded westward, a fine layer of dust settled on the tall stack of vintage condom boxes. Last line out on the PATCO spur back to Philly. The vintage condoms made me wonder. You’d think, Camden, there’d be nothing left in an abandoned pharmacy like this, but the vintage condom boxes were high on a metal shelf. Hmm. Short looters? No matter. Shouldn’t be in a neighborhood like this anyway.
-
When I kicked in the door a homeless man wrapped in greasy blankets scuttled across the room into a corner. I made the homeless guy's decade by giving him a fifty to split and not come back for twenty minutes. That meant I had about ten minutes before he’d be back with his friends, take down whitey handing out the quick cash. I was okay with that. If it came to that, I had my gun.
-
I looked down at Jeremy Wall. I had bound him with duct tape and he lay face down in the glass and debris. His hands were tied behind his back with black, plastic zip-ties. I gagged him with a sweat sock and some more duct tape.
-
“This will hurt, Jeremy” I began.
-
“DNNNNNN!”
-
“Look, man, I don’t exactly relish doing this myself—there’s a feel to it, you know? Breaking fingers. Used to take me hours to shake the feeling. That’s why I stopped using my hands and now I use the vice-grip pliers and gloves. Kind of distances the sensation. Now then. I’m going to close my eyes. For only the briefest of moments mind you, but if you try anything, move, try to flip over then I swear to you I will take my knife and sever your abdominal aorta artery. You know what that is? The abdominal aorta artery? I like to think of it as genetic engineering—make certain you never reproduce. The buck stops there, as it were. So. Here we go.”
-
“ARRRRRGMMMHH!”
-
“Hurts, doesn’t it? Here’s comes number two!”
-
“MMMMRGHHH!”
-
“Now then, Jeremy. Let me fill you in on why you are here. We are in Camden, quite possible the shittiest, most God awful ass crack in New Jersey, if not the whole country. A while back, Camden was hot in the running to have the worst crime statistics in the country per capita. Imagine that. Now. I don’t like being here either, but I needed to frame things so you get the message.”
-
Tears and snot freely now. Jeremy's lungs clawed against the gag for air.
-
“Homeless guy? That dude will be back very soon, and I can guaran-fucking-tee you he’s bringing his friends and to roll your ass for everything you got, understand me?”
-
“Mmmmm….”
-
“You sold some very bad crystal to a friend of mine’s daughter. I know...party time, party time, and all that, right? Well, that kind of ends up with tonight's big show for you. See, I know that girl. Watched her grow up, pushed her on swings. She ended up in the E.R in a very, very bad way. Her dad is a friend of mine and we’ll leave it at that. When her dad called me I said I’d take care of it, because, let’s face it…I have little in the qualm department these days. Yes, we agreed the cops would probably be best course of action and the fairest, but it takes time to build a case and they might screw it up, plus a lot of P.D.s out where we live kind of hate me so maybe you’d get lucky and get off. Me and her father couldn’t have that, so you know what? I thought, hey. Finger time. I also put out the word you claimed to be representin’ product for the Latin Kings, and I know for a fact some twenty-something white trash piece of shit like you, ain’t. Oh, Jeremy, those hombres do take their reputation seriously. Very seriously. My guess is you never even passed high school Spanish.”
-
A rat tramped along the far wall, its tail thick as an electrical cord. I dropped the pliers and pulled out my Beretta Sub Compact from my side-draw holster. I chambered a round.
-
Man, I hate rats.
-
Jeremy squirmed.
-
“Oh, where was I? So yeah, the Latin Kings. I gave a contact of theirs your address, which is your mother’s too, filled them in on you sayin’ you're all connected and shit. My guess is your mom will be getting a visit tonight. Told them how she’s in on it too seeing how she has no problem with you cooking and selling it to finance her lard-ass lifestyle of watching television and knocking back the Hostess Ho-Hos.”
-
I lifted my shoulders and shuddered. “Man, I should get a medal. I’m saving taxpayers thousands.”
-
I stepped over Jeremy and made for the door, gun along my leg and looking for rats. I did not look back.
-
“Leave Jersey, Jeremy. Pick up what's left of your mom and get out of here and leave. If I hear you're anywhere in the state, I don't care if it's up north, west, whatever... I will find you and I will kill you. Have a Merry Christmas!”

BEST TO A PULP: Bob Randisi

It is my great pleasure to guest blog and introduce the last BEAT TO A PULP story of the year over on David Cranmer's blog The Education of a Pulp Writer. Robert J. Randisi, everyone...

SHUT UP AND KILL ME. Enjoy.

Mad Men 2.0

Yellow Mama threw some of my flash from a while back up today. I think I wrote the piece when I got 86ed by a weasel for calling him out on not doing his job. Later, it was discovered that said weasel was, in fact, not doing his job and was fired too. Hell, if I were king half the agency should have been shitcanned, scam artists hiding behind a few genius talents. Oh well. The ad game is ruthless sometimes. Let's call it Mad Men 2.0 or 3.0...or whatever. I called it "BLUNT" Read it here.

Please Stand By: BTAP

"Technique alone is never enough. You have to have passion. Technique alone is just an embroidered potholder." - Raymond Chandler

Tomorrow stay tuned. There's going to be one heck of a new crime story over on Saint David's BEAT TO A PULP. Lucky me, I get to introduce this piece via David's blog-- THE EDUCATION OF A PULP WRITER. It's the last story of 2009 and a real doozy. Please stand by....

Now then...in other news, I think since the family is out of town this weekend it may be high time for me to I hit the Annapolis Holiday Lights Parade. Haven't done that for years. Maybe I can get on a boat? Hot rum drinks + freezing cold water = possible floaters. My friend Jay usually does up his Alberg, but I think it kind of took on water last year. Good times, good times...

UPDATE: Great lights parade. Fireworks. No boat colisions, no one drowned, but it's still early as I type this update. Throat is sore from singing so many Xmas tunes.

Words to Write By: Rick Russo

"By ignoring a lot of American culture you can write more interesting stories. Unfortunately, if you were writing about America as it is, you'd be writing about a lot of people sitting in front of television sets." - Rick Russo

Charlie Is Back: Repo Men

Charlie and his good buddy Stevie make an appearance today and this week over at David Cranmer's BEAT TO A PULP e-zine. Flattered once again that someone like David finds Charlie interesting enough to give him a go. Check it out here.

Words to Write By: Don DeLillo

“Writing is a form of personal freedom. It frees us from the mass identity we see in the making all around us. In the end, writers will write not to be outlaw heroes of some underculture but mainly to save themselves, to survive as individuals.” - Don DeLillo

20 Days It'll Be Seven Years: John Graham Mellor

I miss Joe Strummer. So do a lot of fans I suppose, but I just realized this morning that in less than 20 days it'll be seven years since he passed. Is that math right? Seven years? Wow. For me it was one of those pop-culture hammer moments where one remembers where one stood when they heard the news.

I was standing behind the line in my waterfront kitchen-carryout, making breakfast or maybe lunch for a bunch of frostbiting Laser-class sailors, and I wondered why the radio was playing so much of The Clash. Crushed, I walked around in a daze for the rest of the day. The week actually. Played a lot of the Mescaleros, the Clash, listened to endless raspy interviews on the local alternative and college radio stations. Of course I also remember my Mom waking me up and telling me John Lennon was shot and killed, but the Beatles and John Lennon were sort of abstract to me at the time because I was so young. Joe Strummer was personal. The Clash was bloodstuff, the music I sweated and danced my ass off to at parties in friends' basements drinking cheap beer--along with bands like The Specials, Black Flag, Elvis Costello and so many others.

Strummer was a complicated man and by no means a saint, but he was a master of reinvention, talented, and very funny. I admire his constant artistic reinvention.

If there are five people you can meet in heaven, I want to meet Joe and shake his hand.

Big Gack-Hack

To all who haven’t realized this already, my AOL e-mail account has been hacked. I am taking steps to protect my passwords and running what is the equivalent of anti-viral triage smack-down on all systems. As you can imagine this takes technical pluck and pit bull veracity. My better half is more than adept at tackling this.

*SIGH*

This is nothing new for us. My wife’s email got hacked three years ago, and we had to go through the same drill. It’s an awful experience. Not as bad as being held up at gunpoint (that did happen to me in DC) and certainly not as bad as my apartment almost burning down (that also almost happened in DC) but all in all it's been coach-fare ride on the suckful express.

No doubt some clove-smoking, swollen-livered little weasel somewhere deep in the Ukraine thinks this big har-har...Igor go hijack stoopid mereekahn’s addressbook, sell list to the spam golems. Fuck stoopid mereekahns.

Listen up, Igor. If fates ever allow us ten minutes alone, I swear to you I will feed you your fingers one at a time. You should see the rotary saw in my garage. Then, well, I’ll set your shabby ass on fire.

Again, my apologies. I remain, at large...