On my ride out last week, the first call was a low priority, a request to deal with a balloon. Not a hot-air balloon, but a regular one. A popped one.
A resident had found it in a patch of scrub near his home. It wasn't the balloon itself that bothered him, more the powder spilling from it. Another unit got there before we did, a rookie, and this is the conversation that ensued between him and my officer, AJ:
AJ: What does it look like?
Charlie: Errr, a balloon.
AJ: No, fool, the powder. Is it black?
Charlie: No, it's white.
AJ: So if it's heroin, it's China White. Balloons and heroin go together, but it maybe cocaine. How close are you?
Charlie: Standing right over it. Why?
AJ: It could also be anthrax.
Charlie: Holy s*#@, really?
AJ: Nah, just messing with you.
Turns out it was none of those things. Just some flour some kid (probably) had put in a balloon to throw at one of his buddies. I guess you'd call it a false alarm, of sorts, but I did suggest AJ taste the stuff just to be sure. He declined, and we went on our way.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Happy Launch Day!
Today is a day I never dreamed I'd see, and I'm excited to announce the release of my second mystery novel, THE CRYPT THIEF.
It’s summer in Paris and two tourists have been murdered in Père Lachaise cemetery in front of Jim Morrison’s grave. The cemetery is locked down and put under surveillance, but the killer returns, flitting in and out like a ghost, and breaks into the crypt of a long-dead Moulin Rouge dancer. In a bizarre twist, he disappears under the cover of night with part of her skeleton.
One of the dead tourists is an American and the other is a woman linked to a suspected terrorist; so the US ambassador sends his best man and the embassy’s head of security—Hugo Marston—to help the French police with their investigation.
When the thief breaks into another crypt at a different cemetery, stealing bones from a second famed dancer, Hugo is stumped. How does this killer operate unseen? And why is he stealing the bones of once-famous can-can girls?
Hugo cracks the secrets of the graveyards but soon realizes that old bones aren’t all this killer wants. . . .
"The Hugo Marston series now belongs on every espionage fan’s watch list."
—Booklist
"Mark Pryor has created a perfect second book for Hugo Marston. It delivers everything we loved about The Bookseller without being a retread. The Crypt Thief is proof that both Hugo and Pryor should be around for some time."
—MysteryPeople
“Haunting imagery in Père La Chaise cemetery sets the stage for Pryor’s chilling sophomore entry, and the City of Light becomes a backdrop for Marston’s adventures. The clever antagonist leads him on a merry chase that will keep the reader entertained throughout."
—RT Book Reviews
"Two young lovers make the fatal mistake of sneaking into Paris’s Père Lachaise Cemetery the same night as a bone-stealing psychopath in Pryor’s propulsive second novel starring affable former FBI profiler Hugo Marston…. The engaging characters sweep readers into a suspenseful chase from Pigalle to the Pyrenées."
—Publishers Weekly
Pryor's second case for Marston (after The Bookseller) doesn't disappoint.
—Library Journal
Author Pryor uses this truly creepy scenario to create a nail-biter of a novel. It has enough bizarre twists to keep you reading into the night. The setting in the famous Paris cemetery gives the story just enough of a sense of the exotic to pull the reader in, and to anticipate something far different from a run of the mill mystery. “The Crypt Thief” leads us on the trail of a cold-blooded killer to a truly fiery conclusion.
—Suspense Magazine
The story...
It’s summer in Paris and two tourists have been murdered in Père Lachaise cemetery in front of Jim Morrison’s grave. The cemetery is locked down and put under surveillance, but the killer returns, flitting in and out like a ghost, and breaks into the crypt of a long-dead Moulin Rouge dancer. In a bizarre twist, he disappears under the cover of night with part of her skeleton.
One of the dead tourists is an American and the other is a woman linked to a suspected terrorist; so the US ambassador sends his best man and the embassy’s head of security—Hugo Marston—to help the French police with their investigation.
When the thief breaks into another crypt at a different cemetery, stealing bones from a second famed dancer, Hugo is stumped. How does this killer operate unseen? And why is he stealing the bones of once-famous can-can girls?
Hugo cracks the secrets of the graveyards but soon realizes that old bones aren’t all this killer wants. . . .
Praise for The Crypt Thief...
"The Hugo Marston series now belongs on every espionage fan’s watch list."
—Booklist
"Mark Pryor has created a perfect second book for Hugo Marston. It delivers everything we loved about The Bookseller without being a retread. The Crypt Thief is proof that both Hugo and Pryor should be around for some time."
—MysteryPeople
“Haunting imagery in Père La Chaise cemetery sets the stage for Pryor’s chilling sophomore entry, and the City of Light becomes a backdrop for Marston’s adventures. The clever antagonist leads him on a merry chase that will keep the reader entertained throughout."
—RT Book Reviews
"Two young lovers make the fatal mistake of sneaking into Paris’s Père Lachaise Cemetery the same night as a bone-stealing psychopath in Pryor’s propulsive second novel starring affable former FBI profiler Hugo Marston…. The engaging characters sweep readers into a suspenseful chase from Pigalle to the Pyrenées."
—Publishers Weekly
Pryor's second case for Marston (after The Bookseller) doesn't disappoint.
—Library Journal
Author Pryor uses this truly creepy scenario to create a nail-biter of a novel. It has enough bizarre twists to keep you reading into the night. The setting in the famous Paris cemetery gives the story just enough of a sense of the exotic to pull the reader in, and to anticipate something far different from a run of the mill mystery. “The Crypt Thief” leads us on the trail of a cold-blooded killer to a truly fiery conclusion.
—Suspense Magazine
Saturday, May 4, 2013
Charlie Sector, cold and quiet
It was quiet all night. A may evening when the cops in Charlie Sector and I should have been wearing short sleeves. Instead, the car's heater was on and the cold wind seemed to have swept people from the streets.
Even at 12th and Chicon, where the dealers and buyers meet for huddled sales conferences, where the girls looking for Johns hang off the sidewalk in the hope of business, even on this busiest of east Austin corners, all was quiet.
We set up in an alley and saw little more than trash cart-wheeling in front of us. One man, his head down, waved a gloved hand as he passed, perhaps mocking or perhaps in sympathy. We bided our time but finally moved to a stretch of MLK where Nick, my officer for the evening, promised we'd catch people blowing away the 35mph limit. But fifteen minutes with the laser-gun gave us nothing, even the traffic was slow and lumbering, not happy about being out in the cold.
Then, at 9pm, a hot shot call. A disturbance, violence, people at risk. Nick hit lights and sirens and I checked the map on his computer. We were on the wrong side of Charlie but what caught my attention was the mass of units heading to the call from every direction, electronic bugs swarming to only light in the dark, like nerds spotting a hot girl at a Star Trek convention.
The call was downgraded soon enough, so we peeled off hoping to find something somewhere else. The best we could manage was a trip to the A&E at St. Davids to get the name of a woman injured in a car crash. When we got there, she'd gone.
Nick apologized several times for the quiet night but it wasn't his fault. I told him that, said he'd done such a great job the criminals were scared to come out and play.
And, for the first time since I started riding out, I actually wondered, "Should we go get donuts?"
We didn't.
Even at 12th and Chicon, where the dealers and buyers meet for huddled sales conferences, where the girls looking for Johns hang off the sidewalk in the hope of business, even on this busiest of east Austin corners, all was quiet.
We set up in an alley and saw little more than trash cart-wheeling in front of us. One man, his head down, waved a gloved hand as he passed, perhaps mocking or perhaps in sympathy. We bided our time but finally moved to a stretch of MLK where Nick, my officer for the evening, promised we'd catch people blowing away the 35mph limit. But fifteen minutes with the laser-gun gave us nothing, even the traffic was slow and lumbering, not happy about being out in the cold.
Then, at 9pm, a hot shot call. A disturbance, violence, people at risk. Nick hit lights and sirens and I checked the map on his computer. We were on the wrong side of Charlie but what caught my attention was the mass of units heading to the call from every direction, electronic bugs swarming to only light in the dark, like nerds spotting a hot girl at a Star Trek convention.
The call was downgraded soon enough, so we peeled off hoping to find something somewhere else. The best we could manage was a trip to the A&E at St. Davids to get the name of a woman injured in a car crash. When we got there, she'd gone.
Nick apologized several times for the quiet night but it wasn't his fault. I told him that, said he'd done such a great job the criminals were scared to come out and play.
And, for the first time since I started riding out, I actually wondered, "Should we go get donuts?"
We didn't.
Monday, April 22, 2013
TGIM!
Yep, you read that right - Thank God It's Monday.
I mean, seriously, last week was utterly insane (West explosion, Boston manhunt, DA DWI just for starters) so I, for one, am glad to move on to a fresh week.
Note, please, that all are topics of too great an import or too close to home for me to scribble about, hence the protracted silence.
In good news this weekend, Reese Witherspoon got arrested (kidding, kidding). I've always liked that name though, 'Witherspoon.' Think about etymology, did it come from a wizard who had it in for utensils?
Anyway, I wanted to say hello and spread some happy news (happy for me, that is) because I received a copy of the flyers they always send out for me to distribute. Somewhere. Have a look:
Yeah, you'll need to click on it to read it.
Not much crime news to report to you, my ride-outs have been quiet and my cases are still juvenile so I don't feel like I should share. The best I can come up with is something from England - a soccer player I like bit another player. Yes, you read that right, during a game he got mad and bit an opponent, and amazingly this isn't the first time he's done it.
You should see the choppers on him, in Texas those would be classified as deadly weapons. But it did make me think about the kicks and slaps, the pushes and trips players endure on the field that they'd never put up with in the real world. I mean, every Sunday I get a new set of bruises from my soccer games, and that's an over-40 league.
Biting though? Should that be a criminal charge? My first thought was, Grow up, dude.
I mean, seriously, last week was utterly insane (West explosion, Boston manhunt, DA DWI just for starters) so I, for one, am glad to move on to a fresh week.
Note, please, that all are topics of too great an import or too close to home for me to scribble about, hence the protracted silence.
In good news this weekend, Reese Witherspoon got arrested (kidding, kidding). I've always liked that name though, 'Witherspoon.' Think about etymology, did it come from a wizard who had it in for utensils?
Anyway, I wanted to say hello and spread some happy news (happy for me, that is) because I received a copy of the flyers they always send out for me to distribute. Somewhere. Have a look:
Not much crime news to report to you, my ride-outs have been quiet and my cases are still juvenile so I don't feel like I should share. The best I can come up with is something from England - a soccer player I like bit another player. Yes, you read that right, during a game he got mad and bit an opponent, and amazingly this isn't the first time he's done it.
You should see the choppers on him, in Texas those would be classified as deadly weapons. But it did make me think about the kicks and slaps, the pushes and trips players endure on the field that they'd never put up with in the real world. I mean, every Sunday I get a new set of bruises from my soccer games, and that's an over-40 league.
Biting though? Should that be a criminal charge? My first thought was, Grow up, dude.
Saturday, April 6, 2013
A Man in a Can
I've been quiet here for a while, partly because it happened again, and I didn't know what to say about it.
A prosecutor in Texas was murdered.
Again, I don't really know what to say and so don't plan to talk about it - for one thing, I don't know any more than has been reported in the media.
So let's move on, shall we?
On a recent ride-along I got to see a wonderful example of efficient law enforcement in action. Here's what happened: a driver allegedly caused an accident in which people in the other vehicle were injured. The law requires you to stop and render assistance in that case and failing to do so is a felony. In fact, we saw a high-profile case here in Austin relating to this kind of incident, only far more serious, if you recall.
Anyway, the chap who allegedly caused the accident decided not to stick around, and took off on foot. APD was called and their mission became to find him.
I was in the car with the shift Sargent who was calling some of the shots, but interestingly the patrol officers seemed to know what to do even before we got there: not charge into the crash scene but set up a perimeter. On the computer in Sarge's car, I could see the other units setting up on all egress points. Our man was fast and agile, supposedly hopping fences to get away, but with a police car on every street there wasn't much for him to do, nowhere for him to go.
So he hid.
Overheard, APD's chopper Air One buzzed the neighborhood. It was still light and there was a lot of foot and car traffic, but they had a secret weapon. Well, not secret really, just cool: heat-detecting visual aids. Over the air came the call:
"There's a trash can I'm seeing. Very hot. Never seen a trash can put out that much heat."
And just like that, it was over. One gentleman in custody, no one else hurt. Textbook, you might say, quick and efficient, with everyone doing their job. Very impressive to see first hand.
A prosecutor in Texas was murdered.
Again, I don't really know what to say and so don't plan to talk about it - for one thing, I don't know any more than has been reported in the media.
So let's move on, shall we?
On a recent ride-along I got to see a wonderful example of efficient law enforcement in action. Here's what happened: a driver allegedly caused an accident in which people in the other vehicle were injured. The law requires you to stop and render assistance in that case and failing to do so is a felony. In fact, we saw a high-profile case here in Austin relating to this kind of incident, only far more serious, if you recall.
Anyway, the chap who allegedly caused the accident decided not to stick around, and took off on foot. APD was called and their mission became to find him.
I was in the car with the shift Sargent who was calling some of the shots, but interestingly the patrol officers seemed to know what to do even before we got there: not charge into the crash scene but set up a perimeter. On the computer in Sarge's car, I could see the other units setting up on all egress points. Our man was fast and agile, supposedly hopping fences to get away, but with a police car on every street there wasn't much for him to do, nowhere for him to go.
So he hid.
Overheard, APD's chopper Air One buzzed the neighborhood. It was still light and there was a lot of foot and car traffic, but they had a secret weapon. Well, not secret really, just cool: heat-detecting visual aids. Over the air came the call:
"There's a trash can I'm seeing. Very hot. Never seen a trash can put out that much heat."
And just like that, it was over. One gentleman in custody, no one else hurt. Textbook, you might say, quick and efficient, with everyone doing their job. Very impressive to see first hand.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Three Graves Full
Every now and again I will recommend a book to you, but very rarely will I do a full book review. Mostly that's because I'm short on time and this isn't a book-review blog.
Today is different.
The book is THREE GRAVES FULL by Jamie Mason. For ease of reading, I'll divide this review into three sections: (1) story summary, (2) my review (3) disclaimer (I know that's not normal, but read on and you'll see).
Before I begin, I'll let you know that this is one book that you can judge by its cover, which I just love.
Right, let's begin:
(1) Story summary (from Amazon):
There is very little peace for a man with a body buried in his backyard.
But it could always be worse. . . .
More than a year ago, mild-mannered Jason Getty killed a man he wished he’d never met. Then he planted the problem a little too close to home. But just as he’s learning to live with the undeniable reality of what he’s done, police unearth two bodies on his property—neither of which is the one Jason buried.
Jason races to stay ahead of the consequences of his crime, and while chaos reigns on his lawn, his sanity unravels, snagged on the agendas of a colorful cast of strangers. A jilted woman searches for her lost fiancé, a fringe dweller runs from a past that’s quickly gaining on him, and a couple of earnest local detectives piece clues together with the help of a volunteer police dog—all in the shadow of a dead man who had it coming. As the action unfolds, each character discovers that knowing more than one side of the story doesn't necessarily rule out a deadly margin of error.
(2) My review:
The story: I read a lot of crime fiction, and as you know I write it, too. Originality, true originality, is rare but we have it here. Once an author comes up with a unique premise like this, the reader is inevitably going to be hooked and I was. It's a clever double-hook, too, with Jason's body in the back yard and two unknown ones in the front--that's two mysteries that the reader wants to investigate.
Having hooked me, the plot continued to pull me along, not because the author throws in manufactured twists (which can be annoying) but because the story flowed like a river (one of those white-water, excitingly bubbly ones) and I couldn't help but find myself on the cusp of another disaster and desperate to know how it turned out. But also, the characters...
The characters: here's a challenge: write a story where the main character is a wimp. How do you hold the reader's interest when your central figure is kind of a passive, soft-spined, scaredy-cat? Well, you write this book. See, the other characters become extensions of him, moulding his mind and actions and pressing him into activities that create conflict, which is the essence of a good book. And those surrounding characters are themselves original, interesting, and real.
The other thing that happens, is that you as the reader start to donate spine to the main man. I felt anger on behalf of Jason as one of the characters bullied him, and Jason's flaws let me root for him when I wasn't directly identifying with him.
I reserve a special nod for one character, though, because Mason manages to pull off something that normally irritates me, something that will by itself make me put down a book and roll my eyes. See, there's a dog in the book, Tessa, a dog you come to love very much and Mason tells part of the story (a small part) from Tessa's point of view. Not only did she pull that off, but left me wishing more of the story came from Tessa's POV. (That said, it wouldn't have made sense to do so, I just love how she did it.)
The writing: I probably should have started with this, because the writing was perhaps the greatest pleasure for me. This book has been billed as a kind of Coen brothers movie in book form. I happen to think that's an apt description because this book has a literary flair that elevates it above others in the genre. I've seen reviews calling THREE GRAVES FULL literary and I concur. Paragraph after paragraph, page after page, I reveled in the beauty of the language. Mason has a way with words that, as a writer, delights you and makes you envious, and as a reader is beyond charming. Think of a book as a meal, with the plot as the recipe, the characters as the ingredients, and the writing as the process of combining those two and cooking. Mason is a master chef.
(3) The Disclaimer:
This is Jamie Mason:
I know Jamie Mason. I offered to read and review her book because she's a friend. Understand, though, that such an offer trails behind it an invisible but very real ripple of trepidation. What if I hate the book? What do I do and say then? Well, I'll tell you: what I don't do in that case is write a long, slobbering review raving about it. I only do that when I love the book, which as you can tell happens to be the case. Now, I haven't said this to Jamie, though I know she's felt the same as a writer and reviewer, but about nine sentences in I experienced a huge wave of relief (and in this case excitement) when it became clear that she could really write. And believe me, she can really, really write.
If you want to know more about her and her work, check out these links:
Her web site: http://www.jamie-mason.com/
Her blog: http://jamiemason.wordpress.com/
The writing site she co-run: http://authorscoop.com/
Her Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/JamieMason.writer
Today is different.
The book is THREE GRAVES FULL by Jamie Mason. For ease of reading, I'll divide this review into three sections: (1) story summary, (2) my review (3) disclaimer (I know that's not normal, but read on and you'll see).
Before I begin, I'll let you know that this is one book that you can judge by its cover, which I just love.
Right, let's begin:
(1) Story summary (from Amazon):
There is very little peace for a man with a body buried in his backyard.
But it could always be worse. . . .
More than a year ago, mild-mannered Jason Getty killed a man he wished he’d never met. Then he planted the problem a little too close to home. But just as he’s learning to live with the undeniable reality of what he’s done, police unearth two bodies on his property—neither of which is the one Jason buried.
Jason races to stay ahead of the consequences of his crime, and while chaos reigns on his lawn, his sanity unravels, snagged on the agendas of a colorful cast of strangers. A jilted woman searches for her lost fiancé, a fringe dweller runs from a past that’s quickly gaining on him, and a couple of earnest local detectives piece clues together with the help of a volunteer police dog—all in the shadow of a dead man who had it coming. As the action unfolds, each character discovers that knowing more than one side of the story doesn't necessarily rule out a deadly margin of error.
(2) My review:
The story: I read a lot of crime fiction, and as you know I write it, too. Originality, true originality, is rare but we have it here. Once an author comes up with a unique premise like this, the reader is inevitably going to be hooked and I was. It's a clever double-hook, too, with Jason's body in the back yard and two unknown ones in the front--that's two mysteries that the reader wants to investigate.
Having hooked me, the plot continued to pull me along, not because the author throws in manufactured twists (which can be annoying) but because the story flowed like a river (one of those white-water, excitingly bubbly ones) and I couldn't help but find myself on the cusp of another disaster and desperate to know how it turned out. But also, the characters...
The characters: here's a challenge: write a story where the main character is a wimp. How do you hold the reader's interest when your central figure is kind of a passive, soft-spined, scaredy-cat? Well, you write this book. See, the other characters become extensions of him, moulding his mind and actions and pressing him into activities that create conflict, which is the essence of a good book. And those surrounding characters are themselves original, interesting, and real.
The other thing that happens, is that you as the reader start to donate spine to the main man. I felt anger on behalf of Jason as one of the characters bullied him, and Jason's flaws let me root for him when I wasn't directly identifying with him.
I reserve a special nod for one character, though, because Mason manages to pull off something that normally irritates me, something that will by itself make me put down a book and roll my eyes. See, there's a dog in the book, Tessa, a dog you come to love very much and Mason tells part of the story (a small part) from Tessa's point of view. Not only did she pull that off, but left me wishing more of the story came from Tessa's POV. (That said, it wouldn't have made sense to do so, I just love how she did it.)
The writing: I probably should have started with this, because the writing was perhaps the greatest pleasure for me. This book has been billed as a kind of Coen brothers movie in book form. I happen to think that's an apt description because this book has a literary flair that elevates it above others in the genre. I've seen reviews calling THREE GRAVES FULL literary and I concur. Paragraph after paragraph, page after page, I reveled in the beauty of the language. Mason has a way with words that, as a writer, delights you and makes you envious, and as a reader is beyond charming. Think of a book as a meal, with the plot as the recipe, the characters as the ingredients, and the writing as the process of combining those two and cooking. Mason is a master chef.
(3) The Disclaimer:
This is Jamie Mason:
I know Jamie Mason. I offered to read and review her book because she's a friend. Understand, though, that such an offer trails behind it an invisible but very real ripple of trepidation. What if I hate the book? What do I do and say then? Well, I'll tell you: what I don't do in that case is write a long, slobbering review raving about it. I only do that when I love the book, which as you can tell happens to be the case. Now, I haven't said this to Jamie, though I know she's felt the same as a writer and reviewer, but about nine sentences in I experienced a huge wave of relief (and in this case excitement) when it became clear that she could really write. And believe me, she can really, really write.
If you want to know more about her and her work, check out these links:
Her web site: http://www.jamie-mason.com/
Her blog: http://jamiemason.wordpress.com/
The writing site she co-run: http://authorscoop.com/
Her Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/JamieMason.writer
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Covered.
Did you know that I don't wear a bullet-proof vest when I ride out with the cops? Have I mentioned that? Well, it's true.
So what, right? It's not like I do anything dangerous out there, even though I've been riding shotgun in Charlie Sector for over a year now (I say "shotgun" because they don't let me drive and I know where the button is that releases the shotgun between the driver and passenger seats. No, I won't tell you which button it is).
Last week, , though, we had a warrant service on someone who had a felonious, but non-violent, criminal history. And (obviously) an active warrant for her arrest. We were pretty sure we knew where she lived and that she was home, but the concern was that she would look out the window when an officer knocked and simply not answer.
No door kicking-in, on this one.
So I piped up: "Hey guys, I'm in civvies, why not let me knock on the door? Use some of that English charm. Huh? Huh??"
See, I like action not paperwork. When my parents lived in Africa I visited and walked out onto mudflat to get photos of crocs and when a local got scared at the sight of a mammoth rock python, I poked a bush with a stick, looking for it. After all, I'd only seen the last eight feet of it disappearing into the shrub, I wanted to see the business end.
So knocking on a door? Pffft. Easy. And my officer (Charlie 501, who I've ridden with several times and who I now consider a friend) said, "Hey, cool, lemme ask Sarge."
At which point, I thought (but didn't say): "Lemme ask wife."
You see, what seems like a good idea at the time isn't always, and checking with a cooler head can be a decent idea. So he typed and I typed and seven seconds later we got our responses (and I swear, these are exact quotes):
Wife: "No."
Sarge: "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo."
The two most important women in my life at that moment, they had me covered.
Charlie 501 and I laughed, and he knocked on the door instead. She was home, answered, and all was well. (I stood behind a tree, picturing my wife and Sarge nodding approvingly.)
Oh, since I'm on the subject of being covered, I just wanted to share the artwork for the Portuguese edition of The Bookseller that my agent sent me today. Love it.
So what, right? It's not like I do anything dangerous out there, even though I've been riding shotgun in Charlie Sector for over a year now (I say "shotgun" because they don't let me drive and I know where the button is that releases the shotgun between the driver and passenger seats. No, I won't tell you which button it is).
Last week, , though, we had a warrant service on someone who had a felonious, but non-violent, criminal history. And (obviously) an active warrant for her arrest. We were pretty sure we knew where she lived and that she was home, but the concern was that she would look out the window when an officer knocked and simply not answer.
No door kicking-in, on this one.
So I piped up: "Hey guys, I'm in civvies, why not let me knock on the door? Use some of that English charm. Huh? Huh??"
See, I like action not paperwork. When my parents lived in Africa I visited and walked out onto mudflat to get photos of crocs and when a local got scared at the sight of a mammoth rock python, I poked a bush with a stick, looking for it. After all, I'd only seen the last eight feet of it disappearing into the shrub, I wanted to see the business end.
So knocking on a door? Pffft. Easy. And my officer (Charlie 501, who I've ridden with several times and who I now consider a friend) said, "Hey, cool, lemme ask Sarge."
At which point, I thought (but didn't say): "Lemme ask wife."
You see, what seems like a good idea at the time isn't always, and checking with a cooler head can be a decent idea. So he typed and I typed and seven seconds later we got our responses (and I swear, these are exact quotes):
Wife: "No."
Sarge: "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo."
The two most important women in my life at that moment, they had me covered.
Charlie 501 and I laughed, and he knocked on the door instead. She was home, answered, and all was well. (I stood behind a tree, picturing my wife and Sarge nodding approvingly.)
Oh, since I'm on the subject of being covered, I just wanted to share the artwork for the Portuguese edition of The Bookseller that my agent sent me today. Love it.
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