Excerpt from A Despicable Profession

“Sir, my special kind of cunning is real simple,” I said, leaning forward. “I was doing a decent job in Freiburg and Ulm and Karlsruhe logging troop movements and transmitting weather reports for bomber runs. I figured if I was dead my effectiveness might suffer. And why get croaked carrying out suicide missions dictated by some asshole Case Officer who was snug as a bug in Bern drinking Allen Dulles’ wine cellar dry?”

“I wasn’t,” said Jacobson, “but please continue.”

Please continue? Christ, they were shorthanded.

“I have only one job requirement sir. Survival.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Jacobson, drier than my swollen tongue.

Excerpt from A Pure Double Cross

People are so depressingly predictable. The guy from the gambling club, the scowling guy with the downsloped mug, yanked his nickel-plated .45 from his armpit holster when I mentioned that I was working for the FBI.

The barrel felt warm against my temple. I sniffed and made a face. “Your gun smells like BO.”

He cocked the hammer.

-----

I had my weapon in hand by this time. The one in my right pocket, the .44 Special that Jimmy had given me. I pointed it at the attacker’s head and clicked and clicked and clicked.

Jimmy smiled and swung his pig snout sawed-off in my direction. I said my goodbyes.

The Schooler directed his Beretta at Jimmy’s midsection. “You don’t want to do that Jimmy.”

“Why not?”

Jimmy wore a simian grin that ran up both sides of his face and squeezed his beaked nose down to his chin. He sure looked like he wanted to do it.

Excerpt From Crystal Meth Cowboys

The naked man sprang after the rookie cop like a satyr on wet hairy legs. Wes Lyedecker threw his arms back to brace himself in the corner. The naked man pounced, grabbing the butt of the Smith and Wesson, straining the leather strap that secured it in the holster. Wes pushed down, his hands skidding on wet flesh.

The naked man looked up at Wes, his face haloed in the yellow lamplight. His eyebrows were plastered flat, a vein in his forehead pounded four times a second and his nose gushed watery mucus all over Wes' brand new wool uniform shirt. He had a pleading look in his eyes.

Officer Bell raised his baton over his head and, using all the leverage of a long arm on a tall body, RANG the crown of the naked man's skull like a ball peen hammer on a ten penny nail. The naked man spasmed, splashing sweat in all directions. Bell stepped back, pleased with his effort, waiting for its effect.

The naked man smiled at Bell, bellowed like a bull moose and yanked Wes Lyedecker's Smith and Wesson free, snapping the leather strap in two.