Excerpt

Something I’m working on.

The man walked through the door with a gun. The gun looked dainty in his enormous hand, like a lollipop he really wanted to chew on. The way he pointed it on me was near apologetic. For a moment we merely stared at each other in silence.

‘It’s very Chandleresque of you,’ I said.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Chandler suggested you could always solve a plot problem by having a man walk through the door with a gun.’

‘I never liked Chandler,’ he said. ‘I’m more of a Dashiell Hammett fan.’

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