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.’