What was the grim mystery in this disappearance of the fat gag writer’s cousin? Hollywood’s ace gumshoe, Dan Turner, had to meet and combat a heap of rough to-do before he neared finish.
I set fire to a gasper, blew smoke in Ben Holiday’s piggish puss. “You can take your case and ram it,” I said, “I’ll go get a job digging sewers before I handle an investigation for a guy of your cheap ilk.”
“I’m no ilk.” He gave me an unabashed grin. “You don’t see me wearing a lodge pin, do you?” His elly-bay shook as he laughed at his own corny jape; then he got serious. “Aw, come on, gumshoe, I didn’t mean to insult you.”
Over the flat expanse of my office desk I fastened the frozen focus on him; studied his lardlike fatness, his flabby jowls, and the oversized diamonds he wore on his fingers— yellow rocks to match his loud canary sports jacket.
… the Dead Don't Dream
Publication date: 05/10/2014
What was the grim mystery in this disappearance of the fat gag writer’s cousin?
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