Helga Sigrid was born in Reykjavik, Iceland, and still had an accent right out of Wagner. She was almost as tall as he was, and as Nordic as it was possible to get without disappearing altogether whenever the sun came out.

Lemon Featherlight was an ex-Marine, a full-blood Mayaimi Indian, irritatingly handsome in a piratical sort of way, a condition even more grating because all the women loved him, and made even moreso because he was actually a decent guy, and nobody needed that.

Money might be the root of all evil, but two million in stolen cash was mainly a hernia risk.

The Term “a Criminal Lawyer” Is the Opposite of an Oxymoron.

God made the universe out of nothing, and if you look real close, you can tell.

Excuse me while I jot that down in my Big Blue Book of Who Gives a Shit?

He walked around the counter and out into the great room, a large stone-walled space centered around a gigantic flat-screen TV and an entertainment system capable of reaching out into the stars and catching talk shows live from outer space, if outer space had talk shows, which so far it did not.

No one was in the car, but now that he was harboring a fugitive he had developed a level of situational awareness that bordered on painful.

The weed-whacker dad was helping his kid whack weeds. Dad was blitzed to the eyebrows on beer, and the kid was waving the week whacker around like he was Luke Skywalker. It wasn't going to end well.

The weed-whacker dad was helping his kid whack weeds. Dad was blitzed to the eyeballs on beer, and the kid was waving the weed whacker around like he was Luke Skywalker. It wasn’t going to end well.