Even in the shadow of war, the friendship of children is the most effective melting pot.
At seven years old I was already more of a soldier than they would ever be. A better secret agent. A real stand-up guy, even. Like, Aunt Maeve would start smoking and reaching for a bottle in her handbag, and I loved her, so you’re not hearing it from me. My neighbor from across the street was inside his front door with some man when I was on the sidewalk. Mr. Fessente told me he had to teach that man a lesson was all, and no need to tell anybody, OK?… Read the rest
Disasters bring out the best in people — but that’s not all they bring.
Scam is such an unpleasant word, all phlegmy and in the throat. I prefer to think of my work as art, performance art, if you will. I have been doing it for many years and have developed a level of skill one can only call expert, if I do say so myself.
My presence in Florida at the time of the hurricane was entirely fortuitous. I came down to these sunny climes on the spur of the moment, to escape the chill of the approaching northern winter, and because a stroke of bad luck had brought me to the attention of the Danbury Police Department.… Read the rest
Appearances can, and will, be deceiving.
In the year 2012, hiring a PI was a luxury purchase, the kind most people had cut back on, an unintentional deferral for cheating husbands and insurance fraudsters. So on that gloomy November day, I welcomed new client Catherine Sigerman to my dimly lit New Brunswick office. A paying gig would give me a break from my own case and cash to probe the shadows.
As soon as Catherine caught sight of me, her green eyes flickered, her shoulders tensed, the hand on her black shoulder bag tightened. I knew the pattern well. When her gaze dropped to my wheelchair, I used the moment to examine her in turn.… Read the rest
Enjoy this sneak preview of the first story on Plan B, here in its entirety for your reading pleasure. It is a tale of felonies, fishermen and foodies, not for the faint of heart. Of course, the faint of heart wouldn’t be here in the first place.
Diver Joe slipped and slithered and stumbled through the pre-dawn dank, between the lobster pots. Less than an hour to sunrise, running way late, riding the edge the way binge drinking makes you—sure, one more, plenty of time. Until the clock runs out.
Rockport had been a dry town forever; archetypical, right down to the de rigueur liquor store just across the city line, decked out like a Christmas tree; winking, beckoning.… Read the rest