Archive for April, 2012

Wendig Challenge: Journey

Posted in Uncategorized on April 21, 2012 by ajhayes2

Killing Field

It had been a long trip from the big city to the quiet of forest and farmland.
He was a little man and they had no trouble lifting him from the trunk.
A pistol prodded his back.
“Walk,” a flat voice said.
“You got it wrong,” he said.
The gun prodded again. He walked.
“Please,” he said to no one — maybe God.
A voice dark as bottomland gumbo. Time froze.
The little man looked for escape. He was frozen too.
“You have planted too much in my field,” the voice said.
Around him . . . things . . . rose dripping from the muck.
There were screams. Then silence.
“Thank God,” he said.
“I am not He,” the voice answered.
And pulled him down.

Exit Interview

Posted in Uncategorized on April 14, 2012 by ajhayes2


Exit Interview
If you know the desert, you know most of its beauty is hidden; visible only in sudden, unexpected flashes that take your breath away.
Like when you’ve crossed the final line and your partners stake you out on the sand and leave you alone in the silence.
Unable to turn your head, you watch the crows come down to peck out your eyes.
They swoop gracefully, the sun behind them, and the last thing you see is that their wings are not all black, that the trailing edges of those wings are the same beautiful, opalescent gray as a mobster’s wide-brimmed hat.

Review Of Richard Godwin’s Mr. Glamour

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on April 13, 2012 by ajhayes2

If I had to use a single word description (which is impossible) of Mr. Glamour it would be, “unflinching.” Richard refuses to defuse the absolute reality of a psychotic killer’s trail and the horrible scenes from the nightmares such killers leave in their wake. Every cop (and combat soldier) I know will tell you that you are a very fortunate person if you have never witnessed the things they see almost every day. They say it’s impossible to soften such scenes, to forget them, that they leave a mark upon your soul that can never be erased. They also say that the only thing standing between them and putting their own gun in their mouths is the absolute need to catch the one who is responsible for those devastating acts and bring them to the light. Mr. Glamour is the closest I’ve read to the stories my friends have told me. That’s some powerful stuff, indeed.

More powerful still is the intent examination of extreme psychotic behavior present in the book. Beyond that, once you’re into it a bit, you realize that the work is also a savage, biting satire of those people who separate themselves from us — the ordinary, quotidian herd. Another of its themes is a Swiftian view of the class system present in even the most “modern’ of countries. Those are just a few of the purposes of this book.

But, finally, it’s a terrific, scary ride. The Glitterati are being murdered most gruesomely by an uncatchable maniac. The Armani crowd are dropping like flies. The police are running around in every direction. Amid a cast of seemingly dozens of characters there are: An ex-con fresh out of the slam, on the street, with a Luger in his pocket, looking for somebody. A obsessionally clean housewife sees faces in the fog and packs a box of knives in her car trunk. A male cop with a horrid scar disfiguring his face. A female cop with her own, internal, scars, acting out sexually driven solutions to her own bad dreams. A gigolo easy riding on the sly off the wives of wealthy men. Maseratis, Bow Wow bras, thousand dollar a pair crotchless panties dropping down the gilded rear ends of trophy wives everywhere you look. And, did I mention, murders most foul?

One hell of roller coaster. One of the few novels I’ve read that is very worthy of favorable comparison to James Ellroy’s L.A. Quartet.