Isn’t By Jim Newell The courtroom in the small central Tennessee town of Greenburg was beyond warm in the May heat wave. It was steaming. The two large circulating fans that hung from the ceiling lazily chased each other in circles and stirred the air around without making anything or anybody coo...
Lemme tell ya somethin’. If ya ever plan on doin’ a robbery, don’ never, ever plan on usin’ a chicken as the weapon. Ain’t worth the trouble, and that’s fer damn sure. A month or so ago, I was sitting on the bench outside of my house and my friend Arky was there. His real name’s Arthur, but we al...
He had almost forgotten the gravelly voice on the other end of the line. “Hello, Tabby. How’re ya’ doin’?” “Who’s this?” he asked, to give himself some time to compose an answer to the question he knew was going to be asked. “Hey—y’ain’t forgot your old pal Pat, have ya’?” “Nah, I remember. You’r...
“Where the Hell is that damned vessel?” “I don’t know, Nicolai. In Canadian waters somewhere, due to be at the rendezvous point today or tomorrow as far as I know. Why? Hasn’t he been reporting in?” “We haven’t heard from him for three days or more. No word. Nothing. What’s the matter with that G...