Guy Noir And The Straight Skinny - Plot & Excerpts
Roast Beef CALL ME A CYNIC, BUT I maintain that nothing can clarify a man’s thinking quite like looking down the barrel of a revolver in the hand of a man who is irked with you and considering homicide as a solution to his problems. This has happened to me from time to time in my so-called career as a private eye in St. Paul, Minnesota, and each occurrence promoted clear thinking, inconvenient though it was at the time. Christians try to find clarity through prayer, but you don’t really know what prayer is until you meet someone who’s prepared to shoot you. I am thinking in particular of an afternoon last February when an eighty-two-year-old gorilla named Joey Roast Beef sat quivering in my office on the twelfth floor of the Acme Building with a cocked pistol aimed at my chest and ordered me to tell him something that I had no intention of telling him because it involved the beautiful prospect of vast wealth I was in no mood to share. His hairy finger was coaxing the trigger and he yelled, “Talk to me!”
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