R.E. Conary's Blog, page 2
October 18, 2017
No Psychos Need Apply
Actions have consequences. We must live with the choices we make. Fictional detectives are no different. Raymond Chandler wrote that “down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. The detective in this kind of story must be such a man. He is the hero, he is everything.”
And it is because our hero—our detective—must not be mean or tarnished, that writers have created the amoral—often psychotic—sidekick. They are the ones who do the heavy lifting—do what needs to be done—without the soul searching that makes our hero hesitate or would guiltily regret doing. The things the hero can’t do. That’s the job of Mouse for Easy Rawlins, Mick Ballou for Matt Scudder, Joe Pike for Elvis Cole, Lisbeth Salander for Mikael Blomkvist.
But there are other detective heroes—the ones in tarnished armor—who understand the consequences of their actions, take responsibility and live with the choices they make.
John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee. Mickey Spillane's Mike Hammer. Sam Millar's Karl Kane. Ken Bruen's Jack Taylor. Richard Stark's Parker. Lee Child's Jack Reacher. My Rachel Cord. They don't need no psycho sidekicks.
And it is because our hero—our detective—must not be mean or tarnished, that writers have created the amoral—often psychotic—sidekick. They are the ones who do the heavy lifting—do what needs to be done—without the soul searching that makes our hero hesitate or would guiltily regret doing. The things the hero can’t do. That’s the job of Mouse for Easy Rawlins, Mick Ballou for Matt Scudder, Joe Pike for Elvis Cole, Lisbeth Salander for Mikael Blomkvist.
But there are other detective heroes—the ones in tarnished armor—who understand the consequences of their actions, take responsibility and live with the choices they make.
John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee. Mickey Spillane's Mike Hammer. Sam Millar's Karl Kane. Ken Bruen's Jack Taylor. Richard Stark's Parker. Lee Child's Jack Reacher. My Rachel Cord. They don't need no psycho sidekicks.
September 24, 2017
Rachel & Me
How I came to write about and become obsessed with Rachel Cord began in the early spring of 2004. It was early morning and I was working on another project when this strange woman followed her over-sized bosom—like Cyrano following his nose—into my office.
She introduced herself and handed me her card. She sat in the comfortable chair beside my desk saying she had a story to tell. I asked if I could take notes and she said go right ahead. That first meeting lasted three hours when she got up and said she’d be back.
I didn’t know what to think. Didn’t know why she’d picked me to listen to her story. I looked at my notes—they were more like dictation—sat back and let out a long breath. Then I wondered if she were real and if she really would come back.
She was there bright and early the next morning picking up right where she’d left off. She talked for another three hours without stopping. Then she said she had other things to do but would return. And so it went. Every morning—like clockwork—she was there. I’d listen and write down what she said trying to catch every word, every nuance and meaning. I’d no idea how the story would end, but I found her engaging—even when she frightened me—and couldn’t wait to see her again.
It was late May when she finished her tale and told me it was mine to do with whatever I wanted. I asked if she ever got over Karen. She smiled and said, “That’s another story.” and walked out.
Rachel came back just before Labor Day 2004 saying she was ready to tell me about Karen and another chapter in her life. We set up the same routine meeting every morning for two to four hours. She led me again down dark paths with surprises and bits of sunshine here and there. When we finished we were both wiped out. She said, “I think that’s it.” and left.
I didn’t see Rachel again until spring 2013. Like always, it was early morning. She wore a double-breasted powder blue suit with a dark blue shirt and tie. The first thing I noticed was that she’d finally gotten the breast reduction she’d craved for years. She looked good and I was glad to see her. She told another story this time set in 2007 just before her surgery. When she finished, I asked if I’d see her again. She said, “Maybe.”
Rachel stopped in for a few hours in late 2015 to tell me about a 68-year-old cold case she just solved. She mentioned that she and Wendy had finally married and that she’d be back to tell me that story.
True to her word, she came back last year and told me about how, in 2010, Wendy convinced her to reconnect with her family and they married. She also added a few crimes she helped solve. She seemed happy with her life, and I wondered if there were any dark places still hidden she hadn’t revealed.
“Will I see you again,” I asked.
She sighed. “I’m just a middle-aged dick with a pretty routine, often boring job.” Then she smiled and winked. “Then again, who knows how the dice will roll?”
She introduced herself and handed me her card. She sat in the comfortable chair beside my desk saying she had a story to tell. I asked if I could take notes and she said go right ahead. That first meeting lasted three hours when she got up and said she’d be back.
I didn’t know what to think. Didn’t know why she’d picked me to listen to her story. I looked at my notes—they were more like dictation—sat back and let out a long breath. Then I wondered if she were real and if she really would come back.
She was there bright and early the next morning picking up right where she’d left off. She talked for another three hours without stopping. Then she said she had other things to do but would return. And so it went. Every morning—like clockwork—she was there. I’d listen and write down what she said trying to catch every word, every nuance and meaning. I’d no idea how the story would end, but I found her engaging—even when she frightened me—and couldn’t wait to see her again.
It was late May when she finished her tale and told me it was mine to do with whatever I wanted. I asked if she ever got over Karen. She smiled and said, “That’s another story.” and walked out.
Rachel came back just before Labor Day 2004 saying she was ready to tell me about Karen and another chapter in her life. We set up the same routine meeting every morning for two to four hours. She led me again down dark paths with surprises and bits of sunshine here and there. When we finished we were both wiped out. She said, “I think that’s it.” and left.
I didn’t see Rachel again until spring 2013. Like always, it was early morning. She wore a double-breasted powder blue suit with a dark blue shirt and tie. The first thing I noticed was that she’d finally gotten the breast reduction she’d craved for years. She looked good and I was glad to see her. She told another story this time set in 2007 just before her surgery. When she finished, I asked if I’d see her again. She said, “Maybe.”
Rachel stopped in for a few hours in late 2015 to tell me about a 68-year-old cold case she just solved. She mentioned that she and Wendy had finally married and that she’d be back to tell me that story.
True to her word, she came back last year and told me about how, in 2010, Wendy convinced her to reconnect with her family and they married. She also added a few crimes she helped solve. She seemed happy with her life, and I wondered if there were any dark places still hidden she hadn’t revealed.
“Will I see you again,” I asked.
She sighed. “I’m just a middle-aged dick with a pretty routine, often boring job.” Then she smiled and winked. “Then again, who knows how the dice will roll?”
