The Short Drop (Gibson Vaughn, #1)

by Matthew FitzSimmons

“If you don’t have anything nice to say, take a big bite and chew slow.” Words to live by.

When he was a kid, Gibson had mispronounced George Abe’s name until his father corrected him: “Ah-bay. More Japanese, less Lincoln.”

Time was the great leveler, and neither money nor power held sway over its relentless march.

“Not a fan?” “Of the state of Florida? No, it is evidence that perhaps air-conditioning would have been better left uninvented.”

“Why did you call her Bear?” Gibson laughed and took a bite of pie. “She was a full-body hugger. Wrap her arms around you and squeeze for all she was worth. Whenever she saw my father, she’d take a running start at him, and he’d yell, ‘Bear hug, incoming!’ Became kind of a thing. Suited her.

but you could still see the bloodstains. He turned his shirt inside out. That helped some. Now he just looked like an idiot.

“What do we have to eat? I’m starving,” Gibson asked. “Strained peas? Creamy carrots?” “Besides baby food.” “They grow up so fast,” Hendricks said.

What the man needed was a push in the wrong direction. Gibson winked.