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Oliver Dean Spencer
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Canada
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Ross Macdonald, Fyodor_Dostoevsky, Michael Connelly, Jack_Kerouac, Fra
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July 2018
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“It all started when she walked into my office that night unannounced. She told me she was in trouble. So I asked what kind. She said it was of the killing kind. Wanted to know if I could be trusted. I said up to a point, depending on who got killed.”
― Tell Me That You Love Me: A Hard-Boiled Short Fiction Featuring James Cartwright, P.I
― Tell Me That You Love Me: A Hard-Boiled Short Fiction Featuring James Cartwright, P.I
“She told me she was 17 going on 22, when she left home to find a new life in the city. She wanted to get into acting and be a big star someday. I said that was swell but a tough racket to break into. She said she knew that going in. She thought maybe she'd get a lucky break and go from there. I told her lucky breaks always came with a price.”
― Tell Me That You Love Me: A Hard-Boiled Short Fiction Featuring James Cartwright, P.I
― Tell Me That You Love Me: A Hard-Boiled Short Fiction Featuring James Cartwright, P.I
“Up there, in Daniel’s office, I felt a disconnect, as if someone was performing surgery on my soul—trying to extract any remaining traces of my humanity.”
― The Crossing
― The Crossing
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“Up there, in Daniel’s office, I felt a disconnect, as if someone was performing surgery on my soul—trying to extract any remaining traces of my humanity.”
― The Crossing
― The Crossing
“Through his opened bedroom window, he noticed that the night sky had turned a crimson red. The moon, punctured by hues of cerulean blue, hung precariously over the withering willow trees that lined the riverbank, located several hundred yards away. The storm predicted by the forecasters was heading his way.”
― Call of the Nightingale
― Call of the Nightingale
“The stench of death and blood hit me hard. In the room's corner, blood had pooled and hardened over parts of the slated wood floor near the bedroom window. There was also blood spattered against the corner walls. The room was sparse, filled with the essentials of an old man. The bed looked slept in. A small painting in an ornate frame hung on the wall above it. It was a print from one of William Turner’s works, an English painter from the early 1980s. It depicted a ship, capsized with its crew in lifeboats struggling against a powerful storm.”
― Call of the Nightingale: A James Cartwright PI Mystery
― Call of the Nightingale: A James Cartwright PI Mystery
“HE FELL DOWN HARD—stone-cold dead, next to my feet. It didn’t take much—just a pull of the trigger. The way I figured; a bullet always had its way of settling things. It asked no questions. Just did what it was told. And I hadn’t planned on resolving my disagreement with the Thin Man that way. But he left me no choice. He pulled his Luger, deciding that one of his .28s was the only way to resolve the issue. Trouble was, he missed. But a .22 from my Colt didn’t.”
― The Case of the Runaway Orangutan
― The Case of the Runaway Orangutan
“THE POUNDING RAIN HAD STOPPED as suddenly as it had begun. Sheets of silver green neon clung hungrily to the moist black asphalt like some reptilian skin.”
― Tell Me That You Love Me: A Hard-Boiled Short Fiction Featuring James Cartwright, P.I
― Tell Me That You Love Me: A Hard-Boiled Short Fiction Featuring James Cartwright, P.I
