hardboiled
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“Like a touch of bourbon—or some coffee?” “Coffee, please.” So we had what I had asked for, and chewed things around a while. Since he knew something about Fay’s background, I didn’t object when he started in—but some of it hurt. Her father had been a shack-town drunk and bootlegger and a few other things. Read more
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He looked over at the light burning in the Coffee Shop and knew it would soon open for business. That gave him the idea. “What time does it open?” he asked. “At seven,” she said, following his glance. “What time is the coffee ready?” “About a quarter of.” She sighed. “Which means it’s almost time Read more
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I woke the next morning, Friday, with about two hours’ total sleep during the preceding night. My stomach was jerky, and I nicked myself while shaving. I had a cup of coffee for breakfast. I walked around the block twice, waiting for the hardware store to open. Inside, I had the bank deposit prepared in Read more
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I got up and went to the coffee maker and poured myself half a cup. Steam rose off the dark surface, and I watched the wisps twist and dissipate before I turned back to Missy. “You’re right,” I said. “It took me a few extra years to figure that one out.” “ Why? I thought Read more
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I put the phone to bed and turned into the bathroom for a shower and a shave. I cooked water for coffee and drank it scaldingly black until things settled down between my ears. I put on a new suit and a sincere tie, and went downstairs. I slipped into a restaurant around the corner Read more
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He roamed around the apartment after breakfast. He hadn’t eaten heavily because he was afraid it wouldn’t stay down. He drank a small glass of orange juice and a cup of hot coffee. He washed the glass, the cup, and the saucer, and then began waiting for Babs to return. (cf. McBain, Ed. So Nude, Read more
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Saturday noon he was moved in. He ate lunch out of his newly stocked double-door refrigerator, enjoying the manufacture of a jelly omelet and coffee black as his Homburg. (cf. Cox, William R.Make My Coffin Strong: A William R. Cox Hardboiled Mystery. Read more
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Jo-Anne had started pouring the coffee when the doorbell rang. After four in the morning, it would be either the milkman or cops. I was not betting on Louis Pasteur’s boy. We all deserted the kitchen for the front door. “Police Medical Examiner,” the stocky man with rimless glasses and a doctor’s satchel told us. Read more
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There they were, everyone with a coffee cup, lined up at the urn. Because I took my time with the smoke I had to join the end of the line, and it was a good thing I did. It gave me time enough to get the pitch. Everybody had been watching me covertly anyway, saying Read more
ClimbingSky 