Novels
from And Then Everyone Dies (2010)
An old man sits on a stool in his open garage. He sips canned Budweiser, enjoying the morning’s foul-smelling, humid air, perusing the Business section of last month’s paper. Glancing up, he watches Leonard tear past at full-speed, hands tightened into fists, nostrils flared, teeth clenched. The old man wipes suds from his beard, turning to the stock indexes. A very blue Escort next crashes across the alley, brakes locked up, tires leaving vicious tracks, the driver’s door already swinging open.
from One Hundred and Thirteen (2007)
The central seam along the underside of the outermost bag suddenly pops. The computer tumbles out of its protective wrapping, the front corner of the beige metal box knifing toward the snow, the back edge snagged in the bags’ shredded remains, wrenching them from Oliver and Sandra, leaving Klaus clutching two fistfuls of eviscerated plastic. The disabled computer is now half-buried in the snow.
Sandra’s mouth falls open. “That is not good.”
“Um, Klaus—”
Klaus flings the plastic remnants behind him. “This ends—now!” He swoops down, his arms swinging wide and embracing the disobedient machine. He straightens with difficulty, squeezing the computer flat against his chest, the freshly-dented corner aimed down between his legs.
“Take—my phone—” Klaus nods to the left pocket of his coat. “Call—I’ll be there—one minute.”
Oliver frowns, reaching for Klaus’s shoulder. “You can’t carry it by—”
“—take the fucking phone.”
“Oliver is right—seriously, this is madness.”
Oliver’s hand is already in the pocket. Klaus watches him dig out the phone, then sets his jaw, and lurches forward. His feet churn in the snow, sliding and faltering in an awkward half run, his boots kicking up clumps as he weaves along the sidewalk, the computer hugged to his chest.
“You think—is the crazy bastard going to make it?” Oliver stares after him.
“Maybe he’s just crazy enough.”
“Just crazy enough to hurt himself.”
Sandra grins and pulls off her mitten. She sticks out her bare hand. “Give me the phone.”
from Headphones (2004)
Lauren was standing in the center of the living room, her toes planted in the orange pile of the rug, frowning down at the stereo as she jabbed the remote at it.
“How do you change the equalizer profile again?”
“Why do you always want to change the profile?” Thomas dropped his right arm. His hand slapped against his thigh.
“I want the ultra bass.”
“I told you, the ultra bass is no good, it muddies the midtones—why can’t you just use the custom one I set?”
Lauren didn’t look up, her thumb still mashing at the remote’s buttons. “Fuck the midtones, sweetheart, I want the thump-thump bass.”
from Plan B (2003)
Anise put her spent yogurt container down onto her night table and picked up a copy of the Atlantic Monthly up off the floor next to the bed. Cole let his foot fall back to the pillow.
Anise flipped through a few pages. “Why don’t you just let me buy you the seltzer water, what is it, fifty cents a bottle?”
“Look, you can’t afford it either, it adds up and we barely had the rent last month. Jesus, I can survive without it.”
“Fine, Cole, you do what you want.”
“It’s just water, please can we let it go?—I’m going to work on the magazine for a while, I think I’ve got an idea for that spread with the street.”
“You’re going to work on that now?”
“It’s got to get done sometime.”
“What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?”
“Seven.”
Anise glanced at the glowing numbers on her alarm clock. “Jesus, Cole.”
“Yeah,” He rolled his feet onto the ground and slipped into a pair of crumpled boxers. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead, right?”
“Sleeping, drinking water—you’re gonna be busy when you’re dead.” Anise clicked on her bedside lamp, enveloping the room in a cozy orange glow. Cole went out into their living room and quietly closed the door behind him.
from Pseudonym (2001)
The Chrysler was supported in the middle by jacks, two on either side of the thin cut that went completely around the middle of the car.
“What the fuck did you do?” Arnold took a sip from a bottle hidden a brown bag, and let his arm drop back to his side. He turned and looked at Clint, who was staring at the car. Clint reached a out for the whiskey.
“I cut it in half.”
“You cut a fucking car in half?” Arnold handed him the brown bag and moved closer to the Chrysler. The cut circled the car, through the ceiling, the passenger’s door, and curving under the floor boards and back up the side of the other passenger’s door. Arnold put a finger on the edge of the rough cut. “Jesus Christ, you really did cut the bastard in half.” He looked back at Clint with big eyes.
Clint had a swig and grimaced. He passed the bottle back to Arnold. They both stood there for a while, arms crossed across their chests, silently.
“How the fuck?”
“Hacksaw.” Clint nodded.