I have an old friend who writes crime fiction. He also works for a newspaper. And he doesn't know a 7.62mm from a 5.56mm but he's a much better writer than I am. For years Wally has turned me onto some great books and some strange music. I'll save the music for another time but check his blog out here http://www.wallacestrobycom.blogspot.com/.
This book is outta print. Published in 1967, I can just see Trad Dad reading this in the Team House bunker as he sips at his can of Ballantine and flicks the ash off a hot boxed Marlboro.
In addition to being a brilliant writer...Wally or Wild East as he is known in some circles, really knows writers. He's interviewed lots of living ones and knows everything there is to know about a lot of dead ones. You could say it's his passion. He'll send me an interview on tape with a writer and the writer's new book. I call this "Wally Mail."
I thought it made sense to share this recommendation from Wally. It has one of those opening lines that grabs you right in the button fly area of your plain front khakis.
"Parker spent two weeks on the white sand beach at Biloxi, and on a white sandy bitch named Belle, but he was restless, and one day without thinking about it he checked out and sent a forwarding address to Handy McKay and moved on to New Orleans."
I spent four weeks in Biloxi and would have killed for a white sandy bitch but I sure as hell never thought of putting one in a sentence. Not like that one.