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From the lovely Amy O over @ myspace


check out http://www.moderndrunkardmagazine.com/


"I worked up a husky mouthful of saliva and spat it as close to his feet as I could. The fat cop spun on his heel and let his lips fold back over his teeth in a sneer.
" You gettin' snotty, Hammer?"
I stayed slouched in my seat. " Any way you call it, Dilwick," I said insolently. " Just sitting here thinking."
Big stuff gave me a dirty grimace. " Thinking...you?"
"Yeah. Thinking what you'd look like the next day if you tried that stuff on me."
The two cops dragging the little guy out stopped dead still. The other one washing the bloodstains from the seat quit swishing the brush over the wicker and held his breath. Nobody ever spoke that way to Dilwick. Nobody from the biggest politician in the state to the hardest apple that ever stepped out of a pen. Nobody ever did because Dilwick would cut them up into fine pieces with his bare hands and enjoy it. That was Dilwick, the dirtiest, roughest cop who ever walked a beat or swung a nightstick over a skull. Crude, he was. Crude, hard and dirty and afraid of nothing. He'd sooner draw blood from a face than eat and everybody knew it. That's why nobody ever spoke to him that way. That is, nobody except me.
Because I'm the same way myself."
~The Twisted Thing
Mickey Spillane


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