He was like an undead boomerang. A zomberang.

I resisted the urge to pour mouthwash in my brain.

Instinct told me it was dangerous. I could handle dangerous. Dangerous and me went back a long way. We did lunch when dangerous was in town.

A corner of his mouth quirked up. “I play pool. Shoot hoops sometimes too. Any other sport you’re curious about?” “Hockey? Polo?” “Simultaneously. Trick is to keep the horses on their skates.

Shamus ordered half a cup of house brew. Then he proceeded to fill the cup up the rest of the way with milk and sugar. Lots of sugar. “Sure you got enough milk in your sugar?” I asked as we strolled out of the shop and headed south. He flipped me off. “You drink your coffee your way, and I’ll drink my coffee the right way.

Don't know about my knives, but my gun's made of pain.

He was like an undead boomerang. A zomberang.