A Bone Dead Sadness by Lansdale Joe R

Author:Lansdale, Joe R. [Lansdale, Joe R.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781628580686
Publisher: Gere Donovan Press
Published: 2014-08-09T16:00:00+00:00

Excerpt

If you enjoyed A Bone Dead Sadness, it wouldn't be the worst thing if you were to head back to where you bought it and leave a nice review with some stars attached. It goes a long way.

And if you did like A Bone Dead Sadness, maybe you'll like Act of Love, too. It was Lansdale's very first published novel, introducing the character of Marvin Hanson. It starts out like this:

MONDAY…4 A.M.

His name was Marvin Hanson.

He was black as a pit and ugly as sin. He was a police lieutenant. Plainclothes. Homicide division. He had short arms and abnormally large hands with fingers as thick as frankfurters. He was five feet, ten inches tall, but due to the width of his shoulders, the thickness of his body, he didn’t look a fraction over five feet, seven inches. His closest friends, all three of them, called him Gorilla. There was nothing racist about the tag. It was a name based on his power and size, and with some reluctance, Hanson embraced it. Everyone else called him Marvin, Mr. Hanson, or Sir. A few close associates called him simply Hanson. This was none of Hanson’s doing. He was just the sort of person that demanded respect; begrudging respect perhaps, but respect, nonetheless.

Right now Hanson was in one of his least cheery moods. A two A.M. phone call had rung him out of Rachel’s arms, out of his warm bed and out into the night. That, he supposed, was part of the price you paid for being a cop. Constant interruption, discomfort and aggravation. Not to mention ulcers, hemorrhoids and bunions.

In spite of his mood, as always, Hanson was an efficient cop, if a bit on the rough side. He was street-wise and back alley mean. He was also surprisingly well-educated, most of it self-acquired. This was a trait that often surprised people. From the looks of him, he seemed like the type to spend his life turning over the big rock and bursting dirt with a shovel.

Hanson had been brought up in The Fifth Ward, but as he was fond of telling his daughter, JoAnna, he had escaped and made of himself what he always wanted to be. A cop.

Sometimes he regretted that decision, regretted being a cop.

Tonight was one of those times. But it was a way of escape. A way out of The Ward, out of the slime and into the mainstream of life.

But maybe he hadn’t managed to escape at all. Sure, he no longer lived in that filthy squalor, but his assignments were most often located there. He was from The Ward. He knew The Ward, and therefore, he was the right cop for The Ward. That didn’t make him like it any better. He had their grudging respect, but on the other hand, he was still an Uptown, Uncle Tom, Nigger Cop to them. He thought it odd that the blacks complained about the ghetto, wanted out, but when one of their number made it out, he or she was immediately an Uncle Tom.

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