“Seingold. Seingold!” Moxley called. Seingold turned. His expression was bland; he was apparently in one of his ignore-Harold-Moxley moods. There was no time to indulge petty grudges. Even the Goops were potential allies right now. “Harold Moxley,” said Seingold. “Yeah, yeah, I get it,” said Moxley. “You don’t like me, I don’t like you,... »
“Geez, Fran, can’t you change that?” asked Moxley, looking up from his corner booth at Row’s. He was nursing a cup of coffee he couldn’t afford, once more absorbed in the dozens of detailed case files Ray Neiring had amassed in the last weeks... »
The girl with the platinum hair glanced down at the device in her hand. Left here. Then a right. Then through the alley and two hundred meters farther on. She hurried up the street, ducked into the channel between two buildings, and emerged on... »
“Carol?” said Mox. “Are you okay? I’ve been standing here for like ten minutes.” “Yes, yes,” said Carol Latham. “I’m so sorry, Harold. It’s just… I’m sorry. Please come... »
One of the ongoing frustrations for every writer who is not also a politically correct, progressive true believer — and there sure are plenty of authors who are — is that... »
“Take a long look, Mister Miller,” said Councilwoman Sara Lindsey. She pushed the pocket tab across the table. The image it displayed was not pleasant: A man in his... »
