“How c-could you?” she gasped.
    I only had a moment before talking to a corpse, but I got it in.
    “It was easy,” I said.
    —Mickey Spillane, I, the Jury, 1947

    I lay on my back on a bed in a waterfront hotel and waited for it to get dark. It was a small front room with a hard bed and a mattress slightly thicker than the cotton blanket that covered it. A spring underneath me was broken and stuck into the left side of my back. I lay there and let it prod me. ( Read more... )