I knew I shouldn’t have gone to that bar. There I was, sitting on a stool staring down a shot of Southern Comfort, when in he walked – a weary-looking gumshoe wearing a crumpled fedora and tattered leather coat.
I knew him at once, and why wouldn’t I? He was the hero of my new novel, String City, large as life and looking mad as hell. What follows is a transcript of our conversation. I’ve called it an interview, but really it wasn’t.
It was an interrogation.
GUMSHOE: What in the name of Hades do you think you’re playing at?
GRAHAM EDWARDS: I’m sorry?
GUMSHOE: (pulling a copy of String City from his coat pocket) You think this is funny? Continue reading