Gun Justice

When reading my latest Cash Laramie story, it may seem a little familiar to some readers, and, perhaps, leave them wondering why I’ve sent Cash down this revenge trail again. So I thought a bit of insight on the origins of "Gun Justice" would help.

I wrote a story called "Justice Served" for the sadly departed Dark Valentine Magazine. At the time it was my darkest story to date and I had been apprehensive about it because Cash steps beyond the justice system to deliver retribution. I sent it off to Chuck Tyrell to go under his wizened eye and he sent back an edit he called "Gun Justice."

Sidebar: Chuck was at Cash Laramie’s beginnings when he edited (along with ace writer/editor, Nik Morton) the outlaw marshal’s first appearance in "Cash Laramie and the Masked Devil" for A FISTFUL OF LEGENDS. Chuck knows this character and helped contribute many fine elements to the series. I added a few of Chuck’s suggestions but I stuck with my overall version then sent it off to Dark Valentine.

A few months back I was going through some old e-mails and found Chuck's edit and realized how much I now preferred his version. I sent it off to Jack Martin and he accepted it for Wild West eMonday.

So I hope you have a few moments to read the story and find out what flipped Cash Laramie from being a marshal that walked the line to being one known as the outlaw marshal. Here is "Gun Justice."

Picture of me holding a 19th century Colt.

Lawrence Block on Cash Laramie -- and Other News of The Outlaw Marshal

It’s been (and is going to be) a busy week for my noir western antihero Cash Laramie. First, acclaimed crime writer Lawrence Block tweeted yesterday that “Excuse me for a bit, tweeps. I just bought Adventures of Cash Laramie and I want to start reading it...” Now if that didn’t stop me cold in my tracks, his tweet the next day did, “…I did read & enjoy several stories in Cash.” Needless to say, I’m going to be framing a couple of Twitter tweets!

Chuck Tyrell is interviewed by Jeanne Bannon. I’ve been working closely with Mr. Tyrell on a Cash Laramie novel, and he offers you a tiny glimpse here.

I’m a big fan of what Keith and the boys are doing with Crimefactory. I’ve wanted to be in CF for years, and I’m finally getting my chance with “Cash Laramie and the Painted Ladies” in issue #7 coming very soon.

And on Jack Martin’s next Wild West eMonday, Cash’s “Gun Justice” appears. This is a short blood-splattered tale written with Chuck Tyrell.

And, of course, many thanks go to the Cash & Miles fans who took the time to leave comments on Amazon and post reviews on their individual blogs. I'm deeply appreciative to one and all.

7/28 update: Cullen Gallagher reviews ADVENTURES at Spinetingler.

7/29 update: WILD WEST eMonday - Let those wagons roll.

7/30 update: Wild West eMonday - The magnificent seven 1.

7 Questions with...

Frank Bill. Right here.

Family, Anecdotes and The Tradition

I come from a long line of storytellers. Not the writer type (except my maternal grandfather whose name just so happens to be Edward A. Grainger). I’m talking about the original, traditional method of storytelling. By word of mouth. When I was just a wee boy, I would sit at the table and listen closely to a bunch of my relatives telling anecdote after anecdote. I took it all in. Every word. Every facial expression. Every emotional reaction. And weren’t they having a blast. That seems like a whole ‘nother century ago—oh, wait a minute, it was, literally!

Travel with me, if you would, through the proverbial mists of time—back to my first decade in the 1970s when my grandfather, dad, aunts and uncles would spin stories. I’d turn the TV off and listen in as nothing else could compete with the humorous and poignant tales that sprung from that 'round table.' It was my Grandpa Fred who captured the audience and my imagination most often. Whether it was the story of how the tire came off his Model T and rolled ahead of him down the road, or the time he cooked up a skunk just to appall his sisters. And none of us could walk away without laughing as Grandpa Fred chattered on about his beloved Millie and the day he was working in the garden, minding his own business, when he turned to find Millie barreling toward him, kitchen knife in hand slicing the air. That was the norm. She chased him with a knife every time she got drunk, and yet he always referred to her as the love of his life!

I had been itching to slip a family story into my writing, although it’s difficult to translate them to the printed page. They lack the distinct delivery of Grandpa Fred with his flawless inflection or a perfectly-timed raised eyebrow.

But, finally, I got one. My grandfather would tell how he’d win free beer through a couple of never-fail bar bets. I took my favorite—a real great trick—and worked it into a story for the Western Fictioneers anthology, The Traditional West.

In “New Dog, Old Tricks,” Marshal Gideon Miles, an African-American lawman in the Old West, is at a watering hole enjoying some Maryland Rye when a young cowpoke tells him to get lost. The kid doesn't know Miles is a peace officer and our hero doesn't reveal it. Miles decides to teach the kid a lesson using a (my grandfather’s) bar bet. In a nutshell, Miles challenges that he can drink three pitchers of beer before the owlhoot can drink three shots of whiskey. Think you can figure it out?

I came to my family's party late and never got to share my storytelling with the bunch from the 'round table' as they have all passed on. But, who knows, maybe in this wireless, electronic age they’re getting to 'hear' my stories after all. Hats off to you, folks. I miss you.

BEAT to a PULP #136: Enter the Red Door by Sandra Seamans

OF THINGS TO COME

Deep in the belly of Wulfenite Mountain the flames of a small campfire cast dark shadows on the glittering walls of a small crystal cave. A young man and an elderly woman are hunkered down by the fire, hiding from spying eyes.

Mama Kazlowki is the last practicing yidoni, because reading the future, or practicing magic of any kind, is an act punishable by death on either side of the dimensional divide. But these are desperate days and the risk is of no consequence. For in these unsettled times both humans and magical creatures live their lives on the brink of death with every breath they inhale.

Mama poured the gleaming contents of a worn leather pouch into her hand, closed her fist around the golden crystals, brought the clutched fist to her face and muttered, “Fairy days, Fairy nights, share with us the future sights.” She blew softly on her hand, then cast the crystals across the ground in front of her. What she saw in the crystals made no sense. How could a mere slip of a girl bring peace between the dimensions and restore the magical balance to both worlds?

“Well, what does it say? Will the truce hold?”

Mama raised her eyes from the crystals to look into the worried face of the boy across from her. No, not a boy, Mama reminded herself. Jonathan Farnsworth had grown up in a world ravaged by the war between Noah’s Gribbons and the Staurolite Witch’s magic. The truce should have brought him peace, instead he led a band of rebels who believed in the survival of magic and were fighting for the right to practice their craft.

“No, Jonathan, the truce was doomed from the start. Noah is determined to rid the world of magic, you know that. This truce has only given him time to improve his weapons. He won’t stop until he’s destroyed the witch and after her, the entire human race.”

A sadness swept over Jonathan. “Is there any hope of saving our world?”

“A princess is coming who will set the world right and bring back the magic.”

“A princess?” Jonathan stood, anger shaking him to his very soul. “A princess? We need warriors, a knight, a king, a man, someone strong enough to lead us into battle. What is a princess going to do? Teach us how to dance and pick out pretty ball gowns? No. The crystals are wrong this time.”

“The crystals are never wrong. Trust me, Jonathan, this girl, this princess is like no one you’ve ever met before.”

“She’s still a damn girl, isn’t she? There’s no way she’ll be able to fight them both and win.”

“This girl is different, my friend. She is the daughter of a witch and raised under the wings of a dragon. There is a strength in her that even she hasn‘t fully realized. Trust in the magic, Jonathan, it hasn’t failed us yet.”

“I think the magic is losing its power, Mama.” Jonathan shook his head as a chorus of giggles filled the cave.

“Trust in the magic, Jonathan, with the magic comes faith, and with faith, there is hope.”

“Yeah, and all our lives are resting on the shoulders of a girl. I don’t see much to hope for there.”

Who's the girl? Sandra Seamans invites you to "Enter The Red Door" to find out.

A Day of Reckoning on the Printed Page: Casey Anthony and Social Justice

The skeletal remains of Casey Anthony’s beautiful daughter Caylee were discovered on December 11, 2008, almost five months after the toddler was reported missing by her grandmother...Casey failed to report it. During that time, Casey continued to live a party lifestyle, going to bars and clubs and even getting a "good life" tattoo. She was indicted on charges of first degree murder and faced the death penalty. She entered a plea of not guilty, and on July 5, 2011, the jury found Casey Anthony not guilty of murder and other felony charges.

Some people have been supportive of the mother, but the majority of Americans are angered by this verdict and outraged that Casey Anthony has walked free.

One reason this case hit home with me is my own beautiful five-month old daughter who my wife Denise and I dote on everyday. We came into parenthood at mid-life and our little miracle awes us everyday. We take pride in her small steps of sitting on her own and eating strained peas for the first time. We admire her wide-eyed wonder at everything from the buzzing beehive of activity at the shopping center to the quiet thrill of seeing her own reflection in the mirror. She’s amazing and we are so fortunate.

Which brings me back to Casey Anthony. I have to ask the obvious, how could anyone spend all those weeks going wild with fun while your child is missing? For most of us, our hearts would be breaking wide-open. Life wouldn’t be worth living until our daughter was found.

Every time Caylee’s face flickered on a newscast, my heart reached out to the little girl. It would have before I had my daughter, but now that she's the central part of my life, tears come to my eyes for Caylee. Life shouldn't end at two.

I do what I always do when something like this bothers me. I turn to writing and my two protagonists make up the two sides of my thinking. Gideon Miles, the cool level-headed marshal, would accept the verdict because we live in a country where the law allows Casey to be tried by a group of her peers. He would shake his head in disbelief at the innocent verdict, but, he would think of the words of William Blackstone, "It's better that 10 guilty men go free than one innocent man be wrongly convicted." Miles might even entertain the notion she could be innocent.

Then there is the outlaw marshal, Cash Laramie. A man tired of the guilty walking free. Of the innocent living in fear. He'd bide his time, and then, like a dark knight whose thirst in his soul can only be quenched by righting a wrong, he'd exact a revenge. But he wouldn’t call it vengeance, he would call it justice.

The beauty of being a writer is it can be very therapeutic. When something like this trial gets under my skin and then embeds itself in my head, I have to shake it off by either calling out the injustice or righting the wrong. I’m not sure which marshal—Cash or Miles—will step forward in my next story, but one of them will...and there will be a day of reckoning on the printed page.

African-American Lawmen in the Old West

Shortly after "Miles to Go" appeared in the BEAT to a PULP webzine, I got an e-mail concerning my noir westerns that went like this:

I enjoy your writing and wish you much success, but when I'm reading about your character Gideon Miles, a black lawman in the Old West, it seems forced like you're reinventing the West to kowtow to current sensibilities and trends.

I wrote back with a link and one line that read: Obviously, you've never heard about Bass Reeves.

We've corresponded several times since then, and I was happy to draw attention to the African-American marshal. I asked the e-mailer for persmission to post his words here because I am endlessly fascinated how Bass Reeves, a real American hero, remains overlooked in our country.

It felt good to turn what was on the verge of a negative into a strong positive.