Introducing Nick Webb
“Part-time A/C repairman, Nick Webb rolls through the city’s underbelly, scratching it and making it belch.”
When I posted John Cox’s Detective Frank Pound comic panel last month, I figured he might be branching out in a new direction. So when I saw this Nick Webb cover art, I at first thought he might be considering writing a pulp novel. But it occurs to me now that he’s simply demonstrating just how full his quiver of artistic skills really is. If I was developing a writing project right now, I’d be approaching John to illustrate it. I might start out something like this:
“I polished off the last of the Old Crow, left the empty bottle on my desk and headed for Gilhooley’s Pub two floors below. Counting the last of the 43 stairs, I sensed movement in the shadows and turned just as the hulking figure lunged. The blow caught me off guard and my knees buckled. As he moved in again, I hit him low, bending him forward clutching his groin. A swift kick sent his teeth cascading like marbles falling on a sidewalk. I crushed his head like a soft cantaloupe and watched him drop to the floor like a bag of rotten potatoes. Probably one of Ficetti’s goons, I thought.
Wiping the trickle of blood from my swollen lower lip, I swung through the back door into Gilhooley’s. Dark and smoky, the familiar pungent smell of cheap booze and cheap women filled my nostrils. I found a corner table away from the bar and motioned to Gilhooley for a bottle. Then I saw her…”
Yeah, I used to love Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer novels.
Doug
For those of you who never bother to read the posted “comments” (you know who you are), I thought you might enjoy this one I received from John Cox. It made my day:
“I cracked open my comment thread like a Bourbon Street whore. I knew I’d find some spicy thoughts sprinkled through the miasma of idle banter, but I never expected to find a gold-plated paragraph of wicked satire. I tipped back my fedora and scratched my melon. Maybe it was some sort of dime store trick to rip-off my considerable talent. Or maybe it was just an accident waiting to happen. I liked the guy’s style, but it left me itchier than an angora ski mask in Tahiti. Could I illustrate for this self-made yahoo? The bottom of my bottle of Old Crow had all the answers.”
On top of his “considerable talents,” John has a keen sense of humor. I like his style, too.
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Reader Comments (13)
Well, Doug, now I think you should be a writer of mystery novels! AND a photographer! Better yet, write a book about your travels and include your own photographs!
Hell yes! You should write a book! Or just finish what you started here, I would buy it!
Hasn't "D is for Dames" been used before? It sounds familiar.
I agree, you two should pal up and write a suspense novel like the old Mike Hammers. Of course, you couldn't copy that character, but you would come up with something equally likable. And there would need to be a Velda. (Wasn't that her name?)
You would think so, Richard, but I googled it and found nothing relevant. Janet Evanovich uses numbers, so maybe there's a whole alphabetical series open to us...Perhaps John or I should start writing, yes?
Mention me in your book and I will make it worth your while. Call me Bambi the Body. It is my nickname, everyone calls me that.
The fight with Ficetti's goon left him feeling like the first day after a lakeside scenic bike ride. He thought about it again and motioned Gilhooley for a second bottle - as he thought, "damn my butt still hurts, I got to loose this weight."
Well "Bambi", I don't know what you might have in mind, but I'm a happily married man. A book isn't on the immediate horizon but if I write one and decide to include you in it, I'd need to know your real first name...
Doug
Ken, it's fiction, not autobiographical. And I didn't even get far enough for my butt to hurt before my upper legs gave out. And yes, I will lose some weight. On the good side, my knees are holding up so far (fingers crossed.)
Hey, thanks all for the kind words! Makes me want to crank out a new book or two!
I cracked open my comment thread like a Bourbon Street whore. I knew I'd find some spicy thoughts sprinkled through the miasma of idle banter, but I never expected to find a gold-plated paragraph of wicked satire. I tipped back my fedora back and scratched my melon. Maybe it was some sort of dime store trick to rip-off my considerable talent. Or maybe it was just an accident waiting to happen. I liked the guy's style, but it left me itchier than an angora ski mask in Tahiti. Could I illustrate for this self-made yahoo? The bottom of my bottle of Old Crow had all the answers.
John, you made my morning! And my wife is still laughing!
It's Barbie.
Thanks Barbie (or Bambi, as your friends call you.) I'll keep you in mind for a character if the story line calls for one such as I'm picturing you. In a Mike Hammer type story, the name would fit right in. In a book on photography? Not so much.