tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33110302.post5063564041292521461..comments2024-03-29T08:45:57.792-04:00Comments on Patricia Abbott (pattinase): Patti's Pens and Pickspattinase (abbott)http://www.blogger.com/profile/02916037185235335846noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33110302.post-59079136998653635152008-11-20T10:02:00.000-05:002008-11-20T10:02:00.000-05:00I gotta read that.I gotta read that.pattinase (abbott)https://www.blogger.com/profile/02916037185235335846noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33110302.post-85641205366912438152008-11-20T09:14:00.000-05:002008-11-20T09:14:00.000-05:00That probe began because Burns had learned the nam...That probe began because Burns had learned the name of a major narcotics trafficker who had ordered the slaying of his girlfriend. Unable to prove the murder, Burns and Edgerton instead spent months on electronic and telephone surveillance, then took the dealer down for drug distribution to the tune of thirty years, no parole. To Edgerton, a case like that was a statement of a kind, an answer to an organized drug trade that could otherwise engage in contract murder with impunity.<BR/><BR/>From HOMICIDE, A YEAR ON THE KILLING STREETS, by David SimonDana Kinghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01350344882342624735noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33110302.post-21840970276329534642008-11-20T08:14:00.000-05:002008-11-20T08:14:00.000-05:00I'd let the drink wait. Thanks, Randy. That bright...I'd let the drink wait. Thanks, Randy. That brightened my morning up.pattinase (abbott)https://www.blogger.com/profile/02916037185235335846noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33110302.post-60481958763194565062008-11-20T01:29:00.000-05:002008-11-20T01:29:00.000-05:00Her fingers slid up to the back of my hand, gently...Her fingers slid up to the back of my hand, gently squeezed my wrist, and pulled my hand down to cup a full warm mound. She strained her body forward, pressing the soft, silk-covered flesh into my palm. She wasn't wearing a brassiere.<BR/>"Finish your drink," she whispered.<BR/>From Pattern For Panic by Richard S. Prather, the 1955 Berkley non-Shell Scott version.Randy Johnsonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16627907086811387527noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33110302.post-28890066304299418082008-11-19T18:33:00.000-05:002008-11-19T18:33:00.000-05:00Sounds like terrific fun.Sounds like terrific fun.pattinase (abbott)https://www.blogger.com/profile/02916037185235335846noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33110302.post-38942431658332381652008-11-19T18:25:00.000-05:002008-11-19T18:25:00.000-05:00Happy to do this because I'm having such fun re-re...Happy to do this because I'm having such fun re-reading the new "Blindspot," by Jill Lepore and Jane Kamensky (I got to interview them for the Boston Phoenix and am now reviewing it as well for the SF Chronicle, hence the rapid re-read):<BR/><BR/>"I will yell, lad. I will yell aplenty. Aye, and I will curse. But I am the first to admit: I am a poor governor of my temper. But I won't strangle you. And I can't have my bluster be the only sound in this lonely house. Speak up," I said, straightening myself.Clea Simonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10810838253598050028noreply@blogger.com