His death was a thin red line on a chart… not a gun, not poison, but simply the cold, errorless science of the doomsday men. And even as he prepared to fight it. Larkin knew grimly that — for him — there was no escape in this...
The Howler was a nice boss, but he earned his nickname. He’d stand in the middle of his big restaurant kitchen, flapping his arms and screaming, while the help waited for him to burst. Noisy? You’d be noisy, too, if you knew what he knew!...
They say laughter’s injections, and psychologists recently have found evidence of rhythm patterns in human emotions. But MacDonald’s proposing a nasty...
Some backs are born to glory — some achieve it — but sometimes, in the heart-testing minute before the final gun, only never-quit cleats will run the man...