Wild Thing: An Eddie Dancer Mystery

I powered open the sunroof, enjoying the traffic jam that was building rapidly behind me. When the sunroof was fully open, I switched off the motor, tossed the keys under the passenger seat and levered myself up through the opening.
And it would have been a masterful exit if the back of my pants hadn’t hooked on the roof latch.
I was pushing hard to exit the sunroof when down came my pants, underwear and all.
The paparazzi had a field day.
As I struggled to regain a sense of decency, the heat from a million flashbulbs practically seared the skin off my naked and fully exposed rear end.

A dense blanket of low grey cloud obscures the sky and forms an impressive sky-blue chinook arch directly above the mountains. (…) Chinooks play havoc with the barometric pressure, bestowing upon Calgary the dubious title of Migraine Capital of the World.

The I fretted about not being able to bring my gun with me. But a 9mm SIG Sauer isn’t the kind of walk-on luggage Air Canada encourages. Besides, the Brits are funny about people walking around their island with a gun strapped to their thigh.

The room phone was one of those big, black monstrosities you see in old movies. I think we should bring them back. It’s so satisfying to hang up on telephone canvassers. You can really slam that thing into the cradle.

And then all hell broke loose. Which was something I didn’t know about English pubs. Well, workingmen’s pubs, anyway. They are just a single punch away from total anarchy.