A Dish Served Cold

Smell that aroma in the air, Pilgrim? That aroma which leaves a bitter, metallic taste on your tongue? That is the smell of revenge. Cold, unrelenting, murderous revenge. With an aroma like this floating in the air someone is going to die. Blood will be spilled. Biblical justice will be exacted. Smitty will make sure of that.

Yes, I am B.R. Stateham. Yes, I am as old as I look. Sixty-six years old and counting. But don't let my chronological age fool you. There's still that boy of fourteen grinning and planning mischief inside me. Still wanting to write 'the perfect' hardboiled/noir story. Still dreaming up dark fantasy sci/fi tales. Still dreaming . . . period. So let's dream together, shall we?


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