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“Writing is not a profession, occupation or job; it is not a way of life: it is a comprehensive response to life.”
―
―
“Even paranoids have enemies.”
― Confess, Fletch
― Confess, Fletch
“Pardon my pants. I'm fresh from an axe murder.”
― Confess, Fletch
― Confess, Fletch
“You don’t. You don’t accept it. You don’t think about it. You just leave it out there somewhere, like a part of town you never visit. You put the anger, the rage, the fury in another part of town, and you never visit it.”
― Fletch And The Man Who
― Fletch And The Man Who
“Did you say this is a chicken sandwich?” “Chicken salad.” “Well, the chicken escaped with his life in the making of this sandwich. Very little indeed was taken off his hide. What are these green lumps in it?” “Celery.” “That’s the salad part, is it? All held together by a white paste it looks somebody has already masticated.” “That’s mayonnaise, Inspector.” “The great thing about American prepared food is how completely it’s prepared. It’s even pre-chewed.” Grover said, “You don’t like your sandwich?” “Well, there are three of us famous detectives standing over it, and any one of us would be hard-pressed to discover the chicken in it.”
― Flynn
― Flynn
“Let me lay down a few ground rules," the man continued. "First, you'll be available to us at all times. Second, you will stay out of our way, confining yourself to doing what you are told to do, when you are told to do it. Third, you will see that the Boston Police Department provides all services we ask, the minute we ask for them. Fourth, you'll keep the other jerk members of the Boston Police Department in line. We don't want any locals bucking for heroes' stars on this case. Fifth, you'll keep the press, both local and national, as far away from us as possible, and then some, at all times. Is that clear?"
Flynn smiled. "And tell me, did your father indicate to your mother what his name might be the night he spent with her?" The men stared at Flynn. Some of them stepped back.”
― Flynn
Flynn smiled. "And tell me, did your father indicate to your mother what his name might be the night he spent with her?" The men stared at Flynn. Some of them stepped back.”
― Flynn
“A double extra-dry martini,” Thadeus Lowry said to the waiter. “I just shot a man through the head.”
“Very good, sir,” said the waiter.”
―
“Very good, sir,” said the waiter.”
―
“What do you like?" Fletch asked.
She stared down at him.
"Do you like chocolate?"
She turned her head back into the wind, the dark, back into space, and said something.
"What?" Fletch asked. "I didn't hear you."
She turned her head back to him, annoyed.
"What do you like? she asked. "Tell me that."
"I like chocolate," Fletch said. "I like to see birds hopping on the grass. Do you like to see little birds hopping on the green grass?"
She said something that was lost in the wind.
"What else to you like?" Fletch asked. "Who do you like on television?"
There was no answer.
"Mike Wallace? Merv Giffin? How about As the World Turns? Do you ever watch that?"
No answer.
Fletch's throat was dry.
"Hey," he said, "do you remember the smell of a brand new car? Really new?"
No answer.
"How about the smell of brownies baking? Isn't that the greatest?"
From above she was staring down at him.
"What kind of sounds do you like? he asked. "Harmonica? Violin? Guitar?"
No answer.
"You know what I like?" he asked. "I love seeing a newspaper blowing along a city street. I love to hear rain-really hard rain-when I'm in bed. The yap of a puppy. Do you like to hear the yap of a puppy sometimes?"
"Hey," the woman said. "Kid."
"Yeah?"
"Take my hand, willya? I'm scared shitless."
"So am I," Fletch said.
...
"Just sit down," Fletch said. "Right where you are. Slowly, carefully."
Slowly, carefully she sat down on the cable, facing the bridge. The green plastic slipper dangled from her foot.
"Hold onto me," she said.
Fletch took her hand.
"Wait for the cops," Fletch said. "We'll wait for the cops."
"What the fuck we doing out here?" the woman asked.
"I don't know," he answered. "Sometimes we find ourselves places like this."
She was shivering then. "It's not my fault, you know. It really isn't."
"I'm sure it isn't," Fletch said. "Tell me what you like. What's the nicest book you ever read?"
"That's a funny question."
"Well, what is the nicest book you ever read?"
"BIach Beauty," the woman said.
"Tell me about it."
The woman thought for a moment. "I don't remember nothin' about it," she said, "'cept that I liked it."
"Hey, great," Fletch said. "You get to read it again"
"This really isn't my fault," the woman said. "Believe me."
"I believe you," Fletch said. "Believe me I believe you.”
― Fletch and the Widow Bradley
She stared down at him.
"Do you like chocolate?"
She turned her head back into the wind, the dark, back into space, and said something.
"What?" Fletch asked. "I didn't hear you."
She turned her head back to him, annoyed.
"What do you like? she asked. "Tell me that."
"I like chocolate," Fletch said. "I like to see birds hopping on the grass. Do you like to see little birds hopping on the green grass?"
She said something that was lost in the wind.
"What else to you like?" Fletch asked. "Who do you like on television?"
There was no answer.
"Mike Wallace? Merv Giffin? How about As the World Turns? Do you ever watch that?"
No answer.
Fletch's throat was dry.
"Hey," he said, "do you remember the smell of a brand new car? Really new?"
No answer.
"How about the smell of brownies baking? Isn't that the greatest?"
From above she was staring down at him.
"What kind of sounds do you like? he asked. "Harmonica? Violin? Guitar?"
No answer.
"You know what I like?" he asked. "I love seeing a newspaper blowing along a city street. I love to hear rain-really hard rain-when I'm in bed. The yap of a puppy. Do you like to hear the yap of a puppy sometimes?"
"Hey," the woman said. "Kid."
"Yeah?"
"Take my hand, willya? I'm scared shitless."
"So am I," Fletch said.
...
"Just sit down," Fletch said. "Right where you are. Slowly, carefully."
Slowly, carefully she sat down on the cable, facing the bridge. The green plastic slipper dangled from her foot.
"Hold onto me," she said.
Fletch took her hand.
"Wait for the cops," Fletch said. "We'll wait for the cops."
"What the fuck we doing out here?" the woman asked.
"I don't know," he answered. "Sometimes we find ourselves places like this."
She was shivering then. "It's not my fault, you know. It really isn't."
"I'm sure it isn't," Fletch said. "Tell me what you like. What's the nicest book you ever read?"
"That's a funny question."
"Well, what is the nicest book you ever read?"
"BIach Beauty," the woman said.
"Tell me about it."
The woman thought for a moment. "I don't remember nothin' about it," she said, "'cept that I liked it."
"Hey, great," Fletch said. "You get to read it again"
"This really isn't my fault," the woman said. "Believe me."
"I believe you," Fletch said. "Believe me I believe you.”
― Fletch and the Widow Bradley
“What do you like?" Fletch asked.
She stared down at him.
"Do you like chocolate?"
She turned her head back into the wind, the dark, back into space, and said something.
"What?" Fletch asked. "I didn't hear you."
She turned her head back to him, annoyed.
"What do you like? she asked. "Tell me that."
"I like chocolate," Fletch said. "I like to see birds hopping on the grass. Do you like to see little birds hopping on the green grass?"
She said something that was lost in the wind.
"What else to you like?" Fletch asked. "Who do you like on television?"
There was no answer.
"Mike Wallace? Merv Giffin? How about As the World Turns? Do you ever watch that?"
No answer.
Fletch's throat was dry.
"Hey," he said, "do you remember the smell of a brand new car? Really new?"
No answer.
"How about the smell of brownies baking? Isn't that the greatest?"
From above she was staring down at him.
"What kind of sounds do you like?" he asked. "Harmonica? Violin? Guitar?"
No answer.
"You know what I like?" he asked. "I love seeing a newspaper page blowing along a city street. I love to hear rain-really hard rain-when I'm in bed. The yap of a puppy. Do you like to hear the yap of a puppy sometimes?"
"Hey," the woman said. "Kid."
"Yeah?"
"Take my hand, willya? I'm scared shitless."
"So am I," Fletch said.
...
"Just sit down," Fletch said. "Right where you are. Slowly, carefully."
Slowly, carefully she sat down on the cable, facing the bridge. The green plastic slipper dangled from her foot.
"Hold onto me," she said.
Fletch took her hand.
"Wait for the cops," Fletch said. "We'll wait for the cops."
"What the fuck we doing out here?" the woman asked.
"I don't know," he answered. "Sometimes we find ourselves places like this."
She was shivering then. "It's not my fault, you know. It really isn't."
"I'm sure it isn't," Fletch said. "Tell me what you like. What's the nicest book you ever read?"
"That's a funny question."
"Well, what is the nicest book you ever read?"
"BIach Beauty," the woman said.
"Tell me about it."
The woman thought for a moment. "I don't remember nothin' about it," she said, "'cept that I liked it."
"Hey, great," Fletch said. "You get to read it again"
"This really isn't my fault," the woman said. "Believe me."
"I believe you," Fletch said. "Believe me I believe you.”
― Fletch and the Widow Bradley
She stared down at him.
"Do you like chocolate?"
She turned her head back into the wind, the dark, back into space, and said something.
"What?" Fletch asked. "I didn't hear you."
She turned her head back to him, annoyed.
"What do you like? she asked. "Tell me that."
"I like chocolate," Fletch said. "I like to see birds hopping on the grass. Do you like to see little birds hopping on the green grass?"
She said something that was lost in the wind.
"What else to you like?" Fletch asked. "Who do you like on television?"
There was no answer.
"Mike Wallace? Merv Giffin? How about As the World Turns? Do you ever watch that?"
No answer.
Fletch's throat was dry.
"Hey," he said, "do you remember the smell of a brand new car? Really new?"
No answer.
"How about the smell of brownies baking? Isn't that the greatest?"
From above she was staring down at him.
"What kind of sounds do you like?" he asked. "Harmonica? Violin? Guitar?"
No answer.
"You know what I like?" he asked. "I love seeing a newspaper page blowing along a city street. I love to hear rain-really hard rain-when I'm in bed. The yap of a puppy. Do you like to hear the yap of a puppy sometimes?"
"Hey," the woman said. "Kid."
"Yeah?"
"Take my hand, willya? I'm scared shitless."
"So am I," Fletch said.
...
"Just sit down," Fletch said. "Right where you are. Slowly, carefully."
Slowly, carefully she sat down on the cable, facing the bridge. The green plastic slipper dangled from her foot.
"Hold onto me," she said.
Fletch took her hand.
"Wait for the cops," Fletch said. "We'll wait for the cops."
"What the fuck we doing out here?" the woman asked.
"I don't know," he answered. "Sometimes we find ourselves places like this."
She was shivering then. "It's not my fault, you know. It really isn't."
"I'm sure it isn't," Fletch said. "Tell me what you like. What's the nicest book you ever read?"
"That's a funny question."
"Well, what is the nicest book you ever read?"
"BIach Beauty," the woman said.
"Tell me about it."
The woman thought for a moment. "I don't remember nothin' about it," she said, "'cept that I liked it."
"Hey, great," Fletch said. "You get to read it again"
"This really isn't my fault," the woman said. "Believe me."
"I believe you," Fletch said. "Believe me I believe you.”
― Fletch and the Widow Bradley
“I must follow the journalistic instinct of being skeptical of everything until I personally have proved it true.”
― Fletch
― Fletch
“Cocky spilled a little of the tea on the folded towel Flynn had on the edge of the desk for just that purpose—for Cocky to spill on it. “That’s lovely,” said Flynn.”
― Flynn
― Flynn
