Gregg Taylor

“Okay,” I said, “so what does all that have to do with his dead mistress, her dead ex-boyfriend with the dirty pictures or the entire Rossetti crime family?” Trixie shrugged. “I dunno, let’s go ask him.” “Ask who?” I said, a little lost. “Roger Mayfield,” she said simply. “Isn’t that what I wanted to do at nine o’clock in the morning?” I asked, annoyed. “Nine thirty-seven,” she reminded. “And there’s a difference.” “Which is?” I asked. “When you wanted to do it, it was a stupid idea,” she said with a smile.”
― Gregg Taylor, Black Jack Justice

“One more thing,” Jack said. “Name it,” Freddie said with an expansive gesture. “Al Rossetti,” Jack said. Freddie’s face fell, hard. “I got not one word to say on such a subject as that,” Freddie said. “Don’t get hysterical,” Jack said. “No, seriously Jackie, you come into my place when I ain’t even here-” “You gave me a key,” Jack deadpanned. “Well,” Freddie paused, “leaving aside for the moment that this is an interesting point-” “Thank you,” said Jack. “You bring in a person whom I do not know,” Freddie said gesturing towards me and raising his hands defensively as he realized that he had done it again. “And you ask me about one of the biggest gangsters in town, whom I have just remembered that I have never heard of.”
― Gregg Taylor, Black Jack Justice