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Apparently, this really was Kill Charley Davidson Week. Or at least Horribly Maim Her.... It would probably never get government recognition, though, destined to be underappreciated like Halloween or Thesaurus Day.

Darynda Jones

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Darynda Jones
Age: 59
Author
Novelist
Writer
Friona
Texas
Probably
Thesaurus
Least
Horribly
Though
Halloween
Government
Destined
Really
Apparently
Never
Recognition
Charley
Would
Kill
Maim
Like
Week
Davidson

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It’s all fun and games until someone loses a testicle. —T-SHIRT
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He was like chocolate-covered heroin, and I was an addict through and through.
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Cookie had taken her daughter amber to school then walked the thirty-something feet to work earlier. Our business was on the second floor of Calamity's, my dad's bar, which sat right in front of our apartment building. The short commute was nice and rarely invloved rabid raccoons.
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Just in case, though, I stormed into my apartment, tossed a quick hello to Mr. Wong, then rummaged through my entertainment center to lay out all my exorcism equipment. I kept it in my entertainment center because exorcisms were nothing if not entertaining.
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That you honestly believe I am capable of hurting innocent people for no reason.” “You’re not?” I asked, hope softening my voice. “Oh, no, I’m more than capable. I just didn’t realize you knew that.
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But we'd never really seen eye to eye. Mostly 'cause he was much taller than I was.
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I could hardly be responsible for my actions when everyone around me gave me every opportunity to sink to their low expectations.
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You’re just using me for my body.” “You don’t have a body,” I’d remind him. “Throw that in my face.” “Technically, you don’t have a face either.
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Reyes Farrow. Because perfection is a dirty job, but someone has to do it.
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I’m Charlotte Davidson: private investigator, police consultant, all -around badass. Or I could’ve been a badass, had I stuck with those lessons in mixed martial arts. I was only in that class to learn how to kill people with paper.
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Dead people I could handle. They were usually beyond hysteria. This was the people-left behind part. The hard part.
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You were the one who hit me on the roof? I hit you on the jaw. We just happened to be on a roof at the time.
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I went down like a drunken cowgirl trying to line dance to Metallica.
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How would you like your eggs? I tried. I really did. But I glanced at his crotch and it came out anyway. Fertilized?
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The point is, stories can be all lengths. Never underestimate the power of “less is more.
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I lowered the gun but didn’t holster it. Not just yet. She could turn out to be psychotic. Or a door-to-door salesperson.
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Chocolate and coffee ? Together ? Whoever came up with that combination should have won a Nobel Peace Prize. Or at least a subscription to Reader's Digest.
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Felt my heartbeat falter, hesitate, then stumble awkwardly forward, tripping on the next beat, then the next, faster and faster until each one tumbled into the other like the drumroll of dominoes crashing together. Funny how time stands still when death is imminent.
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If it weren’t for physics and law enforcement, I’d be unstoppable.
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I could be irksome when I put my left ventricle into it.
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