by Cormac Brown
Once again, she had left him wanting. As before, the heat between them rose like noon at the Equator. Then she would cool off like the May waters off Antarctica. He let out a long and particularly dramatic sigh. In his best Strother Martin, he said, “What we got here is... failure to fornicate.” He didn’t care whether this offended her or not, she had no appreciation for him or for film classics.
Cormac Brown is a pen name. The man behind the name is an up-and-slumming writer in the city of Saint Francis, and he's following in the footsteps of Hammett... minus the TB and working for the Pinkerton Agency. A couple of stories he's stapled and stitched together can be found here. He is the author of 24fps.