Haboob.
That's the new word I learned at Poisoned Pen in Scottsdale, Arizona last night. "Haboob" is
the Arabic word locals use to describe the fierce dust storms that sometimes wash over the entire Phoenix area. Just like
the one that hit the city just a few days ago. I think we were in New Orleans when my son caught footage of the latest haboob on a cable news channel. He turned to me, eyes all wide, and said: "Dad, we're not going to Phoenix, are we?"
Had I known the word last week, I would have told my son in the most reassuring tone possible: "Don't worry, my boy. It's only a haboob."
But even a Biblical-style dust storm wouldn't have kept me away from Poisoned Pen. I'd been dying to visit this store for
years. In fact, my only complaint about last night's event was that it was over way too fast. Huge thanks to Barbara Peters and the entire PP gang for being so gracious and fun. I'm already looking forward to my next trip to Scottsdale.
I also met some people I feel like I've known forever, namely: Patrick Millikin, Poisoned Pen's resident hardboiled expert, who's been incredibly supportive of my stuff since the beginning. Mike MacLean (shown in the photo above with his arms folded), who writes great crime stories as well as Roger Corman flicks (
Sharktopus!). And of course, Keith Rawson, that loveable scallywag who co-edits
The Crime Factory with Cameron Ashley. What really stunned me about Rawson is that
he looks just like a young Michael Connelly. Seriously. It's uncanny. You can't quite see it in the photo above (he's the dude in the red shirt), but in person... let me tell you, I almost broke out the copy of
The Last Coyote in my back pocket and asked him to sign it, that's how close the resemblance is.
After the event proper (with Harry Dolan, Thomas Kaufman and Michael Wiley, all of them true gentlemen), Rawson dragged me into a back room for a video Q&A. He's threatened to post it sometime soon. I'm not exactly the most photogenic person in the world, so I'm hoping the fact that a.) it was dark, and b.) I was wearing a black t-shirt means I'll look like a vague shadow, spewing nerdy nonsense from some pitch black abyss.
Then, a small gang of us headed across the street to the Coach House, which claims to be "Scottsdale's Oldest Tavern." And while "oldest" actually means "opened in 1959," you've got to love a place that's open 6 a.m. until 2 a.m., 365 days a year. Here's a photo of Mr. Rawson at the Coach House, trying hard to
not look like Michael Connelly and FAILING MISERABLY:
This morning the Fun & Games rolled across the rest of Arizona, crossed the California border, and crash-landed in Studio City. On the way into town, I snapped a photo on the 101, pretty much where Lane Madden almost buys it in the opening chapter of
Fun & Games:
Thankfully, life did not imitate art. No one smashed into us, or tried to inject us with speedballs.
Thus begins the long L.A. chapter of this tour. This weekend I'll be serving as a personal chef for the immortal Mr. David J. Schow, as well as participating the very first
Noir at the Bar L.A. But more on that tomorrow. Because now it's time for...
Postcard Update: Man, did I score some winners at a Shell gas station in Palm Springs. Two words:
Sonny Bono. Cards are going out to
Thomas L. in Columbia, SC;
Michael DiG. in Collegeville, PA;
Chris F. in Iowa City, IA;
David P. in Putnam Valley, NY;
Frank R. in Norwood, PA;
Tom C. in Vegas;
Oto O. in Serbia (oh yes, we do international here at Secret Dead Blog);
Shawn C. in Victoria, TX;
Brian M. in Ontario (Canada, too, ain't we hell);
Eric H. in Alberta;
Van C. in Jasper, TX;
Brad S. in Tucson, AZ;
Juan H. in Sewickley, PA;
Jeff L. in Cedar Park, TX;
Bruno R. in Barcelona;
Steve M. in the UK; and finally,
Tom B. in West Monroe, LA.
One last time (say it with me):
Haboob.
