Killers in the Rain

I had the best of intentions. Really. During this last weekend’s Left Coast Crime (LCC) convention in Seattle, I’d planned to post something every night, featuring my insights and observations from the ongoing festivities. But things didn’t quite work out that way. I found myself abandoning my usual reporter’s detachment, and instead sitting around with novelists over drinks or following them to special events, soaking up this rare camaraderie with people whose work I either admire or else intend to begin reading just as soon as I have a few spare, uncommitted, solitary hours.

Later, I thought to pen a lengthy recap of the conference, along the lines of what Keith Raffel has done in his Dot Dead Diary blog (see here and here). But time and circumstances have conspired against me, leaving yours truly with a head cold and in the position of trailing others--notably Rap Sheet contributor Stephen Miller--with my recollections of the weekend’s highs and lows. So, rather than try to assemble a comprehensive wrap-up of Left Coast Crime 17, I offer here instead my fondest memories of that event:

• Interviewing Gary Phillips. Even though I have long been on friendly terms with Gary (the creator of P.I. Ivan Monk), who served as the toastmaster at this event, I was apprehensive about carrying on a fruitful conversation with him in front of a live audience. I don’t consider myself a good public speaker. Fortunately, Gary--who boasts a voice deep enough that at times it can be heard only by certain types of Rottweilers, and an infectious belly laugh that would cause even the Mona Lisa to giggle--needs little prodding to run away with an interview. Before a packed house, he answered questions about his first novel’s difficult road to publication, his interest in progressive politics, and even his addiction to doughnuts. (He didn’t hesitate to reveal the names of a couple of his favorite doughnut shops in the L.A. area: Magee’s Donuts on South La Brea Avenue and Randy’s Donuts in Inglewood.) The best news: Gary not only has in the works a mainstream novel set during World War II, but also a fifth Ivan Monk outing, this one called City of Fortune.

• Meeting fellow Rap Sheet writers. Although I’ve been editing this blog ever since last May, there are still a few contributors I have never met. I know them only through e-mail communications. We live all over the country (or, in the case of Briton Ali Karim, all over the world), and it’s only at events such as LCC that we have the opportunity to get together. Fortunately, this conference drew not only novelist Linda L. Richards, my longtime colleague from January Magazine (who ventured down from British Columbia, Canada, aboard a high-speed clipper ferry), but also author Megan Abbott (The Song Is You), who’d reached Seattle at the end of a cross-country promotional tour with Theresa Schwegel (Probable Cause), and turned out to be just as bright and fun in person as she is on e-mail; Stephen Miller (shown at left in the photo above, with Linda and me), who writes the terrific “In the Beginning ...” profiles for Mystery News and with whom I shared a salacious twosome of Red-Headed Sluts; and David Thayer, who also writes a blog called One More Bite of the Apple and showed up for the Saturday panel discussions, but had other responsibilities thereafter. Now that I’ve gotten to know you all, expect me to be more demanding in my Rap Sheet assignments. No, just kidding ...

• Crashing the St. Martin’s Press party at the stylish W Hotel, and listening to espionage novelist Gayle Lynds rail on against what she’d heard was said during a panel discussion earlier in the day: that crime and detective novels tend to be written by liberals, while thrillers are the province of conservatives. Meanwhile, I’m looking at a suddenly silent Gary Phillips, knowing that he’s the one who made that statement. Talk about uncomfortable moments …

• Browsing the dealers’ room. Conventions such as this always feature book vendors peddling their wares. Usually, I dash through on my way to author signings or to scheduled encounters with individual publishers. But this time, I lingered. And looked. And whaddya know? I found some books that needed to come home with me. These were not new works, mind you, but old ones. I picked up a 1965 Fawcett Crest edition of Peter O’Donnell’s Modesty Blaise, his first novel featuring the exceptionally talented adventuress and crime-fighter with a criminal past who he created (with illustrator Jim Holdaway) in a comic strip three years earlier. The book features eye-catching cover art by the great Robert McGinnis. I also nabbed a 1969 Pocket Books copy of Kill Me Tomorrow, a Shell Scott novel by Richard S. Prather, which I think boasts a McGinnis cover, too. Elsewhere in the same room, I picked up and put down ... and picked up and put down ... and then picked up and put down once more a 1970 first edition of Ernest Tidyman’s groundbreaking novel Shaft, which of course introduced the “complicated man” who “would risk his neck for his brother man.” Finally, I left the book behind, discouraged by its $100-plus price tag. The other novel I failed to acquire was the deliciously titled Case of the Radioactive Redhead (1963), starring corporate consultant and private eye Erik March, and written by the husband-wife team who signed themselves “G.G. Fickling” (previously, the creators of Honey West). Unfortunately, I didn’t buy the book right away, and later it was gone. Drat!

• Taking the “Seattle Underground” Tour. There are at least two things every Seattleite can expect to do many times, with different visitors from out of town: travel to the top of the Space Needle and venture into the depths of historic Pioneer Square as part of the “Seattle Underground” tour. This latter adventure involves winding through abandoned corridors beneath the original downtown’s sidewalks, which were buried after the Great Fire of 1889 destroyed most of the city, while guides offer a frequently humorous (but mostly factual) account of how these passageways came to be. I’ve been on the tour at least 10 times over the years, and in fact visited there just two weeks prior to Left Coast Crime. I wasn’t planning to go again. However, Linda Richards, who’d never before participated in this excursion, convinced me to tag along on a special nighttime tour, sponsored by the Pacific Northwest chapter of the Mystery Writers of America. And I, in turn, convinced Gary Phillips to go. And pretty soon we had a small group of people within the larger hoard of LCC participants walking cheerfully toward Doc Maynard’s, the Pioneer Square bar where these below-decks shenanigans begin. Our guide warned us that the nighttime version of their tour was more bawdy than usual, which meant more was said of 19th-century prostitution (and Madam Lou Graham) and 20th-century speakeasies. I could tell that a few people had expected a more complicated, multi-level arrangement of twisting tunnels, such as were portrayed in the 1973 teleflick The Night Strangler, starring Darren McGavin. But I was just happy to avoid freezing to death, as every time we emerged from underground, an icicle threatened to grow down from my nose. Seattle has been chillier than normal of late.

• Small moments with big-name authors. And a few that aren’t such big names. What comes to mind here: Cornelia Read remarking, during one panel, that she enjoys storytelling because it gives her the power to control the action. (“I like to be the bitch at the switch,” she quipped.). Con Lehane pressing upon me a copy of his forthcoming novel, Death at the Old Hotel, and then--all seriousness aside--providing the entertainment at a panel on noir fiction. (After being asked to comment on the recent resurgence of noir fiction, Lehane suggested that moderator Tim Wohlforth cease trying to extricate a microphone from its holder on his behalf, because “I don’t have a clue what the answer to that question is.”) Being tracked down in a bar by Cara Black, just so she could introduce herself at last and tell me how much she likes The Rap Sheet; and subsequently, kneeling beside Cara at the Lefty and Dilys awards ceremony, planning to take photographs--only to discover that the batteries of both our digital cameras had gone dead, right as the commendations were being presented. Mark Coggins gifting me with a copy of his latest novel, Candy from Strangers, over-modestly inscribed: “This is a book that should not be tossed aside lightly--it should be thrown across the room with great force!” And, finally, I recall being so struck by the presentations or demeanors of several authors--Håkan Nesser, Kate Flora, Martin Edwards, Colin Campbell, and the aforementioned Theresa Schwegel among them--that I now have to add their work to my lofty pile of reading material.

As I’ve said before, I am not really much of a convention-goer. Yet, each time I attend one of these gigs, I somehow manage to have a grand time. See you next year in Denver?

READ MORE: “Left Coast Crime Wrap-Up,” by Sandra Ruttan (On Life and Other Inconveniences); “Left Coast Crime Report,” by Vince Keenan; “Left Coast Fun,” Maggie Sefton (The Cozy Chicks); “Saturday at LCC,” by Mark Coggins (Riordan’s Desk); “Highlights from Left Coast Crime,” by David Thayer (One More Bite of the Apple); “Shameless LCC Photos, Pt. 1,” by Pari Noskin Taichert (Murderati); Shameless LCC Photos, Pt. 2,” Pari Noskin Taichert (Murderati);“Reading in the Rain,” by Steve Steinbock (Vorpal Blade Online).