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Blake had been given it as a gift from a friend in the film business last time he had visited L. His bookcase bulged, not with learned tomes and priceless first editions but with pulp creations. He landed on his butt and slid in the grass. I whacked him in the side of the head with my bad hand, using the weight of cast and sword for added impact. He fell back flat, and I straddled his chest. With my good hand I snatched the knife away and tossed it out of reach. The crack sounded like a sledgehammer hitting a rotted board. And this little piggy went … snap. For him it was the equivalent of a burst of laughter. Gillian did not resist the movement.
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