Brett Cornell Series

Home of the supreme UNSCRUPULOUS BASTARD himself !!

Sunday, August 26, 2012


In this snippet from "BRETT GETS HAMMERED" (Brett Cornell Mystery #6), Brett has reason to believe that Andy's little 5-year-old son may have witnessed a murder, but when Brett attempts to question the boy, both Andy & his sister Tammy are alarmed.

Here goes:

When Andy saw me approach, he pulled back, taking his son with him, and said to me,

“Listen, Cornell. The boy’s distraught. He doesn’t know how to react to everything that’s been happening in this house the past few weeks. He’s only five years old.”

“Then it’s about time he grew a set –“ I started to say, and then Tammy came towards me rapidly so as to obstruct my approach towards her brother and nephew, and started lecturing me on my inappropriate behavior and language in front of such an impressionable young child.
 “Isn’t there anything in this world that is sacred to you?” she wound up her little sermon with.

 “Besides my social life, I can’t think of nothing, no,” I said with a straight face, then before she had time to fly into any more tirades in an effort to put me in my proverbial old place, I hastily went on, “Listen to me, you two losers, and listen good. See that? I said two losers instead of three, out of respect for the sanctity of small impressionable little tadpoles the world over, O.K.?” More looks of absolute scorn headed my way, and I continued undaunted,” You can go on believing that the only reason Little Pee-Wee over here said what he said was because he’s been distraught the last few weeks. But remember this,” and I continued the rest of what I had to say in grave, ominous tones,” ‘Out of the mouths of babes’ – or something to that effect – as Mussolini once said.”

  “That – that is the stupidest thing you’ve said yet!” good old Tammy responded, screwing her face up in an expression of utter disbelief. “Mussolini was an Italian dictator who led the Fascist regime in his country around the time of the Second World War, and he never said that.”

  “Well, he may have said it once or twice during his lifetime,” I argued,” and stop dragging in irrelevant references to Italian dictators and Latvian playwrights, will ya?"

So, Brett is correct after all! Can anyone be absolutely certain that those words NEVER came out of Mussolini's mouth? ? ?

Possibility: He may have said them in ITALIAN, I'll grant you that! 

Friday, August 24, 2012


It's really so easy to obtain free merchandise -- easy, that is, when you're an unscrupulous bastard like Brett Cornell.

For instance, there's this little scene from "BEACH BUM BRETT" involving Brett's sudden realization, while lounging at the beach, that he's run out of cigarettes. And so, he gets up and does this:

As luck would have it, I didn’t even need to enter the store at all, as a paunchy, middle-aged guy was just stepping outside. He had a ridiculous, floppy kind of straw hat on his head, too -- obviously nowhere near as cool and classy-looking as the straw hat that I happened to be wearing just then – and he was in the act of unwrapping the cellophane off the pack of Marlboros he’d apparently just purchased. Again -- as luck would have it -- it was just my brand, too!
 Deciding to apply the good old palsy-walsy approach, I planted myself right in front of him, and when he was forced to stop in his tracks, I grinned at him and said,

“My man, you’re just what the doctor ordered! You don’t mind if I bum a cigarette off you, do you? -- Nah, I didn’t think so,” I quickly forged on ahead without waiting for an answer while the dumb dude just stood there and kind of gawked at me. So, it was pretty easy for me to simply reach over and snatch the whole pack away from him.

 “Hey, what the --” the goober started up on me, and all affability and charm, I kept grinning away as I extracted a cigarette from the pack and placed it between my lips.

 “Don’t worry, chump. You’ll get your cigarettes back.” Then I struck a match, lit my cigarette, and casually tucked the pack of cigarettes inside the already loosened top hem of the front of my cut-off denim jeans/bathing-suit. Still beaming away at the guy, I shook my head suddenly, said, “Nah, I don’t think so,” and started heading back towards the beach. Just as I expected, the pathetic moron started squawking, and yelled after me,

“Hey! Who do you think you are?”

 With a smirk, I turned back briefly in his direction and said, 

“I’m the guy who just ruined your whole day, that’s who,” before turning on my heel once again and walking off.

To give credit where credit is due, the guy was probably a real smart cookie. That is, he wasn’t stupid enough to yell out any obscenities behind my back as I was walking away, but just kept his mouth shut, probably figuring that I was the type of guy who wouldn’t hesitate to walk back over to him and knock him out cold if he were to give me the slightest provocation.

 Man, it sure was great being me!

See how easy that was? ? ?

Sunday, August 19, 2012

BRETT vs. BAILEY (Rounds 1 & 2)

Here's the first round and most of the second round of the boxing match between Brett and Officer Gil Bailey (from "BRETT ENTERS THE SQUARE CIRCLE"). I'd like to include the remainder of the second round as well, but I'm reluctant to do so, as a startling revelation is made towards the end of that round. (major spoiler).
 Almost sooner than I expected, it was announced that the next and final bout of the afternoon was about to begin, and within minutes, I found myself standing in the center of the ring, face-to-face with Gil Bailey, and while I tried to establish eye contact with the guy in an attempt to intimidate him as much as possible, that lousy skinhead just stood there opposite me, moved his shoulders about as if to loosen them up, bounced on his feet a couple of times just to keep himself limber, I guess – and looked up towards the ceiling at a slight angle, like I wasn’t even there, would you believe it?

After that, I went back to my corner where Sergeant Raff stood, and he helped me off with my robe. Acting like I’d done this a hundred times before, I turned my back to the ring proper, tugged at the ropes, and waited for the bell, and the moment it rang, I turned around and immediately saw that Bailey was coming right at me. He threw a quick punch – a straight jab – and I smoothly stepped to the side and missed getting hit, though only by an inch or so, and then – just to show him who was boss – I lowered my gloves just long enough so I could push him, and I grinned slightly upon seeing him stumble backwards a couple of steps.

Then he came forward with a right hook that I managed to duck, but the left that followed landed on the side of my jaw. Luckily, there wasn’t much power behind it, and a moment later, I came in towards him and got close enough to throw a short left uppercut that – somewhat to my surprise, and his, too – caught him under the chin, and even knocked his mouth guard flying out of his mouth.

“Lucky shot, Cornell,” he sneered at me, and the referee instantly stepped in to bring a temporary halt to the fight, and had Bailey’s second clean off the mouth piece and then put it back in.

For the next minute or so, we danced around the ring, throwing occasional jabs at each other -- nothing serious, though. And then I remembered what Raff had said at one point in time about how Bailey would try to maneuver me into the corners and get me backed up against the turnbuckle, and that memory came into my brain just a wee bit too late, as I soon found myself right where I wasn’t supposed to be.

A sharp and stinging left suddenly caught me against the ear – the one with the lobe he’d once managed to chew on – and I quickly fired a right at his mid-section, but the guy tied me up in a clinch with both hands and, leaning in close to me as he pressed his whole torso against mine, he growled into my ear,

“I almost forgot how fucking good that ear tasted.”

He might have even intended to pour a bit more salt into the wound, when the ref came in and separated us – and not a moment too soon, I felt.

With a physical distance having been created between the two of us just then, I took advantage of the moment in order to get some much-needed air into my lungs, and it turned out to be Bad-Move Time as Bailey came at me with a left that I barely was able to duck under – but then the right that followed connected with my chin, snapping my head back. Next, he caught me with another quick jab and then a right cross – the hardest punch I’d been hit with so far – and it shook my whole body.

My knees buckled slightly – maybe even more than I thought, ‘cause I noticed the glow of pleasure that seemed to radiate from the skinhead’s eyes as he came in on me once again and, putting both his gloves against my chest, he gave me a shove backwards, and then followed through with a jab, followed by a straight right, and then a left hook –

I was seeing double, man, and I barely heard the bell ring as I more or less stumbled back into my corner and, as soon as I got there, I plopped down on the stool and took in some more air. Raff quickly moved in towards me and began wiping blood and perspiration off various spots on my face, and he told me not to worry about the cut that had started bleeding over my left eye and that he’d have it stopped before the bell sounded for the next round. And while all of that was going on, I kept taking in as large quantities of air as I could, all the while wondering why there just didn’t seem to be enough of it in the whole auditorium for just me, let alone the hundreds of people who’d gathered there to see this event. Then I made the mistake of looking over to the opposite corner, and it amazed me – although it really shouldn’t have – to see Bailey standing there, knocking his gloves together like the bell for the next round just couldn’t ring fast enough, and smiling over at me to deliver the news to me that I’d better not throw in the towel – not just yet, anyways – ‘cause he still wasn’t finished with me.

The bell rang for Round Two, and again, Bailey came right at me and hit me in the eye with an almost leisurely thrown right, and I could sense that that cut had just been re-opened. But so what! I’d been hit in the eye before, so what was the big deal, right? And the punches I’d taken in the past had been a lot harder than that one.

Little did I realize it at the time, though, but everything Raff had told me had already happened, and the rest of it was gradually unfolding, just as he’d predicted. In other words, Bailey kept me on the move, managed to get me in the corners just about every fifteen seconds or so, and he began punishing me with body-shots. The first few shots were no big deal, but they progressively got harder, and the pain caused by the ensuing body-shots seemed to be steadily increasing – and it never even dawned on me during that whole second round, that I’d thrown maybe only four or five punches of my own, and that none of them had even landed, whereas –

I didn’t wanna think about it. All that mattered was that I needed to hear that bell to end the round, and I needed it to ring real quick. And where was all the damned air that I urgently needed to fill my lungs with, man? If I could only make it through this round, maybe I’d be ready for the third and final round, Bailey would be all tuckered out, and I’d surprise every cop, firefighter, man, chick, kid, and old fogey that happened to be watching, and I’d knock Gil Bailey out, and the whole freaking stadium would rise to their feet – as if they were one man – and start raising their right fists and chant: “Brett Cornell! Brett Cornell! Brett Cornell!”

I was hallucinating – obviously – but I needed to snap out of it, man, on account of the cold, hard reality of the situation was that I was up against the turnbuckle once again, and any offensive strategy I might have had in mind was out of the question. Everything was defense, defense, defense, and I wasn’t as strong in that area as I needed to be.

And so, before I knew what was happening, Bailey threw a killer left into my rib-cage. I leaned into the corner, feeling pain radiating throughout my entire body. Then he banged me in the right temple with another left, a shot that turned both my eyes topsy-turvy, and I thought I was going down – only the ropes held me up, so I was able to survive a bit longer.