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He paused long enough to watch one of the blue-suit cops nab Mohawk, cuff him, and slam him in the back of a cruiser, after "accidentally" bumping his head into the car door while helping him inside. The dirt could make things all right." He said to the guy on the ground, "You think he was putting the fire out sir? "Always festive.""The Ballad of Davy Crockett" was long gone and the Kentucky Headhunters were singing "Big Mexican Dinner.""I keep trying to figure that song is offensive to Hispanics or not," Charlie said, "way the guy does that corny Meskin accent. " I asked."So far he hasn't, and I'll do what I can. But I keep him out of bad stuff this time, you got to make him understand he needs a new hobby. "This ain't your business.""Man," said the guy on the ground, "Merry fucking Christmas.""Here," Charlie said, "hold out a hand."He handcuffed me and Leonard together and sent us over to the unmarked.Charlie came over to me, gave me a sad look, sighed, pulled out a cigarette, stooped, lit it off the little guy's head, and said, "I'm fucking tired of this, Hap. What with the Chief in cahoots with the bad guys and Lieutenant Hanson acting like he's got a weight tied to his dick all the time, I can't think straight. ""Shit, man, that motherfucker tripped my black ass and knocked the dog shit out of me. I'm gonna file on everygoddamnbody.""See there, Hap, got to run you in.""Would it make any difference if I said when I hit him it hurt my hand? You know, being this close to the fire, it's kinda warm. Part of the neighborhood was standing out on the curb watching the crack house burn. Trotter, stood there with his arms crossed inside a coat a grizzly bear might have worn. He said, "Of them three fires, this one's the best, Leonard.""Thanks," Leonard said.You know how it goes, that old advice the fire department gives you, "stop, drop, and roll," and that's what Mohawk was doing. If you took the rose-colored view, you might say Leonard was doing nothing more than saving Mohawk's worthless life.'Course now, Leonard had gone back into the house and a short black guy with his hair on fire came out on the end of Leonard's foot, and when he hit the lawn he got up running toward Leonard's house, Leonard yelling at his back, "Run, you goddamn little nigger."I tell you, Leonard standing on the front porch, smoke boiling out behind him, fire licking out the windows, the roof peaked with a hat of flame, it caused Leonard's face to appear as if it had been chipped from obsidian.He was like some kind of backwoods honky nightmare vision of the Devil--a nigger with a bad attitude and the power of fire.He is a member of both the United States and International Martial Arts Halls of Fame. Leonard's boyfriend, Raul, was on the front porch of Leonard's house, his hands in his coat pockets, looking over at the burning and the ass-whipping that was taking place, and he was frantic, like a visiting Methodist preacher who'd just realized the head of the household had scooped up the last fried chicken leg. Those sirens aren't for jaywalkers.""Shit, shit, shit," Raul said.

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He was sort of wobbling back and forth, like a bowling pin that hadn't quite got nailed solid enough by the ball, watching Leonard drag a big black guy out of the burning house and onto the front porch over there.

Lansdale has received the Edgar Award, eight Bram Stoker Awards, the Horror Writers Association Lifetime Achievement Award, the British Fantasy Award, the Grinzani Cavour Prize for Literature, the Herodotus Historical Fiction Award, the Inkpot Award for Contributions to Science Fiction and Fantasy, and many others.