The Chronicles of Lucifer Jones, Volume 3: 1931-1934, Encounters
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The third Lucifer Jones book, this one finds everyone' favorite con man in Europe, where he encounters a home-made man, a werewolf, the Clubfoot of Notre Dame, the world's greatest consulting dectective, the Loch Ness monster, the lost continent of Atlantis, faces death in the bull ring, and learns that a tabernacle is not a home.
no desire to go back?” “Desire ain't got nothing to do with it,” I said. “I been invited to keep off that particular land mass due to a series of innocent misunderstandings by the local authorities.” “How about Asia?” “Same problem,” I admitted. “Can you go back to America?” “Well, I think I'm still allowed in Montana and Arkansas,” I said. “It sounds like you've led a most interesting life,” he said, backing off just a bit. “I'm just a God-fearing man of the cloth who's trying to
snapped. “Right now I'm concentrating real hard on being a live one,” I said. “Beyond that, I ain't too particular at this here point in time.” “Did you at least see where the shot came from?” he asked. “Well, if it didn't come from outside, we're in a lot more trouble than I hope we are,” I answered. “What use are you?” he demanded. “Well, I never claimed to be a bodyguard by trade,” I said. “On the other hand, if they manage to kill you, I'll give you the best send-off any funeral's ever
we'll be rich beyond our wildest dreams!” said Mr. Short. “Excuse me for interrupting,” I said, “but getting rich beyond my wildest dreams is one of my favorite conversational subjects. What has Atlantis got that makes it so valuable?” “Artifacts from a civilization that existed a millennium before Christ!” said Mr. Tall. “Artifacts that no one has ever seen before. By the time we finish selling them to museums and collectors, we can practically buy our own country!” “What makes you think the
getting up and putting an arm around my shoulders, “I like your brand of Christianity. You build your tabernacle, and you've got your first customer in Angus McNair.” We had a couple of more drinks, and then Angus McNair decided it was time to go poach the salmon, and we wandered out of the tavern and walked through town, and then we started going across some bog outside of town, and just as I was wondering why we couldn't have used a kitchen that was a little closer, we came to this great big
walked up to me. “How are you feeling, King Philbert?” he asked. “I'm fit as a bull moose,” I said. “I had heard you were badly wounded,” he said. “Well, let me amend that,” I said. “I'm fit as a bull moose what's been gut-shot.” “I thought you were shot in the leg.” “I was,” I said quickly. “Then why do you compare yourself with a bull moose that has been gut-shot?” “Because I ain't never made the acquaintance of a moose that's been shot in the leg,” I said. He just kind of stared at me,