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“Will you sign this for me?” My shields went up. “Are you a cop?” I joked. Mostly joked. I added a smile to make sure she knew it was a joke. She took a step back. Sometimes I forget my smile and snarl look almost alike. “I saw you on tv,” she said and held out a book. One of mine. “I got it on Amazon,” she explained. “I wanted your autograph.” My autograph?!? I barely kept from looking around to see if she was talking to someone more famous behind me. I saw this happen before. Not to me, of course. A lifetime ago, when I worked in LA, I hung out with Mark Wahlberg’s crew for a bit, which meant lunch with the artist formerly known as Markie Mark a couple of times. Women would ask for his autograph all the time. That made sense. He was famous. Not as much as he is now, but back then, he had a couple of movies under his belt and a hit or two. Plus they saw his Calvin’s. I didn’t even have Calvin’s.  ...

The Marshal of Magic - The Devil You Know "I need your help." I tried not to jump and failed miserably. At least I didn't let out a squeal of terror. More like a little squeak. Loud enough to elicit a snort. "Devil," I rolled my eyes. "Demon," he corrected. It's easy to carry on a conversation with a disembodied voice, but it can make one look crazy. I wasn't so worried about the crazy part. Long winded education and philosophical discussions with a ghost made many people stare and then look away. This time, even Elvis stared at me like I was taking a swim in the deep end of the insanity pool. Guess he couldn't hear the voice. "Tomato, potato," I waved a hand back and forth in the air. "From your perspective," the lecture started. I headed it off at the pass. "I'm mortal, my time is limited, yada, yada, yada. What do you want?" "Are you okay?" Beth, my fri...