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In a city of shadows, one man, James Wolf, walks the line between crime and justice.
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Biography
Welcome
James A Donzella lives in Northern California. He is an active member of the UCLA Wordcommandos Creative Writing Workshop. He's completed his first novel in the James Wolf P.I. for Hire Mystery series, The Dead Don't Pay, adapted from his short story The Lady with Emerald Green Eyes.
The Straight Skinny
The Dead Don't Pay a James Wolf Murder Mystery
San Francisco, 1947. The war is over, but for James Wolf, the battle’s just begun. Once a star inspector with the San Francisco PD, now a gumshoe scraping by on whiskey and regrets, Wolf prowls the alleys and avenues of a city that forgot how to sleep.
When a routine case blows open like a shotgun blast—Corpses pile up, bullets fly, and everyone’s got something to hide—especially the client.
Double-crosses, dirty money, and a city choking on its own secrets— the only thing sharper than Wolf’s wit is the blade at his back.
Wolf’s in it up to his neck, and the only way out is through the blood and the lies…
He’s got a .38 in his coat, a score to settle, and nothing left to lose.
The city’s about to learn: you don’t corner a wounded Wolf.
The War Horse
The fall of Saigon on April 30, 1975 marked the end of the Vietnam War. Read our collection of news stories and Reflections from our contributing writers to commemorate the anniversary of the conflict that defined a generation.
Page 3 of REFLECTIONS
Pedal to the Metal in a White-Knuckled Race Against Time
JUNE 15, 2022| JAMES DONZELLA
Deep Thoughts
"When you're in my business, people come to you with problems. If you're not careful those problems could get you a pine box and 6 feet of dirt"
James Wolf P.I.
Shorties
Pandemic
Middle of the pandemic. Hadn’t worn a pair of pants in months. Conducted all my business 0n Zoom in a collared dress shirt and boxer shorts from my bedroom/office. On the verge of insanity, I looked for any excuse to get out from under house arrest. An opportunity arose. Grocery shopping. Root canal is more appealing, but any port—yada-yada. Armed with list, complete with pictures, I set out on my mission. Face mask in the pocket, one in the car. That’s how I roll. I intend to have a mask within arm's reach until I die.
At the helm of a disinfected trolley with one bum wheel, mask securely in place, I venture into the market. A glance at the list: P for potatoes, V for produce because another P would be confusing. I wheel from section to section, aisle to aisle, picking up items—
Ooo!—Cheez-Its! Haven’t had those in ages. Extra toasty! Am I in heaven?
I return to the list. Bath soap, canned tuna, lettuce, chocolate covered pretzels. Okay chocolate covered pretzels, not on the list. Chalk it up to the cost of doing business. As I navigate between dairy products and the meat section, I hear my name.
“Steve!” a female voice calls.
I turn—disoriented as I hold a bag of Pepperidge Farm Milano’s in my hand.
“Steve! Over here,” the voice says.
A woman waves at me end of the aisle, face covered with a black mask.
“Hello!” I say.
We move closer to each other.
“Haven’t seen you in forever,” she squeals.
“Haven’t seen much of anybody for months since this COVID thing.”
“Workin’ from home?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Mike has to go in three days a week.”
“He’s lucky. I’m shoppin’ just to get out,” I say with a forced laugh.
Okay! So! If her husband is Mike—this must be Marlene.
“How are things with Mike?” I say.
“Fine. We’ve recovered from our shots.”
“Just had my second the other day, still wearing the ol' mask.”
“It’s so frustrating,” she says.
“Yeah,” I reply.
An awkward silence hung in the air.
“So! How’s the rest of the family?” I say.
“Our daughter Irene, her divorce is final. Glad to get free of Ronald.”
That was close. I thought for sure her daughter was Linda. I should say something.
“It’s all part of life.”
Trite. But this conversation has gone on way to long. Hell—Mike and Marlene aren't close friends or anything.
“Wife gettin’ any better?”
Jesus! I didn’t know Marlene knew she’s on antidepressants. What a busybody!
“It’s day by day,” I say.
“It’s hard, I know.”
That’s it! Time to move on, lady!
“Well, you tell Tanya I said hello. She’s in my thoughts,”
Tanya?! Who the hell is Tanya? Stupid masks, you’ve got the wrong Steve, lady!
“You two will be leaving for Idaho soon, right?” she says as she starts walking away.
“Yeah, soon. I’ll have to check with Tanya. She handles all that.”
END
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