John Denson
Created by Richard Hoyt

"I'm a gentleman and a scholar; would you care for some screw-top?"
-- Denson greets a client in Decoys.

Consider this a touch of Gonzo-lite. Or maybe a New Age Northwest reincarnation of Shell Scott.

Seattle's JOHN DENSON definitely marches to the tune of a different drummer. Denson's a thirty-something Aquarius with a yen for darts, cheap screw-top wine and raw vegetables, especially cauliflower. And he's not adverse to a little bit of good ol' sex, either, although he does spare us the slo-mo replays. He's an earthy type, crude, but not rude, given to sometimes erratic behaviour, but loyal to his friends. He's been known to wear bright yellow boxer shorts with a smoking, very long-barrelled gun on front. He keeps a stuffed English pitbull in his apartment who answers the doorbell with pre-recorded barks. At last, a private eye who's not ashamed of having a good time! A nice change of pace from the usual gloom and doom.

Not that there isn't some pretty dark humour in hewre, among all the whimsy, mind you. The Siskiyou Two Step (1983, for example, opens with Denson riding the very naked -- and very dead -- body of a young woman down an Oregon rapids. Now that's not something you see every day...

Denson pals around with, and accasionally enlists the aid of drinking buddy and darts partner Willie Prettybird, a rather sizable Cowlitz Indian who claims to receive messages from animal spirits. John cheerfully refers to him as "Chief Dumbshit."

Denson doesn't like guns, and he tools around town in battered heaps, generally an ancient Fiat, or sometimes an old VW van. He's got a rather murky background in the CIA, as well as a stint as a journalist in Honolulu, and later Seattle. When the Seattle paper was bought out by a large chain "with their efficiency experts, barborous little bastards in pin-striped suits" who got "rid of the fun," he chucked it to become a private eye.

He's got a rep as "a good detective...but quirky." He only takes on cases that interest him, and he doesn't have much use for pretentiousness or the status quo.

It's a long-running series, and one you you should never quite count out. Unlike Roger Simon's Moses Wine, a similar former hippie eye, Denson is defiantly unrepentant. In 2003, after an absence of eight years, he returned in the New Age-ish The Weatherman's Daughters, still pretty much the same. Oh, sure, he's relocated to the northwest corner of Oregon, but otherwise he's still pony-tailed and horny, still partial to pot, cheap wine and Carlos Castaneda, and still palling around with Willie. As he puts it in Siskiyou, "all that really matters are friends, good times, a full belly, a little screw-top, and a lay now and then--not necessarily in that order."

UNDER OATH

NOVELS

SHORT STORIES

Respectfully submitted by Kevin Burton Smith.


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