Friday, May 31, 2013

Moving Day

Greetings and Salutations. If you’re here then you’re probably a regular visitor to the Dillon blog or an occasional visitor. Either way, glad to see you. Thanks for dropping by.

The subject for this last post here? Well, the title of it is “Moving Day” and that is exactly what’s going on today. After today Dillon has a new home which you can find here.

Why is Dillon moving? No reason other than I think Dillon’s information center needed a new look and a streamlining of the various articles, more organized so that you can find whatever it is you’re looking for easier and not have to scroll through a whole bunch of posts you’re not interested in to find the one that you want. This blog has been in existence for three years now and it’s served its purpose very well. But I think that for all cool things that will be happening soon and to come, a new look was called for as well. I think you’ll like it.

Just a few quick words of thanks before I wrap this up:

To Trevor Carrington and Tim Hartin who created the first Dillon logo.

To Joel Jenkins, Josh Reynolds and Russ Anderson. For various reasons too numerous to go into now, Dillon wouldn’t be where he is without their contributions.

To Tom Deja, Percival Constantine, Lucas Garrett, Ron Fortier and Curt Fernlund for simply just being where they were at various times when I needed a word of encouragement to keep me going.

And a very special thanks to Charles Saunders because he showed me by example that it could be done.

Okay, that’s a wrap. Please watch your step as you leave and check to make sure you didn’t leave anything behind. Don’t worry about the lights, I got ‘em.

See you at the new house.

Thursday, May 16, 2013

All-Star Pulp Comics #2

AIRSHIP 27 presents
(Portion of Profits Goes to Boston Red Cross)

Airship 27 Productions has once again teamed with Redbud Studio comics to release the second in their on-going pulp comics anthology.  The first giant issue in this series won the coveted Pulp Ark Award for Best Pulp Comic of 2010.

Volume Two of the series, co-edited by creators Ron Fortier and Rob Davis, is even bigger than that stellar premier issue.  Contained here are eight stories featuring both modern and classic pulp heroes; Ki-Gor the Jungle Lord, the Black Bat, Cain, Robin Hood, Lance Star, Brothers Bones, Dillon and Domino Lady. 

The cover is by Will Meugniot and features Ki-Gor’s lovely mate, Helene, battling back to back with Derrick Ferguson’s modern day adventurer, Dillon.  Other creators represented are Russ Anderson, Fortier, Davis, Ian Watson, Thomas Deja, Michelle Sciuto, Sean Taylor, Aaron Meade, Todd Jones, Lee Oaks, James Gaubatz, Van Plexico, Andrew Salmon and Kelly Everaert. 

The book is available from Indy and part of the proceeds are being donated to the Boston Red Cross.  “We were the last stages of assembling the book,” explains Editor Foriter, “when the Patriots’ Day bombings occurred in Boston.  All of us, like the rest of the country, were in shock and felt helpless to do anything.”  It was writer Van Plexico who contacted Fortier about possibly offering some of the sales proceeds to help those injured in the terror attack.  “The second Van brought up, I knew it was something we had to do,” Fortier continues.  He contacted Davis and all the creators and the decision was made to take all the profits earned by the book during its first six months in print and donate them to the Boston Red Cross.

“We truly hope our fans, when they learn of this idea, will want to rally around a truly good cause and help us put sales over the top,” adds co-editor Rob Davis.  “We really want this to be the best selling title Redbud Studio has ever produced.”

The issue is now on sale at –

Friday, April 19, 2013

Black Pulp Is Here!

And it contains a brand new Dillon adventure: "Dillon and The Alchemist's Morning Coffee" that probably comes nowhere near the greatness of the other stories in the book. But I'll leave that up to you to decide. Enjoy!

Friday, April 12, 2013

So After A Hard Day Of Adventuring...

...all you want to do is put your guns away, lock up the attack chopper, replace your samurai sword on the mantle above the fireplace, turn on the security system and just kick back. Maybe watch some TV or read some comic books. You'll definitely want to drink something cool and refreshing while you do so. But what drinking vessel is worthy to hold your beverage?  

May we make a suggestion?


For more information on where you can get yours we kindly direct you HERE and we thank you for your kind attention.

Thursday, March 21, 2013

Dillon And The Last Rail To Khusra: Chapter Two

This is going to be the next Dillon adventure you'll read as it's pretty near completion. It's something like 21K words now and I figure it'll take another 10 to 15K to finish it off. The current plan is to present it as an ebook so look for it in April. I've already given you a look at Chapter One and here's Chapter Two to get you primed and pumped:

Othana was quite simply put; a city in chaos.  Wherever Dillon looked he saw armed bands of looters, soldiers in jeeps, houses burning unchecked with no one interested in putting them out.  On more than one occasion he had to go out of his way a quarter of a mile or more to circle entire blocks that were ablaze. 

He attracted some attention but the Remington 870 Modular Combat Shotgun in his gloved hands was a formidable weapon and Dillon moved with the easy confidence that only came from years of experience surviving in the wildest times and places of the world.  Any attention he drew quickly turned away and looked for prey with fewer teeth.

            And the shotgun wasn’t his only weapon.   His compact MOLLE style backpack was literally stuffed with lethalness.  But Dillon felt that between the shotgun in his hands and the Jericho in his holster he could repel any significant attack.  None of the bands he ran into numbered more than half a dozen and they were looking for easy pickings.  And the soldiers of both sides had more important things to concern them than one lone man who was obviously concerned with staying out of the way and hunting a way clear of the madhouse this once prosperous city had become.

            Dillon intention was to make his way to Othana’s Eastern District.  There were a number of small private and commercial airfields there.   His plan then was to use his satellite phone to contact one of his friends and ask them to fly in and pick him up.

            Dillon’s sensitive hearing picked up cries and curses coming from a darkened alley to his left.  He pushed back the black and white keffiyeh he wore on his head so that he had a completely unobstructed field of view.  The cries came from two distinctive female voices.  One that of a grown woman and the other was unmistakably a child.  Dillon pumped a shell into the chamber and turned into the alley.  His eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom of the alley and what he saw disgusted him.

            Two men held a woman down on the filthy ground while a third tore at her clothing.  She wasn’t taking it passively.  She fought like a rabid bobcat and even though the three men were physically fit and obviously strong they were having a tough time holding her.  A fourth man stood off to one side, laughing while holding down a girl of about nine or ten years old with one booted foot.  The girl futilely tried to push the foot off her stomach.

            Dillon fired off a shot into the air, which got the attention of the four men right quick.  He pumped another shell into the chamber and aimed the shotgun in the direction of the four men.  “Let them go.” Dillon’s calm voice resonated with the tone of a man used to being obeyed with he spoke.

            The would-be rapists ceased their efforts and turned to look at the tall figure standing in the alley’s entrance.  More importantly they saw the shotgun pointed at them.

            The woman scrambled free and ran over to the fourth thug, pushing him off the little girl who she snatched up in her arms.

            “Come on over here and stand behind me,” Dillon ordered.  She did so, her tear-streaked face grateful, eyes seemingly as wide as the headlights of an eighteen wheeler.  Dillon nodded as she passed him and then he turned his attention back to the four men.  “Okay, fellas, let’s just chalk this up to everybody having a bad day and we all go our separate ways…forget this happened, right?”

            The thug who had had his foot on the little girl snarled at the others, “we can take ‘im!  He’s just one man!”

            The shotgun whoomed and the thug flew backwards ten feet to crash to the ground, his chest turned into a gaping crimson crater.

            Dillon pumped another shell into the chamber as he brought the shotgun back to bear on the remaining three.  “And the population of the world’s stupidest bastards has just been reduced by one.  Anybody want to help me reduce the population even more?”

            The remaining three certainly did not.  As one they turned and ran in the opposite direction as fast as they could. 

            Dillon turned to the woman and the little girl.  “Sorry you had to see that,” he said in his regular voice.  The rough ugliness was gone now that the threat had evaporated.  “But with men like that, sometimes it’s the only way they understand what you mean.”

            The woman’s face had no sympathy as she snapped; “They got what was coming to them!  They were nothing but pigs!  Filthy pigs!”

            “No need to insult pigs, miss.  My name’s Dillon.  You are…”

            “Monique Turnbull.  And this is Salena.”

            Dillon had cocked his head to the side while she was speaking as if he were trying to hear better.  A slight smile played on his lips as he said; “Australian, right?  Matter of fact I’m going to go out on a limb and narrow it down: South Australian.”

            Monique Turnbull blinked in honest surprise.  “Why, why…yes!  That’s remarkable!  How did you-“

            “I spent some time in Australia.  Lived with an aboriginal group for a while.”  Dillon motioned for them to start moving.  “We’d best get acquainted while we walk.  Even if those knuckleheads don’t come back there could be others.”

            Monique said to the little girl, “Salena, can you walk?  We’ll make better time if you can.”

            “I can walk,” Salena said in a voice of such maturity that it was almost unnerving.  She never took her eyes off Dillon as Monique set her on her sneakered feet.  The three of them started off down the street.

            Both Monique and Salena were dressed similarly in jeans and hoodie sweatshirts.  In Salena’s case, her hoodie was two sizes too big and she kept pushing up her sleeves.  Both of them looked as if they’d been rolling around in dirt and muck.  Monique made a half-hearted attempt to clean Salena’s face with no noticeable improvement.

            “I can’t thank you enough for helping us out back there.  I prayed for God to send an angel to save us.”

            Dillon chuckled.  “I’ve been called many things but never an angel.  Where in the hell did you come from and where are you trying to get to?”

            “We’re going to the American Embassy in The Western Quarter.  We’ll be safe there.”

            “I highly doubt it.  When situations like these happen, American embassies close up tight.  Unless you’ve got valid papers-“

            “I assure you, we’ll get in.”  Monique said this with such conviction that Dillon’s curiosity was now thrown into high gear.

            “You seem pretty sure of yourself, lady.  You wouldn’t happen to be affiliated with the U.S. government in some way, would you?”

            “Would you help us get to the embassy?”

            “Whoa.”  Dillon stopped and held up one hand.  “I’m going to the Eastern District where I’m going to call a friend of mine and have him come with a plane and fly me out of here.  It would make more sense for you to string along with me.  I’ll take you anywhere you want once my friend picks me up.”

            “That’s simply not acceptable.  We absolutely must get to the American embassy.”

            “Okay, who are you?  Why the American embassy?  Wouldn’t any embassy do?  How about the Australian embassy?”

            “Australia doesn’t have an embassy in Harak.”  Monique’s eyes pleaded as she continued.  “You simply can’t leave us alone.  We may run into others like those pigs back there.”

            “But I’m not leaving you.  You can come along with me.  I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

            Monique shook her head adamantly.  “We can’t go anywhere except the American embassy.”

            “Then I’m afraid we’ll have to go our separate ways.  I can let you have a gun and a couple spare clips of ammo but-“There was suddenly something in Dillon’s hand.  He looked down and saw Salena holding his bigger gloved hand in her small, pudgier one.  She looked up into his perplexed face and smiled.

            Monique was also smiling.  “I think you’ve made a new friend, Salena.”

            “Oh for the luvva little fishes…” Dillon muttered.  There were a few other things he would have liked to have said but after all, there was a little girl present.  A little girl who looked up at Dillon as if he were the most wonderful thing she’d ever find in this life.

            Dillon sighed.  “Which way to the American embassy?”

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Casting Call #21: Reynard Hansen

Reynard Hansen first appeared in DILLON AND THE LEGEND OF THE GOLDEN BELL and has a major role in DILLON AND THE JUDAS CHALICE. We know that he's a master thief, rumored to be among the best in the world if not the best. Trained by The Thieves Guild of Seville he operates mainly in New York where he has his own team of specialists that he calls his Five Fingers. But whenever his skills are needed by Dillon, he drops whatever he's doing to help his friend. The details of where and how they met are as yet unrevealed but we do know that Dillon performed such a service for Reynard that Reynard himself says he will never be able to pay Dillon back. Who do I see as playing Reynard?

I actually didn't see it at first but a couple of people who have read the stories he's appeared in have suggested Don Cheadle. However, my wife Patricia has somebody else in mind:

She's a huge Kevin Hart fan, what can I say? What do you think?

Monday, February 11, 2013

Dillon and The Last Rail To Khusra: Chapter One

Not a lot to report news-wise. THE VRIL AGENDA is in the hands of Airship 27's Captain Ron Fortier and he's doing his usual stellar job of editing on it  I'm sure. When scheduling info comes to me it'll come to you. Sometime in March or April you should be seeing DILLON AND THE LAST RAIL TO KHUSRA available as an ebook from Smashwords but until then, enjoy Chapter One as an appetizer:

North Africa
The Monarchy of Harak
In the capital city of Othana

            The four men sat in the otherwise empty tavern calmly playing poker at a large round table.  They ignored the nearly constant chatter of automatic weapon fire from outside and the occasional barrage of artillery fire that every so often landed so close that dust showered from the ceiling. 

            Half-inch thick steel shutters covered all the windows, testifying that this wasn’t the first time the tavern had seen violence of this sort.  The main double doors were shut and locked as well as the delivery entrance in the rear.
            An impressive stack of currency rested in the center of the table.  Currency from half a dozen North African nations as well as American money, Euro coins and banknotes.  Ashtrays were filled to overflowing with cigarette butts and cigar stubs.  Bottles of various alcoholic beverages were within easy reach at the elbows of the players.

            The dealer looked around the table.  Miguel Poulin’s most distinguishing feature was the comically prominent mustache that he cared for and fussed over the way most other men cared for and fussed over their automobiles or their first born.  But there was nothing comical about his reputation.  Poulin was known as a highly dangerous and capable mercenary with a strategic mind of frightening intensity and laser-like precision.  “How many cards, boys?”

            The man to his left examined his cards with the expression of a sixth grader contemplating a math test he didn’t study for the previous night.  He removed a surrender handkerchief from a hip pocket, wiped his lips and went back to examining his cards intently.  Freddy Liddick wasn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer when it came to a lot of things but it was generally acknowledged in the mercenary community that when it came to marksmanship, there were few better than Freddy Liddick.  Hitting a fly on a wall from two thousands yards away was ridiculously easy for Liddick.  He and Poulin worked together as a team and had done so for the past nine years.

            “Freddy?  It’s not brain surgery.  It’s poker.”

            “Awright!  Awright!  Gimme three, dammit!” Liddick threw in his three and got three in exchange.  Poulin turned to the third man.

            The tavern shook as another barrage of artillery fire thundered, causing the lights to dim and the table jiggled.  Bottles fell from the shelves behind the bar to smash on the floor.

            A half empty bottle of Demerara rum fell from the table but was saved just scant inches from hitting the floor by a hand that moved in a blur and caught it.  The hand calmly replaced the bottle on the table in the exact spot it had fallen from. 

            “Damn that was close!”  Liddick looked around nervously.  “You think they’d let up awreddy!  Ain’t nothing gonna be left of the damn city for them to take if they keep it up!”

            Poulin waved a hand.  “They’ll stop the shelling soon.  The Monarchy’s lost and everybody knows it.  This is just a last kick in the ass to remind them to hurry up and get the hell out.  The Freemen’s Commonwealth is anxious to take over so they can start oppressing the people.”

            The fourth man, the one who had rescued the bottle of Demerara sat in shadow and so his features were obscured.  But the glowing cherry red tip of the cigar he was smoking did a little jig in the darkness as he manipulated it to one side of his mouth so that he could speak clearly: “The Freemen’s Commonwealth?  I thought they were The People’s Cooperative Collective?”

            Poulin shook his head.  “That was two days ago.  And two days before that they were The Liberation Alliance.”

            The man with the cigar chuckled.

            Poulin turned back to the third man.  “You playing or what?”

            Mike Radford glared at Poulin.  Tall, wide-chested with eyes that had an uncomfortable glint in them, Radford had his own reputation. One that usually caused potential employers to stay clear of him.  Radford was known for indulging in unhealthy risks.  “Two,” he snapped.  “We’ve been here two days now.  When do you think it’ll be safe to leave?”

            Poulin gestured at his cell phone on the table.  “I’ve got friends who’ll give me the all-clear signal when they’ve taken the city.  Relax, what’s your rush?  We’ve got food, booze, smokes and we’re getting paid for sitting on our asses playing poker.”

            “Just don’t like being cooped up, that’s all,” Radford grumbled as he accepted his two cards.

            Poulin turned to the fourth man in the shadows.  “And how many for you, friend?”

            The tip of the cigar did its jig again as the fourth man contemplated his cards and replied; “I’ll stay with these, thanks.”

            Immediately, Liddick said, “Fold” and threw his cards in.

            Poulin smiled and reached for his stack of currency, threw in two thousand dollars American.  “I think you’re bluffing, friend.  I call.”

            “Damn right he’s bluffing!”  Radford snarled.  “Son of a bitch is trying to buy the pot!”
            The fourth man removed the cigar from his mouth.  His hands were strong looking with long, almost artistic fingers.  It was only by his hands that one could tell he was a black man as the shadow obscuring his features was almost ominously dark.  It could have been that he deliberately chose that spot to sit in so that his features could not be read by the other players.

            He tapped ash from the cigar into an ashtray and poured himself a shot of rum.  He casually tossed back the shot, put the glass down, picked the cigar back up and replaced it in his unseen mouth.  The tip again glowed cherry red as he puffed on it. 

            “You think I’m trying to buy the pot then there’s one way to find out.”

            Radford threw money into the pot.  “I call.  And I’ll raise you two thousand.”

            The fourth man reached for the money in front of him with no hesitation whatsoever.  “Call and raise five thousand.”

            Poulin threw in his cards.  “You boys play too rough for me.”

            Radford grinned at the fourth man and slapped his cards down on the grimy table. “Four of a kind, all jacks!”  He gleefully reached for the pot with both hands.  “Bluff that, tough guy!”

            “Not so fast,” the fourth man said calmly and placed his cards face down on the table, one by one.  As he did so, Radford’s lower jaw sagged open just a little bit more until by the time the final card was on the table his mouth was completely open. 

            “You gotta be shittin’ me!  You tryin’ to tell me you got dealt a straight flush?”

            “Seems that way, don’t it?”  The fourth man leaned forward and into the light to rake in his winnings.  And so his features were now plainly visible.  His eyes were an unusual copper color, the color of freshly minted pennies.  Women considered him handsome with his wide, mobile mouth and high cheekbones.  His dark chocolate skin seemed to glow with vitality and energy.  He habitually kept his curly anthracite hair cut very close to his skull in a widow’s peak. 

            Radford slammed a Glock onto the table.  “I do believe you’ve been cheating, tough guy.  I been watching you the past two days we been playin’ and you’ve been doing more than your share of winning.  Nobody’s that good or that lucky.”

            “You’re right,” Dillon said around his half-smoked cigar.  “It’s just that you’re such a lousy player.”  Unruffled by the weapon on the table he continued pulling the pot in.

            “He’s right, Mike.  You are a lousy player.  Sit back and shut up,” Poulin said.  He seemed highly amused by the whole thing.

            “But he’s been cheating!”

            Poulin shuffled the cards as he said, “No, he hasn’t.”

            “And how do you know?”

            Dillon grinned and jerked his chin at Poulin as he answered the question.  “He knows because he’s been cheating.”

            Both Radford and Liddick jumped to their feet, shouting and cursing. 

            “Miguel, I’m your partner!” Liddick wailed.  “How you gonna cheat me?”

            “Because the two of you are such abominable players I had to do something to keep myself interested.”  Poulin looked over at Dillon.  “How long have you known I was cheating?”

            “After about an hour or two of play I caught on.  You’re good.”

            “And you didn’t say anything?”

            Dillon counted his winnings, separating the currency into neat piles according the country of origin.  “Why should I?  I wasn’t planning on going anywhere until the shelling stopped.  And since I knew you were cheating I adjusted my playing accordingly.”

            “You could have warned them.” Poulin jerked his head at the still fuming Radford and Liddick.

            Dillon shrugged carelessly.  “If they’re too dumb to catch on then they deserve to get took. If you’re not good enough to spot a cheat then you’ve got no business sitting down at a poker table.”

            Radford spent the next minute or so giving his highly profane opinion on Dillon’s ancestry.  Dillon merely continued counting his money and grinning at Radford around his cigar.

            Poulin’s cell phone rang and he snatched it up.  “Poulin.  Yeah.  Yeah.  They’re both with me.  Sure.  Be there in about thirty minutes.” Poulin broke the connection and slipped the phone into a breast pocket.  He gestured at Liddick and Radford. “Grab your money, get your gear and let’s go.  Time for us to earn our pay.” 

            While the two men did as they were ordered, Poulin turned back to Dillon.  “Who you working for right now, Dillon?”

            “Nobody.  I was passing through and just happened to get caught up in this misbegotten revolution.  Figured that the safest thing to do was to hunker down and wait until hostilities eased off before I made my move.”

            “Oh.  I figured when you helped us out of that ambush and threw in with us that you were looking for work.”

            Dillon shook his head.  “Just reckoned that four guns were better than one.  And once you told me of your plan to hole up in here I said, ‘why not’?”

            “You want to work?  Our boss will pay plenty for a man of your experience and talents.”

            “Thanks but no thanks.  This revolution is none of my business.  And in any case I don’t agree with either side.  Not much difference between them if you ask me.”

            Poulin shrugged.  “Who cares as long as the money’s good?”

            Dillon patted the thick stacks in front of him.  “I’ve got enough right here to help get me out of the country and that’s all I require.”

            Poulin stroked his mustache for a bit as he contemplated whether he should kill Dillon or not.  It was possible that Dillon was lying and could well be working for the opposition.  He’d much rather not have to worry about that.  Poulin had never met Dillon before but he knew his rep just as well as Dillon knew his.

  Under the table, Dillon eased his Jericho 941 out of the cross draw holster and carefully, quietly cocked it.  He knew exactly what Poulin was thinking and communicated it to the mustached man with his eyes.  Eyes that under lowering, severe eyebrows darkened from a sparkling copper to a moody, molten gold.  The two men regarded each other for about twenty seconds more.

Poulin left off playing with his mustache and laughed, breaking the tension.  “Well, guess I’ll see you around then.  Take care and watch your back.”  Poulin moved over to a corner of the room and picked up a duffle bag.  Liddick had already unbarred the door and the three men, loaded down with their gear left the tavern.  Radford was the last one to leave and he couldn’t resist one last remark thrown over his shoulder: “Okay, so you wasn’t cheatin’.  But like Miggie said, you coulda tipped us off.  I ain’t a guy who forgets shit like that.  I see you again I’m gonna settle up.”

Dillon removed the cigar from his mouth and replied; “Let me give you a last word of free advice, Radford: if you sit down at a poker table and you can’t spot the sucker that’s probably because the sucker is you.”

 Radford glowered at Dillon with pure hatred before following the other two, slamming the door shut behind him.

Dillon uncocked his weapon, slipped it back into the holster and had another drink while he finished counting his money and smoking his cigar.