A Semi-Private Doom — Richard Fliegel

Just ask Detective Shelly Lowenkopf, who passed on to the other side - at least for a moment or two. It all began with a mob boss who was taking tennis lessons. His new stepson wanted in on the rackets, while his real son was on the lam - until an explosion took him and Shelly out of the picture.

The question is: how far out of the picture? While Lowenkopf began his recuperation at St. Jude South Coast Hospital, the criminals got busy. A drug business, some missing sperm, a very much alive Mafia son, and James Dean's hair comb all found their way to Lowenkopf's bedside - one way or another. And with all that, who could blame him for temporarily copping out?