Brando Mahr, Hero of “Foul” by John Klawitter

What is your story?
Hello, Pat. My “story”, such as it is,  is the murder mystery novel FOUL by John Klawitter, which is a bit of an 18th century dreadnaught, something of a penny novel and a picaresque, to boot. I’m a struggling Hollywood producer. The year particulates as 1984 and I venture in my mid-30’s. I have long hair and flowing mustachios. Strangers do not trust me, a brief appraisal and swiftly their cool side, a situation I will detail further on. My story is that I have been accused of murdering the pretty blond wife of football ex-great Ripper Brown.

Who are you?
I am called Brando Mahr.

Where do you live?
I pay monthly fee on a bungalow in the west end of the San Fernando Valley.

Are you the hero of your own story?
I am slapdogging to survive it.

What is your problem in the story?
Communication. My verbal skills, while extensive, are not effective. I have not snapped off the life of Ripper’s wife, though she was fetching and indeed (so I have heard) a somewhat ready dutchess.

Do you have a problem that wasn’t mentioned in the story?
Yes. I am an aphasiac-epileptic, the result of close proximity with a massive explosive device. As such, after nearly a decade in the Veteran’s hospital in West Los Angeles, I took my exit, found employ in the bowels of the UCLA library and retaught myself English. Unfortunately the books I read were novels from two centuries ago…that, coupled with my slow conclusion to words, finds me vastly misunderstood.

Do you embrace conflict?
Dear Pat, no one embraces conflict. I am, however, more effective with violent conflict than I seem. In fact, in my old LURP unit I was ticked Earman & The Hands of Death. Earman? Well, my near-death experience left me with hearing beyond excellent, nearly beyond believability.

Do you run from conflict?
My doctor tells me I should run, but it never seems right at the occasion.

How do your enemies see you?
Weird. Slow-witted.

How does the author see you?
The author is my brother-at-arms. I would die for him.

Do you think the author portrayed you accurately?
He has no choice. Oddly enough, he failed for three years before he found a way to tell my story. Sad cull, that: he actually tried to tell it 1st person narration. And mine self an aphasiac epileptic! Sometimes I felt sorry for him, but he finally did get it right.

What do you think of yourself?
Not long for this world, the sawbones and medicinates inform me. So I try to make every day, every minute count.

Do you have a goal?
I want to be a name in Hollywood. I cognate this may seem impossible to you, but with the writing skills of my Ninja nun pals, and my production experience and strangely effective effect as a film director, I think I have a shot at it.

What are your achievements?
I have directed a batch of commercials. I have held lower rung jobs at several major film factories. AND –Praise be to Plut!- I have just lucked into the assignment of a lifetime, to produce a docu-drama on the life of the greatest of the great, football hall of famer Ripper Brown!

Do you have any special weaknesses?
Alas, the irony. I am a Jacksonian epileptic, meaning that an excess of adrenaline brings on an episode, a seizure, a catastrophe. I have ways to forestall the grim reaper, but they are unpleasant and potentially self-destructive.

Do you have any skills?
I have the attribute of tenacity, though those who do not accumulate joy in my presence deem it stubbornness and a vice.

What do you want?
To prove myself innocent. To find who did her dirty. To find out why.

What do you need?
Just a little more time to follow the clues that nobody else thinks are important. To stay alive…oh, yes, somebody is now trying to dingbat me, and I don’t have a dither perchance.

What do you want to be?
Alive. Successful. Appreciated. Loved.

What do you believe?
I believe ordinary cods and their culls are basically good. Except for the few mundungus bumfiddles of the world. Watch out for the foul fiddles, mate.

What makes you happy?
Being with my fubsy wench, even though I cognate her affection is about as deep as ale swill in the bottom of the glass.

What are you afraid of?
Dying in shame, convicted of a crime I didn’t commit.

What is your most closely guarded secret?
That I need people and want to be loved.

What is your most prized possession?
What is left of my mind.

Name five items in your purse, briefcase, or pockets.
Swiss Army Knife. Toothpicks. A lock pick My wallet artifactual. My wallet regularus. My spare wad of dinero. And I have a sack of widow’s guns in the rear of my motor vehicle, a dreamobile I have named Fifi la Fiat.

How do you envision your future?
Brief, but exciting.

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