"NYC's Most Violent Private Detective"... That's the description the media tagged me with in the early '70s. Then came the label "Maddog." Anyone who has read even one of the Maddog books knows that those monikers are justly deserved. They call me a borderline depraved crime fighting private investigator who is not always on the "up and up." I've been labeled tough as hardtack, self-righteous, and sometimes brutally violent. I'm hard boiled and not bashful about hurting people who try to hurt me or my clients. I do things that the police can't or won't do. If you are one of those people who wonder how I got this way, this is the book that tells my story. It starts off in 1953. I was an 18-year-old street kid who was stealing a tire off a brand new Caddy. A hand, the size of a gorilla's, grabbed the back of my neck and lifted me off the ground. The car belonged to Jack Steel, known to be one of the toughest, two-fisted private detectives in the city. Instead of hammering me into the ground, he gave me ten seconds to tell him something that would stop him from beating the hell out of me. What I said, and what happened after that, is in Chapter 1. The other chapters explain the process of me becoming a "Fixer." People come to me to help fix situations. Many of these are serious problems that they can't go to the cops for help. I've said enough. Read the book