Dirty Harry's last name

Usage examples of callahan.

Before the day was over they’d make their way to Turtleback Lane in the town of Lovell—a place where walk-ins were common, according to John Cullum, and reality was apt to be correspondingly thin—but first they were going to make a trip to Bridgton, and hopefully meet the man who seemed to have created Donald Callahan and the town of ’Salem’s Lot.

And Callahan begins to shriek at the sight of it, for he senses its endless power: it may fling him anywhere or to the farthest blind alley of nowhere.

He placed a tattered bill on the bar, took the shot of bourbon which Callahan handed him silently, and walked to the chalk line.

Without taking her eyes from him she held up her hand, and the little bottle of chloral hydrate that Callahan tossed landed squarely in it.

Callahan spat out the word fucking in a kind of desperate snarl, as men do when vulgarity has become for them a kind of linguistic court of last resort.

Callahan cries out miserably, the cry of a child who suddenly realizes the bogeyman has been real all along, waiting patiently in the closet for its chance.

The guy inhaled three fingers of gin in as many seconds, had Callahan build him another, and strolled on over to the crowd by the dart board, where Long-Drink McGonnigle and Doc Webster were locked in mortal combat.

The guy inhaled three fingers of gin in as many seconds, had Callahan built him another, and strolled on over to the crowd by the dart board, where Long-Drink McGonnigle and Doc Webster were locked in mortal combat.

Callahan doesn't know the difference between a dead ball and a free ball.

Callahan knew stuff Eddie thought no one else could possibly know: the sadness of Dixie cups rolling across the pavement, the rusty hopelessness of that sign on the gas pumps, the look of the human eye in the hour before dawn.

See, back in the original Callahan's Place, Mike Callahan had a flat rate: every drink in the house cost a dollar-and if for some reason you decided not to smash your emptied glass in the fireplace, you were entitled to take two quarters' change out of the cigarbox on the end of the bar on your way out.

In 1978 The Sydney (Australia) Science Fiction Foundation awarded me the Pat Terry Memorial Award for Humourous Writing, for the Callahan stories.

I was worried that Chad Latta would do something crazy, but Sharon Pelletier and Miss Callahan told me I had nothing to worry about.

According to Andy, one of the gunslingers was actually a woman, but Callahan saw no need to muddy the waters further (although an impish part of him wanted to, just the same).

Callahan decides it's time to blow this pop-shop, and the greater pop-shop that is New York City.