About Filton


Date of Birth: May 5th

Hometown: Oak Park, Illinois

Occupation: Formerly a Senior Detective with Chicago Upper Division Detectives (CUDD). Now with Interpol, kind of.

Parents: Ellis Sibley, Deceased, Chicago Police Detective, Janet Sibley, of Oak Park, Illinois, Office Secretary

Extended Family: One brother, Tom Sibley, Shoe Salesman, Cleveland, Ohio. Tom has wife Mary and son Ellis, age 8, and daughter Sammie, age 5.

Height: 6’3″

Weight: 200 lbs

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Black

Current Address: State Street Apartment, Chicago, Illinois

Favorite Music: Jazz

Favorite Food: Ethnic (Italian, Chinese, Mexican, Bad for You)

Likes: Sports, women, pre-70’s Mustangs, Coke Classic, hand-to-hand combat, sleeping in, cartoons, city life.

Dislikes: Cats, women, scotch, laundry, morning people, would-be world-dominators, henchmen, terrorist cab drivers, technology.

Filton Sibley followed his father into the detective business, opening his own investigative business as a teenager. A full fledged gumshoe in his twenties, Filton cracked the infamous Garbage Mafia case, and was celebrated by both the President and the Mayor of Chicago.

He later joined C.U.D.D., a new police division of upper division detectives after meeting his future boss Fred Kincaid on the Garbage Mafia case. Filton has also stumbled onto several Interpol cases, with agent Bill Schroeder, and works with them from time to time.

The action is fast and furious, the humor clever and dry, with the assortment of women, thugs, and of course classic evil bad guys.

It’s the Executioner meets Fletch, with a little Jason Bourne, Inspector Clouseau, Austin Powers, and USA Network’s hit show Psych mixed in.

Smart Aleck Men’s Adventure for today’s discerning male reader watching his carbs.

It’s not Donovan Creed, it’s not James Bond, it’s not even Nick Carter.

Those guys had a cool, kick butt kind of name.

Now Detective Adventure has a new name, and that can be a problem…

* * *

“Filton who?”

“Sibley, Filton Sibley.” I sighed. The man behind the counter reeked of garlic. I had waited for fifteen minutes past the time his Out-to-lunch sign had read.

“That a P-H?”

“No, an F.” I said. “F-I-L-T-O-N.”

“Weird name,” he mumbled, wiping the corners of his mouth with his thumb and index finger. He shuffled the papers and squinted at me. “Okay, what you need? A fishing license?”

I pulled out my badge identifying me as an agent with CUDD: Chicago Upper Division Detectives. It was quite impressive and one of the highest honors for a detective in the Midwest.

He blinked. “Never heard of it.”

“I need a gun license,” I finally blurted, exasperated. It was a private piece, my favorite Glock.

Fishing license. I shook my head as he processed the forms. The last time I went fishing the only thing I caught was my sock. My hook had caught on to it on the shore as I cast the line out. I didn’t notice, thinking I had hooked some rare white fish. And that fishing wire…I spent two hours trying to untangle all that stuff. It was like picking out a dozen knots in dental floss.

Not that I didn’t have a great time on that trip, mind you. My teeth have never been cleaner, and I had the sock stuffed and mounted.

“Here you go, buddy,” the guy said, picking his teeth with a piece of paper.

“Thanks.” I slipped the license into my wallet and carefully inserted it into the driver’s license window of the billfold. Oft times it comes in handy to flash to those persnickety, play-by-the-rules ne’er-do-wells before gunplay.

Filton Sibley, Detective. Chasing the bad guys so you don’t have to.

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