On that fateful gloomy night when, while walking my pet Golem, Murphy Edwards screeched to a halt next to me in his black '65 Lincoln and asked me to join him in producing an anthology featuring Indiana crime writers there was no way I could say "no." I'm still not sure if he intended for me to see the butt of the Glock hanging from a holster inside his dark leather jacket, but I bet he knows the Glock doesn't come with a safety.I met Murph through...