Whose that author?

 “Wait a minute,” Raymond said. “No, I think the way we ought to do it—pick up the gun and hold it at your side. Go ahead. I think that’ll be better.” Raymond brought the Colt toward him and held it pointing down, the barrel extending below the edge of the desk. “Yeah, that’s better. See, then when you bring it up you have to clear the desk and there’s less chance of getting shot in the balls.” “Come on,” Clement said, “cut the shit.” “All right, then you reach for yours and I raise mine,” Raymond said, “it’s up to you.” He waited. Clement’s right hand edged over to the Walther, touched it, hesitated, then covered the grip and brought it toward him, off the table. He said, “I don’t believe this.” “Okay, you ready?” Raymond said. “Any time you want, do it.” “Wait just a minute,” Clement said.