My toes are nothing but blisters. I totally chose the wrong shoes.” “I didn’t call about your feet, Roz.” Mamma Vincenza’s parking lot attendants had been a washout: They didn’t recall the Volvo; they didn’t know the whereabouts of the Gianelli Jag, and I was currently navigating a narrow North End street packed with pedestrians, delivery trucks, and through traffic. “People, you ask ‘em stuff, they’re so fuckin’ rude. Like guys, they rate this woman right off, you know, is she a hottie? One to ten on the babe scale?” “Tell me about the car,” I said. “The car. Right. You know what the Registry’s like; they don’t do quick miracles, no wine into water.” “Water into wine.” “Whatever. Here’s the deal. I mean, you’d think it was a stolen car, like the cops said, but there’s a twist. I’ve got a contact says the plate was registered to a stolen car, all right, but a stolen Mercury, not a Volvo. So you got a switcheroo.” A Mercury had been stolen; its plate had turned up on a Volvo.
What do You think about Lie Down With The Devil (2008)?
