Lush Life: An Artie Deemer Mystery - Plot & Excerpts
“They’re making me very angry, the fucks!” snapped Crystal. “They kidnap me, shove drugs down my throat. They kidnap you! They ruin my place. They might already’ve killed my uncle!” “Dey don’t deserve to live,” agreed Calabash. “What do you want to do?” I asked. “Do you want to go to the police? Maybe we could get a real one this time.” That met with silence. Crystal swerved into the right lane and stopped behind a car full of Hasidim vacating their parking place. The Hasidim hit the car in front, setting off its alarm, then hit the car behind, doing the same thing. Then, having gotten a feeling for distance, they pulled out. I had thought that was the Manhattan method of close-quarter maneuvering—hit the car in front, hit the car behind—but it seemed to obtain in Brooklyn as well. Crystal took the spot. We sat between the wailing alarms with the engine running. This was a pleasant, tree-lined neighborhood of large red-brick apartment buildings where the races seemed to mix in reasonable harmony.
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