By Don Winslow
Neal Carey isn't your ordinary deepest eye. A graduate scholar at Columbia collage, he grew up at the streets of latest York, frequently at the mistaken aspect of the legislation. Then he met Joe Graham, a one-armed P.I. who brought him to the financial institution, an particular New England establishment with a sideline in protecting its filthy rich consumers chuffed and out of difficulty. They pay Neal's collage institution, and Neal will get an schooling that can't be present in any textbook-- from studying how one can path a suspect to gaining knowledge of the correct approach to seek a room.
Now its payback time. The financial institution desires Neal to place his abilities to paintings find Allie Chase, the rebellious teenage daughter of a popular senator. the matter: Allie has long past underground in London, and to get her again, Neal has to stick with her into the punk scene, a violent netherworld the place medications run rampant and rage is the secret. Up opposed to punk junkies, old ebook thieves, and murderous betrayal, Neal has his paintings reduce out for him to avoid wasting Allie-- and come again above flooring for good.
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Extra resources for A Cool Breeze on the Underground (Neal Carey Mysteries)
She felt well, and when she eventually moved inside to the mirror to brush her hair, she thought, I shall sleep better tonight. But a sharp scream from the corridor, and a sound of running feet, startled her into an awareness of danger. She listened, motionless, ancient fears awakening. Silence. Opening her door cautiously, she saw light streaming from the Puseys' suite, and heard voices. Oh, God, she thought. A heart attack. And willed herself to take charge. It was Jennifer's door that was open, and Jennifer herself, the straps of a satin nightgown slipping from her plump shoulders, laughing and uttering little moans, was poised on her bed, her legs drawn up.
Wine,' she added, responding to Edith's curiosity. 'He was a sherry importer. And the funny thing is, the old girl can't stand the taste of it. She only likes champagne. ' Edith, remembering the last occasion on which she had drunk champagne, shuddered. ' asked Monica. I am tired, thought Edith. I must be careful. I am not going to confide in this languid and luxurious woman, who would in any case be bored if I did. Light conversation is all that is called for. 'I'm fine,' she said. ' Monica's face fell.
It's Sunday. ' Watching Monica plunging a resolute fork into an éclair, Edith reflected, with some humility, that she was not good at human nature. She could make up charac- ters but she could not decipher those in real life. For the conduct of life she required an interpreter. And this woman was very pleasant, very pleasant indeed. Although apt, she could see, to cause dissension. M. Huber had frowned when he saw her veer off in the direction of the care, Edith in her wake. ' Monica's fine oval eyes emptied of all expression.