By Andrew Vachss
During this mercilessly compelling mystery, Burke—the inner most eye, sting artist, and coffee hit guy who metes out a cruelly inventive vengeance on those that victimize children—is up opposed to a soft-spoken messiah, who can be rescuing runaways or recruiting them for his personal hideous reasons. yet in doing so Burke turns into a objective for a complete Mafia kinfolk, a whore with a middle of cyanide, and a freelance killer as implacable as a heat-seeking missile. Written with Vachss's signature narrative overdrive—and his unnerving familiarity with the sub-basement of yank crime—Hard sweet is classic Burke.
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Extra info for Hard Candy (A Burke Novel)
You not being yourself. " "Wesley…" "Wesley. Whatever my man's got, they ain't got no cure for. It's like he's got a couple of parts missing. " "Something…" "Else. " "Don't get on it, Burke. " The little man lit a smoke. Drew it in slowly, taking his time. Like you do when you got a lot of it to spare. "This is the one true clue, brother. Wesley, he's the Mystery Train. " "I…" "You got no case, Ace. I don't know nobody who ever walked away from a meet with Wesley. He's telling you something. Something just for you.
Much taller in four–inch spikes, ankle straps lancing across the seams that ran down the back of her dark silk stockings. She was wearing a wool minidress in some metallic green color, a heavy black chain around her waist as a belt. Swinging the long end of the chain in one hand, a leopard twitching her tail. Waiting. I walked as far as the couch, flicking the ashes off my cigarette in the general direction of the ashtray on the end table. She twirled, hands on her hips. " I didn't like the sound.
The sands shifted— I couldn't find my own footprints. Throwing antacid tablets into a cauldron of boiling lye. Stealing and scamming didn't bring me any closer. Everything worked. The money kept coming in but there was no payoff. Even Wesley's fear–jolts wouldn't jump–start my battery. Dead and gone. Dead and gone. I called Candy. 70 SHE ANSWERED the door, left me there while she walked away. I knew her this time, even with the blond wig and the violet contact lenses. Much taller in four–inch spikes, ankle straps lancing across the seams that ran down the back of her dark silk stockings.
Hard Candy (A Burke Novel) by Andrew Vachss