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He used to be on the bomb squad, but it's not until he transfers out that Chris Mankowski really begins juggling with dynamite. Rape and revenge are just the tip of the iceberg in a twisty tale that brings Detroit's denizens to life -- and occasional death -- in all their seedy glory. Electrifying, explosive, and unexpected, this is Elmore Leonard at his suspenseful best.
swimming party. Mark doing lines at poolside in his wet silk undies. Mark getting high, talking about Goose Lake, playing tapes of groups they used to listen to in the sixties and early seventies. That was still the old Mark. The new one emerged as Mark came down from his high, sort of crash-landed and began to whine and roll his eyes, Mark trying to dramatize what it was like to have an idiot for a partner. (Interesting, Woody was an actual partner.) Robin, at ease in her black panties, began
paused to watch the thigh movement in her skirt as she walked to the desk. He sat down again and opened and closed drawers till he found a yellow legal pad and a Preliminary Complaint Report form. Going over to the desk, where the young woman was seated now in a straight metal chair, Chris said, “This happen to someone in your family?” She seemed surprised, the way her head raised. “It happened to me. I was forced against my will to have sex. If that isn’t rape I don’t know what is.” Chris
wander around or fool with any of the lamps that were on timers. The Bloomfield Hills cops could know which lights were supposed to be on. “Some fun,” Skip said. She had taken the shelves out of the refrigerator so he could slip the whole dynamite case in. Skip told her it wasn’t necessary unless she wanted it out of the way in a safe place. Robin said it was how they’d stored it back in the golden age, shoved the sticks in there with the Baggies of grass and the leftover brown rice dishes.
wouldn’t go off?” “I was hoping.” “You were wrong.” “Then why didn’t it?” “It still might. Or it could’ve shorted when it hit the water, blown you through the window. Why don’t you come here, so I don’t have to yell.” “I been as close to it as I want.” Chris walked back to the shallow end. “We don’t know what time it’s set for, do we? If it was put there early this morning, within the past twelve hours. . . .” He reached Donnell and said, “You know you could be arrested, withholding
facing that bare white wall and no shade on the lamp. It smelled like Robin had been painting, trying to make the dump presentable. Here she was back in their old neighborhood, a low-rent apartment on Canfield near Wayne State, where they’d hung out years ago in their elephant bells, got stoned and laid and would slip off on dark nights to mess with the straight world. Back when this was the inner-city place to be. That naked lamp was flashing now, pretending it was lightning, streaking across