The Killing Connection (Dirty Harry, Book 9)
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Anything goes in San Francisco, but now it's gone too far! Somebody is carving up beautiful lesbians — and that somebody has the right friends. Only Harry can stop the slaughter, but now both the gays and the cops stand in his way. Will he have time? The answer is at the end of a barrel — a .44 Magnum barrel!
ceilings, most of them were made of canvas and light wood, which hardly protected the client from a rainfall as heavy as this. About the only ones left were the sellers themselves, putting away their wares and shutting down for the day. They and at least two cautious, rain-soaked cops. They were enough, however. Even without the various buyers, the marketplace was still abuzz with activity. Between the bosses pulling down their awnings and the helpers loading the leftover produce onto trucks
greatest of reluctance. “What does he want? To explain this morning’s ‘Hagar the Horrible’ comic strip?” “Your guess is as good as mine, Harry. Our only instructions were to send you down to McClaren Park.” That wasn’t so bad. The park was less than two miles from the market. “Where in the park?” Harry asked. “The place is more than a mile long.” “The northeast corner,” the homicide sergeant said. “Near the reservoir. He says you can’t miss it. The place is crawling with uniforms and
said, smiling. Harry did not mirror the expression. “Looks that way,” he said distantly. McConnell misread his meaning. Thinking his mind was on Byrnes, she turned a little defensive. “Don’t let me keep you, Inspector. I’m sure you have plenty of important things to do besides talking with a sergeant from Vice. Just let me say that it was a pleasure and an honor working with you again and the last thing I’d want to do is to keep your bait waiting.” Callahan looked at her blankly. She seemed to
awkwardly against the bannister, his wounds from the trailer episode groaned in paralyzing pain. His knees began to give way as he grabbed onto the thick bannister with all his might. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Byrnes running toward him, the shiny revolver still held out in front of her. He pulled himself up and vaulted over the stairway. He dropped onto the middle of the steps, his legs too weak to hold him. He tumbled head first the rest of the way, hearing Byrnes fire the gun at him.
a contented gaze. Then they kissed. It was a luxuriant, full caress. An expression of profound commitment, ending with a look that said they knew something not many others, homosexual or otherwise, knew. They knew the meaning of love. For a moment, the man felt a rush of envy rising up inside him, but just as he was trying to identify it as such, it turned into a blazing hatred. The gloved hand checked his jacket pockets, feeling the comforting, round hard shape there. He heard metal clink