The Last Dance: A Novel of the 87th Precinct
Ed McBain
Language: English
Pages: 272
ISBN: 0684855135
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
The fiftieth is pure gold: from the author The New York Times calls "the man with the golden ear" comes the fiftieth novel in the 87th Precinct series.
In this city, you can get anything done for a price. If you want someone's eyeglasses smashed, it'll cost you a subway token. You want his fingernails pulled out? His legs broken? You want him more seriously injured? You want him hurt so he's an invalid his whole life? You want him skinned, you want him burned, you want him -- don't even mention it in a whisper -- killed? It can be done. Let me talk to someone. It can be done.
The hanging death of a nondescript old man in a shabby little apartment in a meager section of the 87th Precinct was nothing much in this city, especially to detectives Carella and Meyer. But everyone has a story, and this old man's story stood to make some people a lot of money. His story takes Carella, Meyer, Brown, and Weeks on a search through Isola's seedy strip clubs and to the bright lights of the theater district. There they discover an upcoming musical with ties to a mysterious drug and a killer who stays until the last dance.
The Last Dance is Ed McBain's fiftieth novel of the 87th Precinct and certainly one of his best. The series began in 1956 with Cop Hater and proves him to be the man who has been called "so good he should be arrested."
glanced at him again, a faint look of sorrow and pain momentarily knifing his eyes. In these moments, he felt particularly vulnerable, wondering as he often did if he was perhaps unsuited to a job that brought him into frequent contact with death. “So you called the police,” Meyer said again. “Yes. Told whoever answered the phone …” “Was this 911 you called? Or the precinct number direct?” “911. I don’t know the precinct number. I don’t live around here.” “Told the operator you’d come into
heh. Inject a little humor here, right? Throw a minor scare into these slopes here, while never forgetting the magnitude of the mission, ah yes. “Let me talk to the manager,” he said. The manager or the owner or whoever he was came over grinning nervously. “You know this girl?” Ollie asked. The man looked at the picture. “She live aroun corner,” he said. “Right. Ever see her?” “She killed,” he said. “When’s the last time you saw her?” Ollie asked. “Before kill.” “When before?” “Night
asked. “Counselor,” Byrnes said, “could we agree on some basic ground rules here?” “What basic rules did you have in mind, Lieutenant? I thought I was familiar with all the rules, basic or otherwise, but perhaps I’m mistaken.” “Mr. Reynolds,” Byrnes said, “we don’t need courtroom theatrics here, okay? There’s no judge here to rule on objections, there’s no jury to play to, your man isn’t even under oath. So why not just take it nice and easy, like the song says, okay?” “Does the song say
is a self-confessed murderer and not entitled to the pity of the people of this great city, and that is not justice!” “Right on!” “I don’t care if you are some kind of belligerent black man, all he needs is a gun …” “Tell ’em, Rev!” “I don’t care if that’s the kind of bellicose person you are, or whether you are an abstemious soul goes smiling at white folks and behind their backs wishes they were dead …” “Oh Lordy!” “Whatever kind of African-American you are, rich or poor, whether you a
worked for this marvelous human being who was doing so much for race relations in this city. Lorraine had been assigned to a precinct all the way out in Majesta. She wasn’t even sure she knew where it was. “I hope it won’t be raining,” she said. “Tomorrow.” “Or snowing,” he said. “Snow would be even worse.” “Where will you be?” “The Fifth. Down in The Quarter. Near Ramsey U.” “My building’s just up ahead,” she said. “On the right.” “Okay.” He eased the car to the curb, looked at the