A Girl Called Honey by Lawrence Block, Donald E. Westlake

By Lawrence Block, Donald E. Westlake

A prostitute and an AWOL air strength cadet fall in love and take a look at to construct a brand new lifestyles in long island City—but they'll flip opposed to one another whilst one other guy enters the image It began innocently sufficient. Disowned by way of her God-fearing mom and dad, Honour Mercy Bane takes up a brand new name—Honey—and a brand new occupation as a prostitute. After simply weeks' paintings she falls for Richie, a thin little virgin who's long past AWOL from air strength education and searching out a spot to conceal. Honey takes him to big apple urban, the place a $20 trick attracts $200 and the city's strength avid gamers move gaga for a Southern belle. It's no longer lengthy sooner than one other john comes to a decision he loves her, the 2 males who by no means minded Honey's paintings develop into opponents, and her friendly little existence collapses in a typhoon of substances, violence, and murderous lust. This e-book positive factors an illustrated biography of Lawrence Block, together with infrequent pictures and never-before-seen files from his own assortment, and a brand new afterword written by way of the author.

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Sample text

I made a noose of wire to catch it. There were three cartridges in the pistol. None to spare. She walked away down the road. The boy looked after her and then he looked at me and then he looked at the dog and he began to cry and to beg for the dog's life and I promised I would not hurt the dog. A trellis of a dog with the hide stretched over it. The next day it was gone. That is the dog he remembers. He doesnt remember any little boys. He'd put a handful of dried raisins in a cloth in his pocket and at noon they sat in the dead grass by the side of the road and ate them.

He's going to die. We cant share what we have or we'll die too. I know. So when are you going to talk to me again? I'm talking now. Are you sure? Yes. Okay. Okay. They stood on the far shore of a river and called to him. Tattered gods slouching in their rags across the waste. Trekking the dried floor of a mineral sea where it lay cracked and broken like a fallen plate. Paths of feral fire in the coagulate sands. The figures faded in the distance. He woke and lay in the dark. The clocks stopped at 1:17.

We're okay. Go to sleep. We're going to be okay, arent we Papa? Yes. We are. And nothing bad is going to happen to us. That's right. Because we're carrying the fire. Yes. Because we're carrying the fire. In the morning a cold rain was falling. It gusted over the car even under the overpass and it danced in the road beyond. They sat and watched through the water on the glass. By the time it had slacked a good part of the day was gone. They left the coats and the blanket in the floor of the back seat and went up the road to search through more of the houses.

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