H is for Homicide (Kinsey Millhone #8)

the meat locker looked like it had been designed originally for industrial purposes and converted to commercial use without much concession to aesthetics. the room was cavernous and drab, with a concrete floor and metal beams showing high up in the shadowy reaches of the ceiling. a nineteen-foot bar ran along the wall to the right, packed three deep with guys whose faces looked like they belonged on the post office wall" (59).

they seemed suited for one another, a crooked cop and a con artist...both willing to cut corners, both manipulating the system, looking for a fast buck. neither was malicious but they must have recognized the lawlessness in each other's natures. i wondered what had drawn them together in the first place, whether they had sensed the shared bonds of mutiny and trespass. the similarities certainly weren't apparent on the surface, but i suspect lovers have some unerring instinct for the qualities that both attract and condemn them in relationships (83).

the problem with real life is there's no musical score. in movies, you know you're in danger because there's an ominous chord underlining the scene, a dissonant melodice line that warns of sharks in the water and boogermen [sic] behind the door. real life is dead quiet, so you're never quite sure if there's trouble coming up (151).

there were five [men], all hispanics in their late teens or early twenties, all wearing heavy wool pendleton shirts buttoned up to their chins. three were sitting around the kitchen table, one with his girlfriend on his lap. a second girl sat with her bare legs outstretched, tight skirt hiked up to midthigh. she was smoking a cigarette, practicing smoke rings through pouty lips painted bright red. two guys lounging against the wall came to attention as raymond came in the door. on the wall was a large handmade sign with 'r.i.p.' at the top and chago's names in caps below, a pair of praying hands and a crucifix drawn in the space between (151).