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246 pages, Paperback
First published January 23, 2012
"Red Fury he's the Man
Try and stop him if you can!"
After coming to the city from West Virginia at an early age, Jones had grown up in one of D.C,’s infamous alley dwellings, below the poverty line. No father in his life, ever, with huskers in and out the spot, taking the place of one. A mother who worked domestic when she could. Half brothers and sisters he barely knew or kept track of. Twenty-five dollars a month rent, and his mother could rarely come up with it. All of them hungry, all of the time. Being poor in that extreme way, Jones felt that nothing after could cut too deep. Take what you want, take no man’s shit. No police can intimidate you, no sentence will enslave you, no cell can contain your mind.
He’d have to do it a different way. Go up to the house, get in, and get it done quick. Better yet, coax the man outside. Most likely, Cochner’s wife was in that house, too. That was a problem for Bowman. He wasn’t one of those robot killers, what they called ice men. He took out the target, not the loved ones. He’d never finished a woman or a kid. He went to church on Sundays, sometimes. There was work he wouldn’t do.
Strange and Stefanos walked out onto Georgia Avenue. Strange buttoned his leather blazer and nodded toward his black Cadillac, parked on the street.
“Let’s go Greek. The clock ticks.”
“What’s your hurry?” said Stefanos.
Strange squinted against the dying light. “We’ve got a case.”