Strega Quotes

“In group one day Babette told us how she happened to get free of her pimp,” Lily said. “She said you shot the man.” “I thought he was reaching for a gun,” I said lamely. “Babette said your gun didn’t make any noise,” Lily told me, eyes level. I didn’t say anything. If I hadn’t had the silencer, it might have been some uniformed cop coming to that hotel room instead of McGowan. Shooting a pimp should only be a petty misdemeanor anyway—like hunting without a license.”
― Andrew Vachss, Strega

“Where are you going?” I wanted to know. “My house. You got a problem with that?” “Only if it isn’t empty,” I said. “I’m alone,” said Strega. Maybe she was talking about the house. She wrestled the BMW through the streets to her house, fighting the wheel, riding the clutch unmercifully. The car stalled on Austin Street when she didn’t give it enough gas pulling away from the light. “Goddamned fucking clutch!” she muttered, snapping the ignition key to get it started again. She was a lousy driver. “Why don’t you get a car with an automatic transmission?” “My legs look so good when I change gears,” she replied. “Don’t they?” I didn’t say anything. “Look at my legs!” she snarled at me. “Aren’t they flashy?” “I wouldn’t get a car to go with my looks,” I said, mildly. “Neither would I—if I looked like you,” she said, softening it only slightly with a smile. “And you didn’t answer my question.” “What question?” “Don’t my legs look good?” “That isn’t a question,” I told her. And this time I got a better smile.”
― Andrew Vachss, Strega

“I was making the turn onto Allen Street when this old fool stepped right in front of the Plymouth. I hit the brakes just in time. Instead of apologizing, the old bastard gets red in the face and screams, “Why didn’t you blow your horn?” A real New Yorker. “If I’d known you were fucking blind, I would’ve!” I shouted back. I live here too.”
― Andrew Vachss, Strega

“I keep my files in the little room next to the office. Six cabinets, four drawers high, gray steel, no locks. There’s nothing in there that would get me in real trouble—no names or addresses of clients, no personal records. It’s all stuff I pick up as I go along—stuff that could help me at some point. Gun-runners, mercenaries (and chumps who want to be), heavy-duty pimps, kiddie-porn dealers, con artists, crooked ministers. I don’t keep files on crooked politicians—I don’t have enough space, especially since I have to sleep in that same room.”
― Andrew Vachss, Strega

“I turned up Adams Street, heading for the Brooklyn Bridge. The first streaks of filthy daylight were already in the sky. The Family Court was on my right, the Supreme Court on my left. It works good that way—when the social workers are done with the kids, the prisons can take them.”
― Andrew Vachss, Strega

“Julio loves my dog. Her name is Pansy and she’s a Neapolitan mastiff—about 140 pounds of vicious muscle and dumb as a brick. If her entire brain was high-quality cocaine, it wouldn’t retail for enough cash to buy a decent meal. But she knows how to do her work, which is more than you can say for a lot of fools who went to Harvard.”
― Andrew Vachss, Strega