By Lawrence Block
Small-time stoolie, Jake " The Spinner" Jablon, made loads of new enemies while he switched careers, from informer to blackmailer. And the extra "clients", he figured, the extra money -- and extra humans wanting to see him lifeless. So nobody is stunned while the pigeon is located floating within the East River together with his cranium bashed in. and what is worse, not anyone cares -- other than Matthew Scudder. The ex-cop-turned-private-eye is not any conscientious avenging angel. yet he is keen to hazard his personal existence and limb to confront Spinner's such a lot murderously competitive marks. A job's a role in any case -- and Scudder's been paid to discover a killer -- via the victim...in advance.
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Additional resources for Time to Murder and Create
He told me he needed more money. We finally put things on a business basis. " He managed a small smile. "I was hoping I could find a way to deduct it, you know. " "No. Why are you asking all this? " "This whole conversation," he said suddenly. "There's something wrong with it. " "I don't know. That man was a weasel, he was calculating, slimy. " He stood up. "I won't go on paying indefinitely," he said. "I can't live with a sword hanging over me. " "I don't want my daughter's life ruined. " I picked up the silver dollar and put it in my pocket.
It went sour one time; she turned state's evidence and picked up another suspension, while her partner pulled one-to-five in Folsom. The only time she served, as far as Spinner had been able to make out, was fifteen days inOceanside for drunk and disorderly. Then she came back and married Kermit Ethridge, and if she hadn't gotten her picture in the paper at just the wrong time, she'd have been home free. The Huysendahl material was hard to take. The documentary evidence was nothing special: the names of some prepubescent boys and the dates on which Ted Huysendahl had allegedly had sexual relations with them, a stat of hospital records indicating that Huysendahl had sprung for treatment of internal injuries and lacerations for one Jeffrey Kramer, age eleven.
Then I don't get it. " Either she was honestly puzzled or she knew Spinner was dead and she was very good indeed. That was the whole problem. I was playing poker with three strangers and I couldn't even get them all around the same table. The waiter came around with the drinks. I sipped a little bourbon, drank a half inch of coffee, poured the rest of the bourbon into the cup. It's a great way to get drunk without getting tired. "Okay," she said. I looked at her. "You'd better lay it out for me, Mr.