She was gorgeous but not too bright.
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I met her at a dance club during law school and she thought I was going to make a mint as a lawyer. At 11 sharp Shirley buzzed me. He was tall and thin with pale pasty skin and wispy brown hair but dressed better than I could ever imagine. His suit must have been a several thousand dollar piece, his nails were done, and he had a silk tie with a diamond stick pin; perhaps out of style but at his apparent pay grade he could dress the way he wanted. He was holding a large manila envelope.
He held out his hand. John Lapointe: big in social circles, old money, the LaPointe foundation, I had seen him in the society pages. People who recommended you said you were an understanding guy. He took out of the Manila envelope two glossy pictures that appeared identical. A face and shoulder shot of a beautiful woman wearing a gaudy diamond necklace. He pointed at the picture and told me. I told him no, it seemed to me that they were copies of the same print. He took out of his pocket the same necklace as in the pictures and placed it on my desk.
As I looked down on it, it was a magnificent piece of jewelry and I could understand the million-plus price tag. Mira, however, likes hard cash more than glitter. I have a jeweler friend who can make identical copies so that only a good jeweler with a good glass can tell the difference.
You will do all the dealings. I knew who he wanted. My biggest client Harry Sienna was a jewel thief who dealt with a big-time jewelry fence Nathan Ferlisi. In the past, I had walked the thin line between honesty and crime but never before had I actually crossed the line. Here I was treading on thin ice and putting myself at big risk. Greed overcame me; it was too big to pass up.
Lapointe reluctantly agreed. I was told that you are a man who can be trusted to not try to help himself. I know who you are, Lapointe foundation and all. He shook his head. I looked at the necklace and carefully placed it in my office safe. I called Ferlisi and arranged to meet him at Le Chenoir on 81st and 1st. He liked to eat and sip wine and although it was crowded at Le Chenoir, no one listened to your conversations.
Over wine and a nice Filet Mignon I explained the whole setup to Ferlisi and showed him the photo of Mira Schuyler, who he recognized immediately. Ferlisi had tons of contacts for good stolen jewelry but even he was taken aback at the cost of the piece. Give me a few days. Ferlisis was very good at what he did and within a week he had set something up. I brought him the necklace and he took it from there.
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I had never seen so much cash in one place and like the necklace itself I was nervous holding it. I have a carry permit but I only rarely pack. However with the satchel I holstered up and put in my Magnum.
It made me feel somewhat secure. I called Lapointe and he told me to come to his foundation office on 51st and Park. I met him there, handed him the satchel and he spent a good 10 minutes counting it. He then handed me a smaller satchel with , in cash. The entire deal had gone smooth as silk. It has been a pleasure doing business with you. It was two weeks later when I read the news in the Post. John Lapointe of the Lapointe foundation was killed by two would-be carjackers at a gas station off of the Long Island Expressway. He was in his Porsche driving supposedly to his house in the Hamptons when two carjackers forced him off the road.
Lapointe apparently struggled and he was shot and killed. The killers, driving a late model dark blue Toyota fled without the Porsche. The next day my suspicions were verified. Mira Schuyler was sitting by my desk.
She was a stunner. Usually these very wealthy women are too thin for me—bony looking almost, but not Mira. She had curves in all the right places to go with honey blonde hair and an enticing look. She smiled at me and introduced herself and there was a twinkle in her eyes that melted me. I could see why Thornton Schuyler was hooked.
He has a very bad temper and he knows about me. Nick Green was a smooth professional assassin.
Seventy years ago he would have been in Murder Incorporated but now he was an independent. He had been a gang leader and big drug dealer in Harlem. He mad a ton of cash as he moved up the criminal ladder. Now he contracted out to gang bangers that he knew and used to work with to do the actual killing. He was smooth and efficient and the professional mob loved him.
She was something else and I wanted to help her. She was the first woman that made my heart pump in quite a while. First, though, I wanted to warn Ferlisi. I called him but it was too late. I reached his bereaved widow, who told me that two thieves had killed him in a robbery at his jewelry store. The assailants had been seen—two young black men driving a dark late model Toyota.
I was curious as to why Schuyler would have Ferlisi killed.
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Then it hit me. Run it through Lapointe, his wife was happy and he collected the cash from insurance. Something must have gone wrong and now Schuyler was cleaning all up the loose ends. Unfortunately if I was correct, I was another loose end. I looked up all I could on Schuyler on the internet, after all, investigations were my business, and there were many rumors about an out-of-control lifestyle and losing a fortune up his nose. The jewelry deal looked like easy cash for him. After a while, I was certain that I was correct and I was in trouble. I was happy to have the Magnum next to me.
I had to decide quickly, so I pulled out the I was shocked by how good and complex his writing was. I had no idea that the movie The Arrival was based on one of his short stories.
chenoire a short story Manual
A story about the people of Earth deciding to throw away the Moon. Green means up your shirt; blue means down his pants. Purple means in your mouth. Black means all the way. The first four sentences of this short story sent chills down my spine.
A superbly told story of the extremes of girlhood and adolescence; the pressures girls face as they get older. Love at first sight, if you believe love is predestined rather than a choice. Fated love, to me, no matter how hard my heart becomes, still seems ridiculously romantic. This story was written in before the publication of The Vegetarian.
Han Kang can do no wrong in my eyes. I love Sarah Gailey. A hot and bothered story about a house falling in love with the girl who lives in the attic. I loved everything about this story. Also, the writing style reminded me of Samantha Hunt. This story was almost too gritty for me. His short story collection has a blurb from Joyce Carol Oates.
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