The Spenser Novels 13 - 18: Potshot, Widow's Walk, Back Story, Bad Business, Cold Service, School Days (Spenser, Books 28-33)
Robert B. Parker
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Spenser, one of the all-time great detectives, stars in these six brilliant mystery novels by Robert B. Parker.
Staff edit: To address the discrepancy between the title and series numbering, these are the 13th through 18th Spenser novels published by Penguin, though the 28th through 33rd books in the series. Blame Penguin for the crazy numbering.
eighteen,” I said to him, “you sent her to college so she’d get an education and become a lady and be something besides the daughter of a thug.” Sonny’s gaze was steady. The skin under his chin had sagged into a wattle, and his eyelids were so droopy that his eyes were slitted. “But she fell in with the wrong crowd and turned into a hippie and dropped out. She got involved with drugs and sex and revolution. She had a fling with a black man and had a baby. She gave the baby away to some other
she was in Boston, because I liked it there. But if she moved to Indianapolis, then that would be home. I could make a living. There was crime everywhere. chapter 16 SUSAN AND I had but recently engaged in some highly inventive home-from-the-hills-is-the-hunter activity, and were now lying together on our backs on top of the covers while the sweat dried on our naked bodies. Pearl the Wonder Dog was curled up at the foot of the bed in a state of mild irritation that she
“Drinking beer on the front porch,” I said. “I really should be in my undershirt.” “The wife-beater kind,” Susan said, “like a tank top.” “The wife-beater kind?” Hawk said. “Undershirt bigotry?” “Shocking, isn’t it?” Susan said. “There’s a guy I keep seeing around,” I said to Hawk. “Small guy, skinny, long black hair, pale skin, little round wire-rimmed glasses.” “Bad guy?” “Maybe,” I said. “You think he tailing you?” “Maybe.” “Don’t know him,” Hawk said. “Is that who you went back in
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Husak said. “I got shit to do. I got no time to be flapping my gums with you.” Hawk stood and walked past Husak and opened the window behind him. “What are you doing?” Husak said. “It’s fucking freezing out.” “It is,” Hawk said. “Isn’t it.” He took hold of Husak’s hair and yanked him out of his chair and spun him around. He shifted his grip to the back of Husak’s shirt and the crotch of Husak’s pants and picked him up and stuck him headfirst halfway out
actually cold. Most of the young businesswomen were coatless under their umbrellas. I watched as the Bentley, gleaming wetly, pulled away from the curb and turned right onto Boylston. The driver would probably turn right again at Arlington, and then go up St. James Ave to the Pike and on to the western suburbs, with his wipers on an interval setting. I watched for a bit longer as two young women in bright summer dresses, pressed together under a big golf umbrella, crossed Boylston Street toward