{"product_id":"a-dangerous-man-isbn-9780345481337","title":"A Dangerous Man","description":"\u003cb\u003eNewly indebted to the Russian mafia, Henry “Hank” Thompson travels back to New York, where long-buried secrets threaten to come to light—the fast-paced sequel to \u003ci\u003eSix Bad Things \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eCaught Stealing\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“Huston writes dialogue so combustible it could fuel a bus and characters crazy enough to take it on the road.”—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003eReluctant hitman Henry Thompson has fallen on hard times. His grip on life is disintegrating, his pistol hand shaking, his body pinned to his living room couch by painkillers—and his boss, Russian mobster David Dolokhov, isn’t happy about any of it. So Henry is surprised when he’s handed a new assignment: keep tabs on a minor league baseball star named Miguel Arenas.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHenry has no pity for the slugger and the wicked gambling problem that got him in trouble, but he can’t help liking the guy. After all, Henry used to be just like him: a natural-born ball player with a bright future. But hell, that was long ago. Before Henry did some guy a favor and ended up running for his life. Before his girlfriend and buddies got gunned down by someone on his tail. Before he agreed to buy his parents’ safety with a life of violence.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd when Miguel gets drafted by the Mets and is sent to the Brooklyn Cyclones, Henry must head back to New York, back to the place where all his problems began—and where Henry might find a real reason to keep living, a reason that may just cost him his life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eHenry “Hank” Thompson’s thrilling adventures continue:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCAUGHT STEALING • SIX BAD THINGS • A DANGEROUS MAN“Huston writes dialogue so combustible it could fuel a bus and characters crazy enough to take it on the road.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times Book Review\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e“Among the new voices in twenty-first-century crime fiction, Charlie Huston . . . is where it’s at.”\u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Huston reminds me of all my favorite writers–Pete Dexter, Robert Stone, Crumley. If there is such a thing as compassionate noir, Charlie has found it. He’s a true marvel.”\u003cb\u003e—Ken Bruen, author of \u003ci\u003eThe Guards\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Charlie Huston is the real deal.”\u003cb\u003e—Peter Straub\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eCharlie Huston\u003c\/b\u003e is the author of the bestsellers \u003ci\u003eThe Mystic Arts of Erasing All Signs of Death \u003c\/i\u003eand \u003ci\u003eThe Shotgun Rule\u003c\/i\u003e, as well as the Henry Thompson trilogy, the Joe Pitt casebooks, and several titles for Marvel Comics. He lives with his family in Los Angeles.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I find the guy in the Laughing Jackalope just like they said I would.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I take a seat at the bar, order a seltzer and ask for a roll of   quarters. I let the seltzer sit and start slowly dribbling the quarters   into the video poker game built into the surface of the bar. I stare at   the cards as they blip across the screen. I play a quarter a hand,   flying in the face of the most basic rule of video poker that says you   always bet the max. Quarter bets pay a bare fraction of the max bets.   Hit a big hand on a quarter bet and you’re gonna feel like an asshole.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I hit a straight flush with a quarter once, paid 1,200 to 1. Sure   enough, I felt like an asshole. Well that’s happened before and it’ll   happen again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The machine blips me a pair of jacks along with a nine, a ten, and a   king. I pass on the even money the pair promises, throw one of the   jacks and go for the inside straight. Deuce. I drop another quarter in   the slot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    There’s only a handful of people in here. The guy; the bartender; a   couple sitting on stools, feeding nickels to one of the slots; an   old-timer nodding a bit at the bar; and the evening cocktail waitress   straightening the tables and getting things set for the crowd that will   come in when the shifts change across the street.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I keep my face in the game, sneaking peeks at the guy, keeping my hand   next to my face, hoping no one notices the palm-size patch of white   scar tissue around my right eye. I’d just as soon no one remembers that   scar if the cops come around later. But really, I only have to worry   about that if a body turns up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I’m on my third roll of quarters and little has changed. The couple’s   shifted from the slot machine to the jukebox, so now “Crazy on You”   complements the blips of the poker games and the recorded come-on of   the slots. The guy still hasn’t moved.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He’s been sitting at the far end of the bar, sliding C-notes into his   own video poker game and going through them about as fast as I’ve been   going through my quarters. Every fifteen minutes or so he throws back   another shot of chilled Jäger and bangs the glass on the bar,   indicating the bartender should get his ass over there and give him a   refill.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Back in the day, when I had to do that job, when my biggest worry was   getting the drunks out the door before the sun came up, I’d never have   put up with that shit. Someone banged a glass on my bar or snapped   their fingers or something like that and they’d be sitting dry a long   fucking time before I remembered they were there. This bartender is   different, he’s working the day shift at the Laughing Jakalope for   Christ sake, glasses banged on the bar are the last fucking thing he’s   gonna raise a sweat over.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The bartender pulls the frosted green bottle of Jägermeister out of the   cooler, fills the guy’s shot glass and puts the bottle back. The guy   doesn’t even look at him, just keeps peering into the game screen, his   credits rolling up and down as he scores on two pair here, three of a   kind there; searching for a full house or a straight flush or even a   royal.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    There’s a blast of sunshine as someone opens the tinted front door and   two drunk couples come stumbling in. They’re college kids, the boys in   shorts and tank tops, their faces sunburnt except where their eyes have   been raccooned white by their sunglasses, the girls in shorts and tube   tops, skin tanned cancer brown, harsh bikini lines climbing up out of   their stretchy tops and creeping around their necks. All of them are   double-fisting plastic cups full of something bright blue and frozen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The bartender looks down from the TV hanging above the bar. He’s been   watching one of those behind-the-scenes shows; this one cracking the   lid open on a reality show that teamed up stars from older shows that   have already been behind-the-scened. He sees the cups the kids are   carrying and shakes his head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Uh-uh, not in here, can’t bring outside booze in here.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    One of the guys, his tank says don’t drunk with me, i’m fuck!, looks at   the drinks in his hands and back at the bartender, trying to connect   the dots.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —What the fuck, man? We been carrying drinksh in and out of cashinosh   all fucking day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The other guy, his shirt says i’m with asshole and has an arrow   pointing up at his own face, hoots.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Been drinking all fuckin’ day! All fuckin’ day! Gonna drink all   fuckin’ night! All fuckin’ night!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The bartender nods.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Sure, just not those drinks in here.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Everyone’s watching now; the guy, the old-timer, the slot couple, the   cocktail waitress. Asshole takes a couple quick sloppy steps toward the   bar.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —The fuck, dude? Gonna drink!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Drunk Fuck grabs the tail of his shirt and yanks him back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Dude, no, sheck it out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He drapes an arm over his buddy’s shoulder, spilling a little blue   slush down Asshole’s arm, and whispers in his ear. Asshole listens for   a second and then busts up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Yeah, yeah, dude, tha’sh it!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He straightens up and bows to the bartender.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Yesh, shir, we will be pleashed to do ash you wish. Fuckin’ A.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He gestures toward the door and Drunk Fuck leads the way. Asshole   pushes the door open and they turn into dark silhouettes against the   fierce late afternoon sun. Asshole points out the door.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —After yoush.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Drunk Fuck bows.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Shank yoush.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He takes one step outside and chugs the contents of his cups and throws   both empties into the parking lot. He steps back in and holds the door   as Asshole steps out and repeats the performance. The girls are   laughing and snorting, hanging on to each other to keep from falling   down and struggling to keep their tits from popping out of their tops.   Asshole steps back in. He wags a finger at them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Ladiesh! No fucking drinksh from outshide! Pleash!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He points at the door. One of the girls straightens up, tries to   curtsy, almost falls, and weaves out to the sidewalk. She upends one of   her cups and gets half of it in her mouth while the other half slops   down her chin and neck and into her cleavage. She explodes laughing and   the slush that went in her mouth sprays onto the ground. She stuffs a   hand inside her top and tries to dig out the blue daiquiri. Asshole   wiggles his fingers.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Allow me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He tries to jam his fingers between her tits and she slaps his hand,   still coughing and choking. Drunk Fuck tries to get into the act and   they jostle the girl around, plucking at her top. The other girl steps   outside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Hey! Hey, assholes! Check this out!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    She tilts her head back, holds both cups over her face, opens her mouth   wide, and starts to pour. Frozen blueberry daiquiri fills her mouth and   overflows down her face. The guys watch, one with his arms wrapped   around the waist of the choking girl and one with his hand halfway down   her top. The two-cup girl lets about half of each daiquiri pour over   her face, then just dumps the remainder over her chest and belly.   Asshole and Drunk Fuck abandon Choking Girl and pounce on Two Cups.   Asshole kneels in front of her and sucks blue ice from her pierced   navel while Drunk Fuck picks up a straw from the pavement, sticks it   between her tits and starts to suck on it. Two Cups giggles and   screams.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    By now the door has swung shut and we are all watching the action as a   shadow play taking place beyond the tinted glass front of the   Jackalope. Still, we hear it pretty clearly when Choking Girl coughs,   gags and begins to vomit blue onto the sidewalk and her friends’   sandaled feet. By then the bartender has come out from behind the bar,   crossed to the door and locked it. He walks to the kitchen door and   sticks his head inside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Jesus!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    A Mexican kid in greasy dishwasher whites comes out. The bartender   points at the scene outside.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Clean that shit up.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Jesus stares at the carnage taking place beyond the window and nods.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Sí.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    The bartender walks back to the bar, picks up the remote and turns up   the volume on his show; the slot couple punches in another song and   “Saturday in the Park” starts playing; the old-timer shakes his head   and mutters something about Goddamn fucking college kids; the cocktail   waitress goes back to cleaning out the votives that she’ll be setting   on the tables soon; the guy knocks back another Jäger and bangs it on   the bar. I take a last look out the window just in time to see Two Cups   start puking, too. The boys watch, laughing and high-fiving each other.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Then the guy gets up and goes to the bathroom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Jesus is standing by the glass with a mop bucket, waiting for the kids   to leave so he can do his shitty job. I follow the guy into the   bathroom so I can do mine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He’s pissing loudly into one of the urinals. I edge past him into a   stall, close the door and pull the handful of tiny coke-filled glassine   bags out of my pocket. The urinal flushes and I pinch one of the bags   open and drop it along with several others onto the floor, most of them   scattering out under the stall partition.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Shit! Oh, shit!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I slam my shoulder loudly against the stall as I get down on my knees   and start scrabbling under the partition for the dropped bags. I peek   out and see that the guy has moved to the sink and is washing his hands   and ignoring me. I scoop up the bags and flick the open one with my   middle finger. It skitters across the tiles, leaving a thin trail of   white powder, and comes to rest at his feet.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Fuck! Oh, fuck!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I stand up, jerk on the locked stall door a couple times, bang it open   and stumble out. The guy is just straightening, the open, now almost   empty, bag pinched between his thumb and forefinger. I shuffle toward   him, the rest of the bags peeking from my fist.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Um, that’s mine.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He stands there, a couple inches shorter than me, balding, flashy   tasteless clothes, pinkie ring, a bulky upper body that’s settling into   his midsection but still powerful around the shoulders. The same build   my body is starting to develop. He looks from the bag to me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Yours?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Yeah. So, you know.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I put out my hand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He points at the bag.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —This?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He points at me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Is yours?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I shrug.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Yeah.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He shakes his head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Well.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He reaches for his back pocket.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Looks like this might be your lucky day.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He pulls out a wallet, shows it to me, and lets it fall open, revealing   the LVMPD badge within.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Except it ain’t.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —You actually staying here?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I squint up at the sign for the Happi Inn Motel as we cross the parking   lot it shares with the Jackalope.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Yeah.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Place sucks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I don’t say anything as it kind of goes without saying that a place   called the Happi Inn Motel sucks. Besides, I’m busy. I’m wondering if   this is it. Did they finally get sick of me fucking up? Have they set   me up?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Is this the guy who’s going to kill me?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I get out my room key and the guy puts a hand on my shoulder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Wait up, hoss. You got anyone in there? A partner, maybe?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I look at the pavement and shake my head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Naw, just me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Uh-huh. Well, you go ahead and unlock that door, but don’t open it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I turn the key, the lock clicks open and I step back from the door. He   puts one hand on the knob, tucks the other one up under the tail of his   silvery jacket and rests it on the butt of his piece. He looks at me   again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Last chance. Anyone in there, now’s the time to tell me. I see someone   I’m gonna go bang bang.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I shake my head again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He nods.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —OK.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He pushes the door open, makes sure it lies flat against the wall so he   knows there’s no one behind it, then nods me in. I step in and he   follows me, closing and locking the door behind us. He goes to fasten   the chain, but it’s broken, so he puts his hand on his gun again and   looks the room over, peeking under the bed, looking in the closet, and   sticking his head in the bathroom. Then he claps his hands and points   at me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —OK, hoss, let’s see it. On the table there.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I stick my hand in my pocket, dig out the twenty or so gram bags of   coke and dump them on the table. He presses his lips together and   shakes his head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Not good, hoss, not good. That’s a very felony-looking pile there.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He fingers the bags.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —You got enough weight here to cause you some problems right out the   chute. But all packaged up like that? Shit, that looks like intent to   distribute to me. What do you think?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I look at the floor and shrug.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Uh-huh. You got any more? Better tell me now. I gotta take this room   apart I’m gonna be irritated.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I nod.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Yeah.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —You got more?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Yeah.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —How much?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —A half.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Half ounce?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Kilo.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He blows Jäger-scented air out his nostrils, pulls a Kool from his   breast pocket and lights it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —That is some serious weight. You got it here?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Yeah.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —In this room?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Yeah.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Uh-huh.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He blows a cloud of smoke.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Where?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I tilt my head at the bathroom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Toilet tank.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He smiles.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —I tell ya what. You got a half kilo in the shitter there, and this   might turn out to be your lucky day after all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He puts a finger under my chin and tilts my head up so he can look into   my eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —You get me, hoss?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    Great. Better and better. A dirty cop. And I have such a good track   record with dirty cops.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Yeah. I get you.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He drops his finger from my chin.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —But you fuck with me, hoss?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He slaps me lightly on the cheek.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —And I’m gonna school you. Get me?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —Yeah. I get you.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    He gestures for me to lead the way to the bathroom.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —So why the sad face? Let’s get happy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I slouch past him to the open door of the bathroom. He stands close   behind me, blowing smoke over my shoulder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    —You go ahead and take the lid off, but don’t you go reaching in there   or anything. Just take that lid off and step to the side.Author of Caught Stealing and Six Bad Things [quote]--The Washington Post","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302722621669,"sku":"NP9780345481337","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345481337.jpg?v=1767720400","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/a-dangerous-man-isbn-9780345481337","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}