City of Ice: A Novel
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A college kid in a Santa Claus suit is tortured, murdered, and left hanging from a meat hook on Christmas Eve--a gift intended for one particular cop.
Reminiscent of Smilla's Sense of Snow, this gripping debut thriller set in bone-chilling midwinter Montreal features one of the most compelling new heroes to emerge in crime fiction: Sergeant-Detective Émile Cinq-Mars. A brilliant logician, an eccentric who follows his own rules, this old-style cop is beleaguered by the virulent crime wave that has engulfed his city. While political uncertainty over separatism has damaged Montreal's social and economic life, organized crime has been quick to take advantage. The Russian Mafia, rival motorcycle gangs, and infiltrators from the CIA are engaged in violent turf wars, while the police force--teeming with corruption--struggles to keep the city safe.
Even Cinq-Mars, whose stunning arrests have made him a local hero, appears to have been compromised. How has he managed to penetrate Montreal's criminal elite? Who are his informants and how do they acquire their vast knowledge? And who is the young female American operative he seems so desperate to save from the clutches of the mob?
Against the backdrop of events in today's headlines, John Farrow constructs a vivid tableau peopled with home-grown and international criminals, each fighting for a piece of this frozen city, where dynamite and chain saws have become the weapons of choice. Taut and timely, City of Ice dazzles with its complex plot and grittily realized characters; it's a suspense read that's difficult to put down, impossible to forget.
what he called the brokenhearted, because that’s what they were whenever he busted them. He had to take advantage of his opportunities, which was why the hooker in his house was seventeen. If he hadn’t been on suspension maybe she’d’ve been twelve. “Can I turn on a light at least?” “Let me,” LaPierre told him. “I don’t want it bright.” The floor lamp emitted a low beam. Even so, the young woman returning with a beer in one hand shielded her eyes. As her hand came up, the sash on her robe
get an irresistible urge to scratch.” “Émile. Émile—” The voice was faint, obsequious, pathetic. “Spare me, Ray. I trusted you. You sold me out. You put work ahead of our friendship.” “That’s not it, Émile. There’s serious shit around. Desperate measures—” “Yeah?” He stared at him, not allowing the man’s eyes a moment’s reprieve. “How desperate do you want to get, Ray?” “Émile—” “Your CIA agent sanctioned a whack. He took out a Hell’s Angels’ banker to create opportunity for himself.
Angels. Sponsored her, so to speak. When Hagop was found out, when he was killed, Kaplonski was next on the list for being the guy who brought him in. I hate to say it, but Gitteridge may become a target. I might be trading live bait for dead.” Cinq-Mars started to rock in his seat with the rhythm of his words. He spoke with force. “They wiped out Kaplonski because he’d become a risk, a weak link. We had his garage, we connected his business to the Russian freighter—he was of no further use.
as he rose through the ranks that attribute had made him both despised among his peers and exceptionally valued by the brass. “Not likely,” Tremblay had already determined. Sometimes it was best not to humor his superior. “Sounds like an insider to me.” “Top priority!” Beaubien bellowed out. “Find out who!” Although he was the senior in the room, nobody jumped to do his bidding. “Let’s say bikers are doctoring our computer,” Tremblay summarized. “What do we do about it? First, nobody mentions
colleague wide-eyed as if he was going to pop a rib. Cinq-Mars nudged his elbow, and he shifted demeanor, as if disinterested. “In other words, André LaPierre has the flu, but instead of staying home with the day off and taking care of himself, he books on.” Déguire considered the scenario and nodded to indicate that that was how things had been. He offered no explanation. “Alain, if you’re a good cop, you will not speak about this conversation to André LaPierre. I don’t care if he is your