Death is the Last Lover (Peter Chambers)
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"Are you a ladykiller?" the vision asked. She had skin like cream, hair like jet, and a body that could turn any male into an instant sex-maniac. With a wicked little smile, she moved closer to Peter Chambers. "I devour ladykillers," she murmured.
A hot bout of serious slaughter and insincere sex in which Manhattan's sleuth-about-town Peter Chambers investigates the early death of a dancehall hostess who would do anything for love...and much much more for money.
go.” She peeled off an impressive batch of tickets and I held them aloft like a torch as I maneuvered through the dimness seeking Sophia. I found her. Off in a corner, she was seated at a table vis-à-vis to a grizzled little man whose wizened face surrounded a pair of glittering eyes that could have hypnotized a snake. I hated to break up the party, but after all, I had a date. I touched her shoulder and she looked up. He looked up too, and the beady little eyes were so suffused with elderly
Chambers,” Sophia said. “Mr. Chambers — Mr. Steve Pedi.” “How do you do?” I said. “Knafke?” he said, blinking uncomprehendingly. “Outside?” “I laid him out,” I said. He squinted at me. A hand went up to his hair, black hair, perfectly in place, tight against the sides, with a widow’s peak in front. “You did what? You laid out who?” he said. “Knafke,” I said, “if that’s the name of the gorilla who’s supposed to play Horatius to your bridge.” I do not like to admit it, but I was still
this — ” “I’m sure he would, the old son of a bitch.” “So whom do I believe?” “I don’t care whom the hell you believe, pal. The old bum talked first, didn’t he? So all right. So I think about it. So I decide I’ll do a little rat-job too. He’s putting you on me for that murder, so okay, I’m putting you right back on him. Like that we’re even up. You can go from there, fella.” “Where do Mousie and Kiddy go?” “What? What’s that?” Our eyes met across the table like a collision. “Mousie Lawrence
up for you.” “You coming?” “I’m leaving here with you. I’ll put you in a cab.” “Can’t you come with me?” “I wish I could.” “Where you going?” “Maybe to get killed,” I said. TWENTY-THREE I got her a cab and got me another. I sat and sifted it around in my head as I was driven toward 244 West 65th Street. I had it, I had most of it: a lot depended on Kenny Masters, born Malone, alias Kiddy. I sifted it around, and I liked what I had. The street was quiet and desolate, very dark near
how’d they act together?” “Like brother and sister. Displayed the usual affections. Nothing more, nothing less.” Parker finally put fire to his cigar. Blue smoke gathered about us. He said, “And what was that week’s assignment about?” “Bodyguard.” “Anything special?” “Nope. He asked me to stick with him for that week, and to carry a gun.” “Anything happen?” “Nothing, except a big round of parties, a lot of drinking and a lot of night clubs.” “Just you and him?” “Me, him and a client, a