So you're trying to break into the sweet neo-noir racket and rake in the major plata, huh sparky? But no matter how many times you read The Killer Inside Me, your stories come out filled with puppies that don't get shot, girls who wear underwear and fresh-baked brownies with a hashish content of nada.
That's what happens when you hang out at CinnaBun.
To get the grit, you got to go where you can see neon sparkle off the day-old glitter on a stripper's thigh, smell the erotically desperate john on his way to a swift beating, hear the coke dealers, the lost sailors and the young girl coughing up blood, trying to convince the bar owner she's old enough to dance. You want that kind of atmosphere, sport, you have to go where the action is, and the action appears to be in Brooklyn.
According to the NY Times, one club in particular is the latest sure-fire muse of the budding hardboiled. So stick that Glock in your sock, Pally, and come with me to Sweet Cherry.
"Sweet Cherry is a great champion, brazen and near untouchable. The authorities have documented an in-house narcotics trade, pronounced the club a brothel and charged the manager with rape. (He has pleaded not guilty.) Once, patrons repeatedly stabbed an off-duty police officer, who lost partial use of his right hand. Once, a manager of bouncers for Sweet Cherry was shot dead in his apartment.
But despite two civil actions by the Police Department, voluminous criminal charges and neighborhood protests, the club has been closed for a total of just six days this year. Eleven days after its latest reopening, two dancers were charged with breaking a beer bottle over somebody's head."
Hmm, that last bit sounds like something someone stole from a novel. Yeah. In fact, I think it was MY novel. And I think someone owes me some money. So, I'm going down to that skeeze nest and demand those skanks make with the royalties or somebody's going to get smacked around.
But first, I've got puppies to pet, and they better not lick me, not if they know what's good for 'em.
2 comments:
A bottle over the head? Why, those thieving bastards. You go and wade on in there and give 'em what for. I'll be right behind you. By a few thousand miles.
See, that post right there is why people should buy your book. Perhaps four. Perhaps several.
I need to shut up now.
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