A Long Walk Up the Waterslide: A Neal Carey Mystery by Don Winslow

By Don Winslow

Neal Carey has to maintain the mob, the FBI, and an enormous tv character from killing his most up-to-date client-- yet he is tempted to do the task himself.

Sometime scholar and ever-reluctant detective Neal Carey might otherwise be completing a lifeless doctoral thesis than staring down the nostril of a loaded gun-- yet his new task does not sound risky. All he is acquired to do is pull off the final word makeover: flip Polly Paget-- a gum-chewing, foul-mouthed, big-haried broad-- right into a excellent woman in time to testify in a rape case opposed to Jack Landis, head of the kin Cable community and America's so much loved kin guy. yet Polly isn't really cooperating, and everyone-- together with a former FBI agent, and an obsessive-compulsive hitman, the Mafia, a porn prince, and a slew of tabloid reporters-- is on her path turning Neal's "simple" project right into a lethal video game of duck-duck-goose.

In a hellish and hilarious escapade that takes him from the deserts of Nevada to the brilliant lighting of Las Vegas, and eventually to a hair-raising climax in a shoddily outfitted amusment park, Neal attempts to flee the mob's tremendous weapons whereas taking a slippery stroll up the world's largest water slide.

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Wait,” Scarpelli said quickly. ” “Please,” Ms. Haber echoed. Withers sat down. He pulled his old Dunhill cigarette case from his jacket pocket. Ms. Haber quickly produced a lighter and an ashtray. “I’ll pay her half a million dollars,” Scarpelli said. Withers held out the case. Scarpelli shook his head and Ms. Haber leaned forward to light his cigarette. “I will require a ten percent finder’s fee,” Withers said. ” Scarpelli asked. As if I would tell you, Withers thought. As if I knew. “And I will need some up-front cash for her,” Withers continued, ignoring the question.

He paused to listen, then said, “Tink doesn’t believe you, Walter. ” “I can’t clap, Sammy. Chick has hold of my arm,” Withers said. “And I don’t hear any snapping of bones or screams of agony, Chick,” Sammy chided. Withers said, “It’s in the briefcase by my feet. ” Sammy sighed. ” “Unhand me, sir,” Withers said. Chick let go of his arm. Withers took a hit of the Jameson’s, then reached down and picked up the briefcase. He turned on the stool so his back was to the bookie and his goon and dialed the combination.

BOMBSHELL DROPS BOMBSHELL. HAPPY JACK CAUGHT IN LOVE NEST. POLLY GETS HER CRACKER. IT’S ALL A LIE, SAYS CANDY LANDIS. CANDY STANDS BY MAN. Then the networks picked it up—a more somber tone but the same voyeuristic thrust: “Family Network chief Jack Landis accused of rape by alleged longtime mistress. Financial improprieties also alleged. ” Then Jack responded. Media rivals were trying to destroy him. Filth peddlers wanted to drag him down into the gutter with them. The usually buttoned-up Candy broke into sobs on the show—who could be so cruel to do something like this?

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