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213 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1963
Frank,What an awesome setup for a story. The rest of the novel is like a series of Oceans 11-like mini-capers as some experienced craftsman bring their unique talents to knocking over some of the Outfit's most lucrative operations.
The Outfit thinks it has a grievance on me. It doesn’t. But it keeps sending its punks around to make trouble. I told their headman, I’d give them money trouble if they didn’t quit, and they didn’t quit. You told me one time about a lay you worked for that gambling place outside of Boston, and you’d do me a favor if you knocked it off in the next couple of weeks. I’m writing some of the other boys too so you can be sure they’ll be too busy to go looking for you special. I don’t want a cut and I can’t come in on the job because I’ll be busy making trouble myself. You can always get in touch with me care of Joe Sheer out in Omaha. Maybe we’ll work together again some day.
big and shaggy, with flat square shoulders...His hands…looked like they were molded of brown clay by a sculptor who thought big and liked veins. His hair was brown and dry and dead, blowing around his head like a poor toupee about to fly loose. His face was a chipped chunk of concrete, with eyes of flawed onyx. His mouth was a quick stroke, bloodless.Basically, he’s the kind of guy that scares cancer and can make a dead man piss himself.