Download Crooked Little Vein: A Novel by Warren Ellis PDF
By Warren Ellis
Burned-out deepest dick Michael McGill must jump-start his occupation. What he will get as an alternative is a livestock prod to the crotch. The president's heroin-addicted leader of employees desires McGill to discover the Constitution—the actual one the Founding Fathers secretly devised throughout gravest quandary. And with God, civility, and Mom's selfmade apple pie already lifeless or demise, that point is now. yet McGill has a expertise for stumbling into each possible depravity—and this situation is using him even deeper into America's darkest, dankest underbelly, towards obscenities that boggle even his brain.
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Additional resources for Crooked Little Vein: A Novel
I gave him ten bucks. ” He took the ten bucks, made to put it in the box, and then pocketed it when he thought I wasn’t looking. It was a walk-up—the only way to go was upstairs. Tinny noise clattered down the stairs. I headed up. It was dark and big. Most of the walls on that floor had been knocked out, turning it into a makeshift auditorium. The seating was several rows of interlocking plastic chairs. Must’ve been fifty people in there, halflit by the glow of the movie being projected onto one long wall, plastered smooth and painted white.
A yellow cab swerved over from the far lane and had a good crack at harvesting the door ninja off his left fender. 31 WARREN ELLIS I didn’t have the heart to tell him I didn’t actually want a cab. So I let the cabbie take me back to the Village, getting into the tangle of it, headed for the backstreet address in the handheld. The cabbie was white and extremely proud of it. He was of the opinion that he was the Last White Cabbie in New York City, in fact, because all of the others were fucken monkeys who got off the fucken boat and the fucken city said welcome to fucken America oh and have a fucken taxi driver medallion while you’re fucken at it you fucken monkey you.
Plus, I pistol-whipped a tailor once to gain the trust of a disturbed white boy who believed he contained the soul of Huey P. Newton. So it didn’t feel good to lock up the gun. I knew there WARREN ELLIS was no chance I was going to use it, but it took one option out of the toolbox. I also had the suspicion, based on nothing at all, that it might freak Trix out a bit. She met me outside the hotel around noon on Wednesday. The downtown ninjas were doing their level best to chat her up. Trix was showing them her arm tattoos.