The Blonde
Page 1
Table of Contents
Praise
Also by Duane Swierczynski
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
9:13 p.m. - Liberties Bar, Philadelphia International Airport
9:59 p.m. - Adler and Christian Streets, South Philly
10:35 p.m. - Sheraton Hotel, Rittenhouse Square East, Room 702
10:46 p.m. - 1-95 South, Near the Girard Point Bridge
10:49 p.m.
11:13 p.m. - Philadelphia International Airport
11:24 p.m. - 1-95 North, Near the Girard Point Bridge
11:25 p.m. - Long-Term Parking, Section D, Aisle 22
11:54 p.m. - Sheraton Hotel, Rittenhouse Square East, Room 702
12:10 a.m. - Edison Avenue, Somerton
12:15 a.m. - Sheraton, Room 702
12:18 a.m. - Edison Avenue
12:25 a.m. - Sheraton, Room 702
12:28 a.m. - Basement, Edison Avenue
12:32 a.m. - Sheraton, Room 702
12:42 a.m. - Edison Avenue
12:46 a.m. - Sheraton, Room 702
12:51 a.m. - Behind the Edison Avenue House
12:52 a.m. - Sheraton, Room 702
12:55 a.m. - Behind the Edison Avenue House
1:45 a.m. - Sheraton, Room 702
1:50 a.m. - Little Pete’s Restaurant, Seventeenth Street
1:55 a.m. - Sheraton, Room 702
1:56 a.m. - Little Pete’s
1:57 a.m. - Security Office, Sheraton Hotel
1:58 a.m.
2:03 a.m. - Back to the Sheraton
2:05 a.m. - Sheraton, Room 702
2:08 a.m. - Sheraton, Seventh Floor
2:10 a.m. - Sheraton, Room 702
2:25 a.m.
2:30 a.m. - CI-6 Headquarters (Undisclosed Location)
2:45 a.m. - Sheraton Elevators, Right Bank, North Side
2:48 and 30 seconds - Sheraton, Room 702
. . . 35 seconds
. . . 36 seconds
. . . 37 seconds
. . . 38 seconds
. . . 39 seconds
. . . 40 seconds
. . . 41 seconds
2:50 a.m. - Sheraton Lobby
2:52 a.m. - Sheraton, Room 702
2:53 a.m.
2:55 a.m. - Sheraton Elevators, Right Bank, South Side
2:56 a.m. - Sheraton Hotel, Fifth Floor
Zero a.m.
3:05 a.m. - Sheraton Lobby Eighteenth Street
3:15 a.m. - Little Pete’s
3:30 a.m. - On the Way to Spring Garden Street
3:31 a.m. - Little Pete’s
3:32 a.m. - The Hot Spot, Near Third and Spring Garden
3:50 a.m. - Sheraton, Room 501
4:05 a.m. - Sybian Lounge, the Hot Spot
4:10 a.m. - Security Office, the Sheraton
4:22 a.m. - Philadelphia International Airport
Zero a.m. - Pennsylvania Hospital
4:30 a.m. - Sybian Lounge
Zero a.m. - The Dublin Inside Her Head
4:37 a.m. - South Eighteenth Street
Zero a.m. - The Dublin Inside Her Head (continued)
4:38 a.m. - Sybian Lounge
Zero a.m. - The Dublin Inside Her Head (continued)
4:39 a.m. - Vine Street Expressway/II-676 West
Zero a.m. - The Dublin Inside Her Head (last call)
4:42 a.m. - Third and Spring Garden
4:45 a.m. - The Hot Spot
4:52 a.m. - Pennsylvania Hospital
4:55 a.m. - Spring Garden Station, Market-Frankford Elevated
Zero a.m. - Pennsylvania Hospital
5:05 a.m. - The Hot Spot
5:07 a.m. - Spring Garden Station
5:08 a.m. - Under the El
5:15 a.m. - Pennsylvania Hospital, Room 803
5:16 a.m.
5:16 a.m. - Frankford El, Approaching Allegheny Station
5:20 a.m.
5:21 a.m.
5:22 a.m.
5:23 a.m.
5.25 a.m.
5:30 a.m.
6:01—6:46 a.m. - Fifteenth District Headquarters, Northeast Philadelphia
6:48 a.m.
6:49 a.m.
6:55 a.m.
7:32 a.m. - Pennsylvania Hospital, Room 803
7:34 a.m.
7:34 a.m. and 10 seconds
7:34 a.m. and 30 seconds
7:34 a.m. and 55 seconds
7:36 a.m.
7:37 a.m.
7:38 a.m.
7:39 a.m.
7:40 a.m. and 10 seconds
7:41 a.m. and 45 seconds
7:50 a.m.
THE APPOINTMENT
7:58 a.m. - Hotel Sofitel, Seventeenth and Sansom
ONE DAY LATER
5:17 p.m. - Fernwood Court, Gurnee, Illinois
TWO DAYS LATER
9:57 p.m. - Adler and Christian Streets, South Philly
Acknowledgements
Teaser chapter
Gentlemen (and ladies) prefer The Blonde ...
“Two parts adrenaline rush, one part medical thriller, this twisted story starts with a bang and rarely slows down. Full of offbeat characters, excruciatingly reckless twists, and sardonic humor, this fun ride shows great promise for a rising author.”
—Library Journal (starred review)
“This is delicious postmodern hard-boiled punk rock storytelling. Swierczynski’s hit man character is as funny and fresh as he is fierce and quick. The Blonde is masterfully paced, wonderfully rendered, and devastatingly entertaining.”
—Greg Rucka, Eisner Award-winning author of Queen & Country and 2006 Barry Award-nominated thriller Private Wars
“[An] entertaining thriller ... rapid-fire pacing, hard-boiled dialogue, and excellent local color.” —Publishers Weekly
“Duane Swierczynski’s new novel, The Blonde, is as lean as a starving
model, mean as a snake, and fast as a jet. It’s also one hell of a fine read.
This guy has got to be the hottest new thing in crime fiction, and The
Blonde is one of the best crime reads I’ve had in some time.”
—Joe R. Lansdale, Edgar Award-winning author of Sunset and Sawdust
“Page-turning tension... a story so bizarre that it just might be true.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“The Blonde had me at hello. Well, technically she had me at ‘I poisoned your drink.’ It’s a hilarious nail-biter, a tour-de-force by a young writer who has already carved out this unique take on the crime genre so it’s futile to compare it to anything else, or try to come up with those weird combinations, such as if X married Y while on Drug Z, their baby might come out looking like The Blonde. It is sui generis. It is perfect.”
—Laura Lippman, bestselling author of What the Dead Know
“Another fast, funny, and action-packed outing from a writer who, fortunately for us, doesn’t seem to know how to slow down.”
—Booklist
“I’ve rarely seen a review where the word adore was used. I adored this novel. The opening few pages are sheer brilliant—black as sin, [with] demented laugh-out-loud tension. Dialogue to sell your soul for and an array of characters as weird and wondrous as anything Hiassen ever conceived. This is new noir: neon lit with marvelous beautiful writing. And okay, I fess up ... I fell in love with The Blonde. Jeez, I’d let her poison me any day.”
—Ken Bruen, Shamus Award-winning author of Calibre and American Skin
“Quite a ride. The prose is hard-boiled enough to crack walnuts and the action more precipitous than a bobsled run.”
—The Philadelphia Inquirer
“Insanely inventive. This inspired high-concept thriller rockets from climax to climax with an intensity that will leave you breathless. It’s like the movi
e Speed—only with brains.”
—Charles Ardai, editor of the Hard Case Crime series
“The Blonde ... rockets forward with inventive ferocity. [The] double helix of a plot uncoils in a rapid-fire series of time-coded moments that generate a relentless tension ... brilliantly paced insanity.”
—The Houston Chronicle
“I got whiplash from turning these pages so fast. The cleverest, wittiest, and most relentless novel I’ve read in a long, long time. A dazzling piece of work.”
—Ed Gorman, award-winning author of the Sam McCain mysteries
“Mr. Swierczynski knows how to streamline a story, keep the pace break-neck, sucking all the oxygen out of the room while he tells you this very gritty and nervy story about a pick-up gone wrong. Delicious dialogue, funny realizations, and one hell of a ride.”
—Frank Bascombe, Ain’t It Cool News
“The Blonde is a shot of pure noir adrenaline for the twenty-first century. It left me battered, bruised, bleeding, dazed, confused, and downright goofy. And all I did was read it! Think how the poor characters must feel. Duane Swierczynski writes the way Sam Peckinpah used to direct: with a mad passion to awaken the slumbering masses and energize them with his enthusiasm for the material at hand. The Blonde rocks!”
—Terrill Lee Lankford, author of Earthquake Weather and Blonde Lightning
“The Blonde will be the most madcap, mordantly funny, and completely mesmerizing novel you will read this year.” —Mystery News
“A frenzied, surreal, gore-splattered exploration into the dark side of humanity’s psyche—from our self-absorbed dreams to our twisted obsessions and addictions. The Blonde is wild, fast, and breathtakingly bodacious—an absolute bombshell of a read.”
—Paul Goat Allen, Barnes & Noble
“Swierczynski’s lean writing is gritty and darkly comedic. The Blonde is riveting from the first page to the last.”—Mystery Scene
“Swierczynski’s follow-up to The Wheelman—my favorite book of 2005—is a high-concept thriller that’s a master class in succinct, imaginative, intelligent, suspenseful writing. The characters are fresh, the action is original, the pace is relentless, and the central premise is a doozy.”
—Allan Guthrie, Edgar-nominated author of Hard Man
“Pure pulp-fiction popcorn, in all the best ways—simply one of the most ripsnorting reads of the year. Hook up with this blonde as soon as you can.”
—Kevin Burton Smith,
January magazine’s Best Crime Fiction of 2006 list
A BookSense Pick for December 2006
A Mystery Bookstore Top 10 of 2006 Employee Pick
A Mystery Bookstore November Crime Club Pick
A Mysterious Bookshop November Employee Pick
A January magazine Best Crime Fiction of 2006 Pick
Also by Duane Swierczynski
The Wheelman
Secret Dead Men
Damn Near Dead (editor)
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE BLONDE. Copyright © 2006 by Duane Swierczynski. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Design by Kathryn Parise
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Swierczynski, Duane.
The blonde / Duane Swierezynski. p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-0-312-37459-4 ISBN-10: 0-312-37459-3
1. Blondes—Fiction. 2. Poisoning—Fiction. 3. Assassins—Fiction.
4. Murder for hire—Fiction. 5. Philadelphia (Pa.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3619.W53 B55 2006 813’.6—dc22
2006046214
First St. Martin’s Minotaur Paperback Edition: November 2007
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To Sunshine, the other redhead in my life
It was a blonde. A blonde to make a
bishop kick a hole in a stained-glass
window.
—RAYMOND CHANDLER
9:13 p.m.
Liberties Bar, Philadelphia International Airport
I poisoned your drink.” “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Um, I don’t think I did.”
The blonde lifted her cosmopolitan. “Cheers.”
But Jack didn’t return the gesture. He kept a hand on his pint glass, which held the last two inches of the boilermaker he’d been nursing for the past fifteen minutes.
“Did you say you poisoned me?”
“Are you from Philadelphia?”
“What did you poison me with?”
“Can’t you be gracious and answer a girl’s question?”
Jack looked around the airport bar, which was done up like a Colonial-era public house, only with neon Coors Light signs. Instead of two more airline gates in the terminal, they’d put in a square bar, surrounded by small tables jammed up against one another. Sit at the bar and you were treated to the view of the backs of the neon signs—all black metal and tubing and dust—a dented metal ice bin, red plastic speed pourers stuck in the tops of Herradura, Absolut Citron, Dewar’s, and a plastic cocktail napkin dispenser with the logo JACK & COKE: AMERICA’S COCKTAIL.
For commuters with a long layover, this was the only place to be. What, were you going to shop for plastic Liberty Bells and Rocky T-shirts all evening? The bar was packed.
But amazingly, no one else seemed to have heard her. Not the guy in the shark-colored suit standing next to the girl. Not the bartender, with a black vest and white sleeves rolled up to the elbow.
“You’re kidding.”
“About you being from Philadelphia?”
“About you poisoning me.”
“That again? For the record, yes, I poisoned you. I squeezed a tasteless, odorless liquid into your beer while you were busy staring at a brunette with a shapely ass and low-hanging breasts. The one on her cell, running her fingers through her hair.”
Jack considered this. “Okay. So where’s the dropper?”
“Dropper?”
“The one you used to squeeze poison into my drink. You had to use something.”
“Oh, I’ll show you the dropper. But first you have to answer my question. Are you from Philadelphia?”
“What does it matter? You’ve just poisoned me, and I’m about to die in Philadelphia, so I guess, from this point on, I’ll always be in Philadelphia.”
“Not unless they ship your body home.”
“I meant my ghost. My ghost will always be in Philadelphia.”
“You believe in ghosts?”
Jack smiled despite himself. This was delightfully weird. He’d been delaying the inevitable—a cab ride through a strange city to a bland corporate hotel room to catch what little sleep he could before his dreaded morning appointment.
“Let’s see the dropper.”
The pretty blonde smiled in return. “Not until you answer my question.”
What was the harm? Granted, this was perhaps the strangest pickup line he’d ever heard—if that’s what this was. For all he knew, it was the opening bit of an elaborate con game that targeted weary business travelers in airport bars. But that was fine. Jack knew if this conversation led to him taking out his wallet or revealing his Social Security number, he’d stop it right there. No harm, no foul.