Hard Case Crime: Fake I.D.
Read Hard Case Crime: Fake I.D. Online
Authors: Jason Starr
“Starr has...a hard-edged style that is clean, cold and extremely chilling.”
—New York Times
“A throwback to the spare, snappy crime writing of Jim Thompson and James M. Cain.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“Jason Starr is the first writer of his generation to convincingly update the modern crime novel.”
—Bret Easton Ellis
“A fearless, pitiless writer.”
—Laura Lippman
“The New York sound, the energy, dialog that’s on the beat...Read it and you’ll go hunting for Jason Starr’s other books, I promise.”
—Elmore Leonard
“[A] crackling hot beach read.”
—New York Post
“Diabolically well-plotted.”
—The Literary Review
“Deliciously addictive.”
—Megan Abbott
“Cool, deadpan, a rollercoaster ride to hell.”
—The Guardian
“A hip, white-collar update on the James Cain, Jim Thompson-style novel with a seasoning all its own.”
—Joe R. Lansdale
“His stuff is tough and real and brilliant.”
—Andrew Klavan
“Starr’s got a hip style and an ear for crackling dialogue.”
—Jeffery Deaver
“Bang up to date, but reminiscent of David Goodis and Jim Thompson,
Fake I.D.
is a powerful novel of the American Dream turning into the American Nightmare that marks Starr out as a writer to follow.”
—Time Out
“An American masterpiece, a piece of great literature while it’s also a great crime novel.”
—Pulpetti
“Demonic, demented, and truly ferocious, and a flat-out joy to read...My book of the year.”
—Ken Bruen
We started to make out again, then she was lying on the couch on her back and I was on top of her. I pulled back and smiled, looking into her eyes, and then we went into the bedroom.
Afterwards, her head was wedged between my arm and my chest. We were naked and sweaty.
“It feels so nice to be with you,” she said.
A few minutes later she was fast asleep.
I noticed the jewelry box on the dresser. I got out of bed and dressed quietly. The light on the night table was still on. In the dim yellow light I saw Janene still facing the other way. A necklace and a bracelet were out next to the jewelry box, but she’d probably notice if they were missing. Instead, I reached inside the box and took out another necklace, some diamond earrings, and a gold bracelet. I put the jewelry in my pocket. Janene was still fast asleep. I tiptoed out of the room and left the apartment...
SOME OTHER HARD CASE CRIME BOOKS YOU WILL ENJOY:
SLIDE
by Ken Bruen and Jason Starr
DEAD STREET
by Mickey Spillane
DEADLY BELOVED
by Max Allan Collins
A DIET OF TREACLE
by Lawrence Block
MONEY SHOT
by Christa Faust
ZERO COOL
by John Lange
SHOOTING STAR/SPIDERWEB
by Robert Bloch
THE MURDERER VINE
by Shepard Rifkin
SOMEBODY OWES ME MONEY
by Donald E. Westlake
NO HOUSE LIMIT
by Steve Fisher
BABY MOLL
by John Farris
THE MAX
by Ken Bruen and Jason Starr
THE FIRST QUARRY
by Max Allan Collins
GUN WORK
by David J. Schow
FIFTY-TO-ONE
by Charles Ardai
KILLING CASTRO
by Lawrence Block
THE DEAD MAN’S BROTHER
by Roger Zelazny
THE CUTIE
by Donald E. Westlake
HOUSE DICK
by E. Howard Hunt
CASINO MOON
by Peter Blauner
by
Jason Starr
A HARD CASE CRIME BOOK
(HCC-056)
First Hard Case Crime edition: June 2009
Published by
Titan Books
A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd
144 Southwark Street
London
SE1 0UP
in collaboration with Winterfall LLC
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should know that it is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Copyright © 2000 by Jason Starr.
Never previously published in North America.
Cover painting copyright © 2009 by Gregg Kreutz
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Print edition ISBN 978-0-85768-323-6
E-book ISBN 978-0-85768-398-4
Cover design by Cooley Design Lab
Design direction by Max Phillips
Typeset by Swordsmith Productions
The name “Hard Case Crime” and the Hard Case Crime logo are trademarks of Winterfall LLC. Hard Case Crime books are selected and edited by Charles Ardai.
Printed in the United States of America
Visit us on the web at
www.HardCaseCrime.com
For Sandy
One
The gates to Milford Jai-Alai didn’t open for another hour, but instead of driving to some diner to kill time, I figured I’d just hang out in my car, reading the
Racing Form
.
I had just started going over the daily double at Aqueduct when I heard someone knocking on my passenger-side window. I looked up and saw a short fat guy smiling at me. At first, I had no idea who he was, then he started to look familiar. He had dark eyebrows and a big mole on his chin. His eyes were bloodshot, like he was drunk, but maybe it was because he was squinting against the cold wind. He was wearing one of those black wool winter hats that can make anyone look like a mental patient.
I turned on the ignition and opened the window a few inches. A blast of cold air came into the car.
“How’s it goin’?” the guy asked.
I still couldn’t place him. He looked forty-five, maybe fifty—at least ten years older than me.
“Not bad,” I said.
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Your face looks kind of familiar but—”
“Your name’s Danny, right?”
“Tommy,” I said.
“I knew it was something with a Y at the end of it. Remember me? You know, Pete. Pete from Yonkers.”
Now I remembered. A few years ago, I used to go to Yonkers Raceway a few nights a week to bet on the trotters. Pete was one of the regulars.
“I remember,” I said. “It just took me a couple seconds to place your face. How’s it going?”
“Could be better,” he said. “Just came back from Vegas last night. Hit a few things, nothing too big. Shoulda gone to the Cayman Islands. Hear about those racebooks they got down there?”
“With the eight-percent payback.”
“Un-fuckin’-believable. They give you eight percent back on all your action. If you’re a big player you can’t afford
not
to go there. I mean it might be a good idea to bring a gun with you into some of those joints, you know what I mean? But when you’re playing horses what do you want, a classy time or eight percent back on your action?”
“I’d take the eight percent,” I said.
“Damn fucking right you would,” Pete said, “any serious player would.” He turned away and spat. It was getting cold in the car with the window open.
“Ever been to Vegas?” Pete asked.
I shook my head.
“You’re kiddin’ me? You gotta go to Vegas, man. But casino gambling is a whole different ball game. When you’re gambling in a casino you
want
class. You go to Vegas, whatever you do, don’t go to Bally’s. You want Bally’s go down to Atlantic City and play at those Mickey Mouse tables they got there. You want a classy joint to spend a weekend, go to Caesar’s Palace. Now
that’s
a place they’ll treat you like a fucking king. And I’m talkin’ about service, not shows. You want shows you can turn on the fuckin’ TV. You go to A.C.?”
“Once in a while,” I said.
“I’m in A.C. almost every fucking weekend,” Pete said. “Where do you hang out?”
“All over,” I said.
“It’s tough to go to A.C. after you’ve been to Vegas,” Pete said. “That’s like going back to a Chevy after you’ve driven a Porsche.” He coughed. “Hey, you mind if I sit down in the car with you? I’m fuckin’ freezing my balls off out here.”
I was going to say no, make up some excuse, but I couldn’t think of a good one. Besides, I had some time to kill and I had nothing better to do. Leaning across the seat, I lifted the door handle and said, “You gotta pull.” Pete used all his might, but the door still wouldn’t open. My car was such a piece of shit it was a miracle it had gotten me all the way to Connecticut. It was an ‘89 Taurus, but there were so many dents in it you had to be Mike Tyson to get in and out of the fucker.
