By Jeffery Deaver
5 ft inches of slick repartee, near-purple hair, and poetic mind's eye, twenty-year-old Rune hasn't been in ny for extraordinarily lengthy. yet she's artful sufficient to have stumbled on a squatter's paradise in an empty TriBeCa loft, and a video shop task that feeds her ardour for outdated video clips. it is a ardour she stocks together with her favourite buyer, Mr. Kelly, a lonely previous guy who rents an analogous video persistently. The flick is a noir vintage according to a real-life unsolved financial institution heist and one million lacking funds. it really is referred to as long island Is My Beat.That's the tape Rune is deciding upon up from Mr. Kelly's shabby condominium while she unearths him shot to dying. The police suspect a theft long gone mistaken, yet Rune is bound the foremost to fixing the homicide is hidden someplace within the hazy, black-and-white frames of Mr. Kelly's loved motion picture. yet as Rune hits the suggest streets of latest York to discover solutions, she will get stuck up in a perilous event extra chilling than something Hollywood may perhaps dream up. As her tale attracts to its terrifying end, Rune's ultimate close-up may perhaps comprise the killer of a co-star.
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5 toes inches of slick repartee, near-purple hair, and poetic mind's eye, twenty-year-old Rune hasn't been in big apple for extraordinarily lengthy. yet she's artful sufficient to have discovered a squatter's paradise in an empty TriBeCa loft, and a video shop task that feeds her ardour for outdated videos. it is a ardour she stocks together with her favourite consumer, Mr.
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Additional resources for Manhattan Is My Beat (Rune Trilogy)
Oh, goddamn him! Tony! For making her pick up the tape and see this. God damn Frankie Greek, god damn Eddie for pretending to fix the fucking monitors when all they were really doing was figuring out how to get into a concert for free … Her eyes pricked with tears. Goddamn. But then Rune had a curious thought. That, no, no, if this had to happen, it was better that she was there, rather than them. At least she was Mr. Kelly’s friend. Eddie or Frankie would’ve walked in and said, “Wow, cool, a shooting,” and it was better for her to be the one to see this, out of respect for him.
Kelly lived here? Grease-spotted wallpaper sagged. The carpet was orange and made out of thick, stubby strands. The whole place smelled like sour meat. There was no art on the walls: some old-time movie posters in frames leaned against a shabby couch. A dozen boxes were scattered on the floor. It seemed he’d been living out of them. Even his clothes and dishes were stacked in cartons. He must have moved in recently, maybe around the time he’d joined the video club, a month before. She remembered the first time he’d come into Washington Square Video.
She supposed there wasn’t much of a market for that kind of look. The intercom crackled. There was a pause. ” “Mr. ” the staticky voice asked. “Here’s Johnnyyyyyyy,” she said, trying to impersonate Jack Nicholson in The Shining. She and Mr. Kelly had talked about horror films. He seemed to know a lot about movies and they’d joked about how scary the Kubrick film was even though it was so brightly lit. But apparently he didn’t remember. ” She was disappointed that he didn’t get it. “It’s Rune. You know—from Washington Square Video.