By George Pelecanos
Mystery sensation Pelecanos pens the lead story and edits this groundbreaking selection of tales detailing the seedy underside of the nation's capital. this isn't an anthology of ill-conceived and inauthentic political thrillers. as a substitute, in D.C. Noir, pimps, whores, gangsters, and con-men run rampant in zones of this urban that almost all by no means pay attention about.
"From the Chevy Chase housewife who commits a stunning act to the watchful bum holding Georgetown road owners, the tome deals a startling glimpse into the cityscape's darkest corners...Fans of the [noir] style will locate stable writing, palpable stress and shock endings."
"Every tale during this all-original noir anthology set within the nation's capital is well-written."
"Imbued with numerous collective years of neighborhood experience."
—Washington urban Paper
"[Pelecanos] has assembled a compelling mixture of ex-convicts, retired law enforcement officials, former crime beat newshounds and some writing execs keen to show their storytelling eye, no matter if jaundiced or delicate, inward towards the neighborhood...Local haunts and hangouts are lovingly drawn."
"Pick up a replica of the e-book D.C. Noir...and arrange to be transported to another D.C. that the travelers see...Pure Washingtonian."
"Those searching for redemption in humanity may do good to seem in different places, yet this set of gritty city stories, written with all of the needful touches of shadow and fog of the noir masters, is an extraordinary lower for crime aficionados and may pique the curiosity of someone who calls the darkish urban home."
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Extra resources for DC Noir (Akashic Noir)
He doesn't come around this neighborhood all that much, though it ain't but fifteen minutes away. He wouldn't have drove my father over to the VA Hospital, either, or waited around in that place all day. He would have said he was too busy, that he couldn't get out "the firm" that day. Still, my father brags on James to all his friends. He got no cause to brag on me. I changed into some warm shit, and put my smokes and matches into my coat. I left my cell in my bedroom, as it needed to be charged.
I waited. The boy parted the curtains and put his face up on the glass, his hands cupped around his eyes so he could see. " I yelled, standing by the porch. " He cold-eyed me and stepped back. I knew he recognized me. But I guess he had seen me go toward the police unmarked, and he had made me for a snitch. In his young mind, it was probably the worst thing a man could be. Behind the window, all went dark. As it did, headlights swept the alley and a car came in with the light. The car was black, and it was a Caprice.
I had been wearing it the day we talked to Flora in the alley. " Robert nodded sadly. "I can't lie. " "C'mon, man. " We went up to the counter. I used the damp twenty Barnes had handed me to pay for the two bottles of wine and a fresh pack of cigarettes. While the squarehead behind the plexiglass was bagging my shit and making my change, I picked up a scratched-out lottery ticket and pencil off the scarred counter, turned the ticket over, and wrote around the blank edges. What I wrote was: Marquise Roberts killed Rico Jennings.