Deader the Better, The
A Leo Waterman Mystery
Chapter One
Nowadays, he was just a pimp with a limp. A wiry specimen with a head too big for his body and a string of two dozen call girls he ran out of a limousine service in south Seattle. The girls called him Baby G, but I remembered a time when he was plain old Tyrone Gill, a playground legend who could take you off the dribble and stick it in the hole with the best of them. The Rocket Man, we'd called him ... after that old Elton John song. That was back before he made what he now liked to call "a series of unfortunate self-medication choices." Back before a rival procurer tried to amputate his foot in a Belltown alley. Back before a lot of things. For both of us.
"Gonna call it Ho-Fest Two Thousand."
He nudged me hard in the ribs. "Can you see it, man? The tents. ... read full excerpt from The Deader the Better: A Leo Waterman Mystery ebook
