Chapter 8. American Society
The scorched spine of the summer’s last heat wave snapped over the Motel Americana as the sun set, but theparking lot was still hot enough to fry a liver. Somehow it had fallen to Scalisi to show the Kid Morelli the ropes. In room 36, he told him:
Harry Johnson. Harry Wang. Just Wang. The little soldier. Willie. Captain Winkie. One eyed monster.
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