Elmore Leonard

摘要

The sign on the door said "Elmore Leonard, Auditions". A bullet had splintered the pane above it. Writerley paused, then rang the bell. He was a thick-bodied guy, in a snappy checkered blazer and a broad-brim hat. He smelled of cheap cologne. This wasn't his part of town. But he had business to do. He was on a row of dirty brick storefronts on Woodward six miles from downtown Detroit, across from a poolhall and a whorehouse. He happened to know that this wasn't Leonard's part of town either: he lived in a big red colonial with a pool up in Bloomfield Hills, had done for years. For some reason he liked to work down here, keeping company with small-time crooks and bank robbers and broads.