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John Connolly Sampler

John Connolly Sampler

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Published by Simon and Schuster
John Connolly is the author of Every Dead Thing, Dark Hollow, The Killing Kind, The White Road, Bad Men, Nocturnes, and The Black Angel. He is a regular contributor to The Irish Times and lives in Dublin, Ireland. For more information, see his website www.johnconnollybooks.com. Read excerpts from his books and the Charlie Parker series here!
John Connolly is the author of Every Dead Thing, Dark Hollow, The Killing Kind, The White Road, Bad Men, Nocturnes, and The Black Angel. He is a regular contributor to The Irish Times and lives in Dublin, Ireland. For more information, see his website www.johnconnollybooks.com. Read excerpts from his books and the Charlie Parker series here!

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Published by: Simon and Schuster on Dec 14, 2010
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

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09/29/2013

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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are usedfictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination,and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.Simon & Schuster Adult Publishing Division1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
 Every Dead Thing 
copyright © 2000 by John Connolly
 Dark Hollow
copyright © 2002 by John Connolly
The Killing Kind 
copyright © 2002 by John Connolly
The White Road 
copyright © 2003 by John Connolly
 Bad Men
copyright © 2004 by John Connolly
The Black Angel 
copyright © 2005 by John Connolly
The Unquiet 
copyright © 2007
 
 by John Connolly
The Reapers
copyright © 2008
 
 by John Connolly
The Lovers
copyright © 2009 by John Connolly
 The Whisperers
copyright © 2010 by John Connolly
 
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.This book contains excerpts from books previously or soon to be published individually by Simon &Schuster Adult Publishing Division.Visit our website:http://www.SimonandSchuster.com
 
 Every Dead Thing 
Chapter 1
 The waitress was in her fifties, dressed in a tight black miniskirt, white blouse, and black highheels. Parts of her spilled out of every item of clothing she wore, making her look like she hadswollen mysteriously sometime between dressing and arriving for work. She called me "darlin'"each time she filled my coffee cup. She didn't say anything else, which was fine by me.I had been sitting at the window for over ninety minutes now, watching the brownstone acrossthe street, and the waitress must have been wondering exactly how long I was planning to stayand if I was ever going to pay the check. Outside, the streets of Astoria buzzed with bargainhunters. I had even read the
 New York Times
from start to finish without nodding off in betweenas I passed the time waiting for Fat Ollie Watts to emerge from hiding. My patience was wearingthin.In moments of weakness, I sometimes considered ditching the
 New York Times
on weekdays andlimiting my purchase to the Sunday edition, when I could at least justify buying it on the groundsof bulk. The other option was to begin reading the
 Post,
although then I'd have to start clippingcoupons and walking to the store in my bedroom slippers.Maybe in reacting so badly to the
Times
that morning I was simply killing the messenger. It had been announced that Hansel McGee, a state Supreme Court judge and, according to some, one of the worst judges in New York, was retiring in December and might be nominated to the board of the city's Health and Hospitals Corporation.Even seeing McGee's name in print made me ill. In the 1980s, he had presided over the case of awoman who had been raped when she was nine years old by a fifty-four-year-old man namedJames Johnson, an attendant in Pelham Bay Park who had convictions for robbery, assault, andrape.McGee overturned a jury award to the woman of $3.5 million with the following words: "Aninnocent child was heinously raped for no reason at all; yet that is one of the risks of living in amodern society." At the time, his judgment had seemed callous and an absurd justification for overturning the ruling. Now, seeing his name before me again after what had happened to myfamily, his views seemed so much more abhorrent, a symptom of the collapse of goodness in theface of evil.Erasing McGee from my mind, I folded the newspaper neatly, tapped a number on my cell phone, and turned my eyes to an upper window of the slightly run-down apartment buildingopposite. The phone was picked up after three rings and a woman's voice whispered a cautioushello. It had the sound of cigarettes and booze to it, like a bar door scraping across a dusty floor."Tell your fat asshole boyfriend that I'm on my way to pick him up and he'd better not make mechase him," I told her. "I'm real tired and I don't plan on running around in this heat." Succinct,

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