Sudetenland Tales by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Sudetenland Tales

Page 366

developments, and the scent of street food mingled with the exhaust of endless traffic. Hiensch and Buschell moved through this landscape like ghosts, slipping between bodegas and jazz clubs, past murals that tell the borough’s history in bursts of color.

The case led them into the heart of the South Bronx, where the neon glow of a dive bar called “The Hollow” flickered against rain slick pavement. Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and whispered deals. Big John knew the bartender, an old friend who poured him a drink without asking.

The mystery deepened in the shadow of old Yankee Stadium, where a missing informant was last seen. Big John followed the trail through abandoned warehouses, past the echoes of forgotten crimes. The Bronx was alive with secrets, and Big John was determined to uncover them, one clue at a time, including where the fuck was Steve.

The latter was no great mystery. Big John found music lover Steve at his most likely place; the South Bronx franchise of an illegal bootleg CD empire where he sat in a closed booth, headphones on, listening to a small, seemingly impromptu performance of “The Replacements,” doing a 1990 extended version of “Alex Chilton.” Big John rapped at the cubicle.