Colson Whitehead

"Crooked stays crooked and bent hates straight. The rest is survival."
This was an enjoyable sequel to Harlem Shuffle which in truth should be read in order to enjoy the full picture of Ray Carney, the furniture salesman and part time fence, living in Harlem in the 60's and 70's.
"Churn. Carney’s word for the circulation of goods in his illicit sphere, the dance of TVs and diadems and toasters from one owner to the next, floating in and out of people’s lives on breezes and gusts of cash and criminal industry".
This book has three time frames from 71 to the bicentennial of 76. The three vignettes revolve around missions: 1st- Carney trying to get Jackson Five tickets for his daughter May; 2nd- his criminal buddy Pepper trying to find the missing actress, Lucretia Cole,( "She had an hourglass figure, not in its shape but in the melancholy reminder that time is running short and there are things on this Earth you’ll never experience"),who was playing the lead in a " blaxploitation" movie filmed in Harlem; and 3rd- investigating the arson of a building where Carney's tenant, a young boy, was injured. Throughout these adventures Carney remains the family man whose crooked side has its own code. "What else was an ongoing criminal enterprise complicated by periodic violence for, but to make your wife happy?" Pepper remains one of the best criminal enforcers ever depicted in literature: "There was no hiding Pepper’s personality, which was December when the days got shorter and shorter: cold and relentless. Inevitable. He didn’t like Christmas trees, or babies, or owing anybody anything. Any smile that broke out on his face was a mutiny swiftly put down. He was not there to present you with an oversized check from the sweepstakes company or a dinner invitation from Raquel Welch. Pepper was an emissary from the ugly side of things, to remind you how close it was."
In addition Harlem itself is a crooked character riddled with corruption, graft, arson, blackmail- you get the picture.
"It was a glorious June morning. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the ambulances were screaming, and the daylight falling on last night’s crime scenes made the blood twinkle like dew in a green heaven."
Just highlighting the following lines made me appreciate how great a writer Colson Whitehead is. Can't wait for the third part of this trilogy to land. Highly recommend pretty much all his works.

Lines:
A reliable subset of his clientele consisted of old men splurging on simple things they had long denied themselves.

Slick was an asset in the sales game. He was only twenty-one but had lived many lives, even if Carney suspected he had emerged full grown from a vat of Harlem Cool five minutes before he first laid eyes on him.

Business, orderly business, unfolded inside the walls of Carney’s Furniture, but out on the street it was Harlem rules: rowdy, unpredictable, more trifling than a loser uncle.

When they first met, Munson had been stout and solidly built, one of those cops you think twice about starting with. The detective had softened over the years as he availed himself of the myriad perks of his job, the steaks on the house and the free rounds. Lumpy, like an army bag full of soiled laundry that had sprouted legs. Now he’d shed some of that bulk and looked harrowed, slimmed down in a way that you’d mistake for an exercise regimen if you didn’t know it was from running from something that was gaining on him.

Webb’s natural tint was a fish-belly white that turned completely scarlet when he got angry, like a lizard on Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom.

They called him Corky because his older brother tried to drown him in the creek when he was five, but he “kept floating up.” His longevity in hazardous trades reaffirmed the nickname.

He couldn’t remember the name of the band, but A Bunch of Squirrels in a Burlap Sack Being Beaten by Hammers would not have been false advertising.

A finisher put a building out of its misery, he said. The owner’s at the end of his rope—taxes up to here, junkies taking over—so he sells the building to the finisher, who strips out the wiring, the plumbing, anything worth a buck, and then torches the joint for the jacked-up insurance policy.

Pepper was an emissary from the ugly side of things, to remind you how close it was.

The wind overnight had swept out the humidity and the clouds made the city seem like it was wrapped in a bum’s dingy overcoat.

A man should have a safe big enough to hold his secrets. Bigger, even, so you have room to grow.… (more)