![]() ![]() ![]() Just like Sherman he was headin' outta control. He'd done all this research, he just couldn't bring himself to leave any of out. The trash couldn't touch the Master of the Universe. Not a dent on the car, nothing in the papers, the Wall Street shoeshine buffing his hand-tooled brogues to a mirror Maria was right. "Fuck sakes, you hit one of them," Sherman cried. What the fuck they want? A jackin'? He stopped the roadster and got out. They were off the freeway and in the Bronx. "Shuhman," Maria whined in her South Carolinan drawl. In half an hour they'd be back from the airport. The Giscard deal was coming good, Maria was looking better in the front seat of his $50,000 Mercedes. The big New York novel, the zeitgeist of the 80s. ![]() The preacher Rev Richard Bacon was getting the blacks all fired up, the Jewish mayor was coming up for re-election and his approval ratings were through the floor, and the Bronx Court house was teeming with the usual scumbags. Deputy district attorney Lawrence Kramer was having a bad day. ![]()
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