Twin Dicks Private Eyes: Hey Man, Nice Rack

Brenda Moretti died in her own kitchen. Her eleven-year-old daughter is gone, and the District Attorney won't sign the warrant. A dark comedy mystery for readers of Tim Dorsey, Carl Hiaasen and Joe Lansdale - hardboiled, filthy, and funnier than it has any right to be. Detective Sullivan can't touch it. Hearsay from a half-blind neighbor isn't probable cause, and the D.A. doesn't want a lawsuit in an election year. So Sully does the only thing left: he lifts the tape and lets two men with no badges and nothing to lose walk into his crime scene. Carter Flint finds grey marsh mud behind a tipped-over garbage can, tastes the crystals mixed into it, and knows exactly which poisoned stretch of Barnum Island they came from. That's the easy part. The hard part is what's waiting at the other end of the trail - a meth cook who sold his own niece up the chain, and the man who bought her. He wears a bow tie. He organizes the charity 5K. He gives kids lollipops at the soda fountain counter of the oldest pharmacy on Main Street. By the time it's over there's a colonial burning in Harbor Isle, a tire iron nobody's going to find, and two private investigators who have stopped pretending there's a line they won't cross. Two Private Dicks. One Nice Rack. A Real Bad Shot. Case No. 3 of the Twin Dicks Private Eyes. A fast, brutal case set in the salt-and-diesel sprawl of Island Park, Long Island - noir crime fiction with the gallows humor turned all the way up and the good taste surgically removed.