This post is a part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Ed Lin will be awarding a limited edition print copy of the book to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Set in New York City in 1976, Snakes Can't Run finds NYPD detective Robert Chow still haunted by the horrors of his past and relegated to tedious undercover work. When the bodies of two undocumented Chinese men are found under the Brooklyn Bridge underpass, Chow is drawn into the case. Most of the officers in his precinct are concerned with a terrorist group targeting the police, but Chow's investigation puts him on the trail of a ring of ruthless human smugglers who call themselves the snakeheads. As Chow gets closer to solving the murder, dangerous truths about his own family's past begin to emerge. Steeped in retro urban attitude, and ripe with commentary on minorities' roles in American society, this gritty procedural will appeal to fans of George Pelecanos and S.J. Rozan.
Read an excerpt:
By the time I got to Henry Street under the Manhattan Bridge overpass, one black-and-white and one unmarked police car were already there.
Peepshow was standing at the edge of the crime scene, twirling his baton, the one thing he could do without fucking up. "Keep moving, keep moving!" he yelled to the murmuring Chinese people. He touched his cap when he saw me. I nodded back.
Two bodies, Asian men in their twenties, lay on their sides. Both had their hands tied behind them with wire. They didn't look fresh, and one man's tattoo behind his ears stood out in sharp contrast to the white bloodless flesh of his neck.
I walked up to English, but before I could say anything he put a hand on my shoulder.
"These fucking bag monkeys won't let me past the tape," he said, pointing out the forensic team collecting samples around the bodies.
"They're just trying to do their job right."
"I'll do their job for them right now. These guys died from gunshot wounds and the bodies were dumped here. You can analyze for blood type all you want, but you can't find the criminals looking down a microscope."
"I hear you."
"You know what solves crimes?"
"What?"
"Shoe leather. Walking around and asking questions."
"All right."
"Chow," he said, coming in closer. "You see the guy in the crowd in the red knit shirt smoking a cigarette?"
"Yeah," I said, knowing better than to look immediately.
"I don't like his face. Too smug."
"I'll follow him."
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ReplyDeleteThe title drew me in, but the summary made me curious.
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