Blood on the Kitchen Floor
The apartment in Brooklyn smelled like boiled cabbage and old cigarettes, the way all of Frank O'Sullivan's apartments had smelled since Catherine could remember. She stood in the doorway of his kitchen and looked at the table where the three of them—Mike, Tony, and Sal—sat with their coffee cups and their empty faces, the way men sit when they have nothing left to say. Frank was dead. The...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior