Click here for an audio intro to The Purple Hand (playing time: 1:53)
Here is Chapter One from The Purple Hand:
Brunetti stopped beside the table.
Haley’s left hand gripped the revolver.
He didn’t turn his head, but his peripheral vision locked on Brunetti.
“Huh, your fuckin’ future ain’t important to you, Haley?”
Brunetti spun about and sauntered across the deep-green
Brunetti gave Pio a head nod before sitting with the thicknecks.
Moments later, a hand softly touched Haley’s shoulder, jolting him.
He caught himself when he saw Lissa’s face. “Uh, my mind was elsewhere, hon, sorry.”
He spun to the counter and poured the red wine, nearly spilling it.
She pressed her body against his back, her breath warm on his neck.
He quickly forgot about the cabernet.
“I love you more, sweet Neallie.”
Well, only one way to find out.
Lissa breezed in shortly before three. “Hi lover. I’m filling in. Jan’s sick.”
Haley didn’t budge. The idea of sitting with the big meathead from the Windy City unnerved him.
“Are you going to see what he wants?” Lissa asked, apprehensively.
Shit. He hated her being in the damn place, and now she was their waitress.
Slouching onto the curved bench seat opposite Brunetti, he smelled the familiar cologne.
Brunetti ordered a Campari and soda.
Lissa turned to Haley with a smile. “Just water,” he said.
When she whirled away, Brunetti didn’t mince words.
“Here ’tis. My cuz seen your pa driving a plumbing van out in Brentwood—”
Lissa arrived, placed Brunetti’s drink on a Palms-logo’d coaster.
Can’t be. Pop’s Irish. How the hell’s he know Pop’s first name!
Brunetti drank and rattled off a tale that Haley, with trepidation, didn’t want to believe.
The Palace Chop House. That name rang a bell. A cold steel coil sprang up Haley’s stiffening spine.
head, spat out the tobacco piece, then licked the cigar’s length.
He waved to Lissa for another drink.
Scowling, Brunetti leaned closer. “Sancia split the family, that’s a fact, an’ he
Play? Pop staying healthy? Shit.
Be cool, don’t create a problem—not where Lissa works.
“What’s so funny, Beak?” Haley got a satisfying get-even feeling calling him that.
“You’re no part of my future, only a small part of this fucking day.”
But he saw nothing but shadows, shapes—and more questions.
So he could fight. But can he be trusted?
“Especially in ‘Hollyweird’ . . . and sarge, please keep my name out of this partner thing.”