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Alan Furst

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The Paris Drop - Alan Furst
1982 UK hardcover 1st edition, 1st impression, Quartet, London
A fine book in near fine unclipped dustwrapper
No names, inscriptions or stamps etc
Tightly bound and square, clean contents and cloth
The jacket has no loss or tears
A former drug dealer, Roger Levin, had his retirement disturbed with a lucrative offer to deliver a large sum of money and a ring to Paris, nothing is ever simple of course, winning women, assassins and agents all become obstacles
A lovely copy of the author highly collectable first book and offered well below market value
£SOLD - SORRY, CURRENTLY OUT OF STOCK (approx $SOLD) - free delivery worldwide !

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If you like this author then you may also like the following

Mickey Spillane     Raymond Chandler     Michael Connelly     Rex Stout    

Synopsis
I lived in a studio apartment above the kitchen, my life smelling like pork fried rice. Skylight. A fireplace that worked when I could scrounge something to burn in it. A big brute of a color television. Tickets to the Giants and the Knicks. A lady named Sandy with white-blond hair cut very short. She'd been the public relations person for the old Chicago Fire of the World Football Association, but she didn't go over to the NFL in the free agent draft. At the time, she collected unemployment and went to the beach. I thought I had it all. I thought I was just terrific. But I was wrong. Things were going much too well and whatever pulls the strings took a look at mine, decided they were hanging much too sweetly, and gave them a good jerk. 1 was drinking down in the West Village with a few of the boys, it got late and I got drunk and I'd been outside for a snort or two and I felt really smart and some joker down the bar starts claiming that pigs can climb trees. Well I wasn't going to stand still for that so I called him on it, friends egging me on, and soon it turned out he owned a lot of snow tires in a warehouse in Jersey City and we made a wager: his tires, my restaurant. I started to telephone the city desk at the Daily News, a fair way to settle a bar bet, but suddenly he was leading me outside, friends following, and there at the curb was parked an old van with the top extended. He opened the door and inside was a smallish pig on a rope, and a potato chip can with a low palm tree in it.

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