Raves For the Work of RICHARD ALEAS!
“Excellent...Aleas has done a fine job of capturing both the style and the spirit of the classic detective novel.”
—Chicago Sun-Times
“Barrels forth at the speed of [a] Manhattan taxi...and contains some whiplash-inducing plot twists...Tightly written from start to finish, this crime novel is as satisfyingly edgy as the pulp classics that inspired it.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Little Girl Lost is a wonderful novel, brilliantly plotted, beautifully written, and completely satisfying. I loved the book.”
—Richard S. Prather
“A pleasant visit to an unpleasant society where honor and loyalty count for more than life.”
—James Crumley
“Dark energy and period perfection.”
—Chicago Tribune
“The most striking first chapter in recent memory...an absolutely terrific read.”
—Craig Clarke
“Aleas builds his tale slowly and really throws it into high gear in the emotional final chapters.”
—George Pelecanos
“[Aleas] succeeds in melding a classic hardboiled missing persons case and something a bit deeper with Little Girl Lost’s subtle but intriguing literary undertow.”
—This Week
“Another standout [about a] man on a memorable downward spiral.”
—The Boston Globe
“Aleas’ book is incredibly good.”
—Sarah Weinman
“Gives Chandler a run for his money.”
—Paramour
“A dark little gem about deadly compassion.”
—Futures
“A great character with a very original voice. Little Girl Lost feels both old fashioned and bang up to date at the same time...diverting and exhilarating.”
—Donna Moore
“Reads like O. Henry run amok in McBain’s 87th Precinct.”
—Ink19
“Little Girl Lost is classic pulp.”
—Kevin Burton Smith, January Magazine
“An outstanding noir tale.”
—Monsters and Critics
“[A] hot-blooded, classic crime novel.”
—Femme Fatales
“A wonderful chase from start to finish.”
—Charlie Stella
“[An] exciting first novel...I read Little Girl Lost twice and the second time I found it even more interesting.”
—Swank
“Fans of taut, popcorn-tasty storytelling can buy any Hard Case Crime title with confidence, but [Little Girl Lost is one] of the most noteworthy.”
—Booklist
“Excellent...terrific.”
—The Globe and Mail
“Able to cut to the heart of a character or a situation with equal ease, he has a voice as unforgettable as his stories.”
—Billie Sue Mosiman
“Little Girl Lost belongs in your to-be-read stack, and should be grabbed post haste...If Aleas decides to continue with the Blake character, he could give us one of the best private eyes of this generation.”
—Noir Originals
I finished unbuttoning my shirt and laid it on the sofa, rolled my pants up into a ball next to it. Dropped my wristwatch into one of my shoes. She looked away as I pulled down my underwear, busied herself with a row of plastic bottles by the CD player as I hoisted myself onto the table and lay down.
It was too dim to see whether she blushed when she turned around. “Face down,” she said.
I rolled over. She crouched by the bottles, uncapped one, and carried it back to the table.
She was wearing a peach-colored bra and a red bikini bottom. Once she was behind me, I heard her taking the bra off.
Harp strings played on the CD. So did flutes.
Her hands were cool and damp with lotion. They traveled down my back and up, down and up, down and up. Eventually they stayed down, and eventually she said I could turn over onto my back and I did.
“Close your eyes,” she said. She’d been working her way up from the soles of my feet and by then had spent about as much time as she could get away with kneading my shins. She worked up to my thighs and then hesitated. After a second, she squirted some more lotion into her palm and kept going.
I opened my eyes. Her legs weren’t shaking now. They were locked rigidly in place. Her shoulders were thrown back and her elbows were pinned by her sides. She was still wearing the bikini bottom and a thin gold necklace with a tiny cross on it, but nothing else. Tiny goosebumps stood out all over her breasts.
One of her hands was resting on my arm. The other wasn’t, either on my arm or resting. She was looking across the room at a poster for the 1988 season of the Metropolitan Opera, staring so hard at it that you’d have figured her for a real opera lover.
And that was how her new life began...
SONGS of INNOCENCE
by Richard Aleas
