Chapter 53-2
People said Rudy Beck, aka Pop, was a mean sonuvabitch from the time he could speak a full sentence, and getting old hadn’t done anything to mellow him. If anything, he was worse. He had a kind of fatalism that comes with the approaching certainty of death, after decades of getting away with s**t you shouldn’t have. The people he associated with were no better, either hard-edged bastards or sycophants. On balance, Luther found the former to be more predictable, thus often less dangerous. “Who all you think’s gonna be at Pop’s?” Luther asked. “I don’t know,” Les said. “The usual Saturday night crew, I guess. Whoever was too f****d up to go home.” “He got people dealing out of the house?” “No! Pop might be dumb, but he ain’t stupid.” Luther thought that might be a distinction without a
- Writer
