The Blue Door

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  • Edition: Reprint
  • Format: Paperback
  • Copyright: 2009-01-01
  • Publisher: Mariner Books
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Welterweight boxer Eddie Cero is out of the ring with an injury, but he still can't bear to see an unfair fight. In a Philadelphia alley he steps in on two punks beating up an older manand the victim, a private detective, buys Eddie a round and offers him a part-time gig. After a few days on the job Eddie stumbles on a cold case involving the frontman for the Excels, one of Philadelphia's best soul acts. A music lover and a big fan of the group, Eddie starts investigating the case out of curiosity, but the missing singer's talented sister draws him deep into a violent, twisted story of betrayal and intrigue, power and passionall set to the beat of Philadelphia soul.

Author Biography

DAVID FULMER has been a finalist for the Los Angeles Times Mystery/Thriller Book Prize and the winner of the Shamus Award for Best First PI Novel. The author of the acclaimed Storyville mysteries, he lives in Atlanta.


OneAt ten thirty on the night of March 24, 1962, Eddie Cero walked out the back door of the Southside Boxing Club in Philadelphia with a bloody bandage over his eyebrow and forty dollars cash in his pocket. The cut hadnt hurt when it opened. Now it was throbbing, and all he wanted was to go somewhere and have a drink to kill the pain and another one to toast what looked like the end of his life as a welterweight. He didnt want to see anybody and he didnt want anyone seeing him, so he cut down the alley behind the club, zipping his jacket against the nights chill. Fifty feet away from the East Allen traffic, he heard someone grunt and another voice curse, and he glanced into a doorway to see two punks roughing up a third man, who looked to be getting the better of it. He walked by with no intention of meddling in their business. Then one of the punks turned around and said, What the fuck are you lookin at? in the wrong tone. Eddie stopped. A face as thin and pitted as a crescent moon glared from the shadows. I said, motherfucker, what the fuck are you lookin at? The partner, a chubby greaseball in a motorcycle jacket that was two sizes too small, turned like a fat lizard to put his two cents in. Take a hike, asshole. The poor chump in the middle let out a strangled gasp. Eddie stayed where he was. Whaddya, fuckin deaf? The moon-faced punk came stalking out in a rude ballet set to the click and flash of a blade. He had taken three steps when it dawned on him that the interloper hadnt cut and run. By then it was too late, because Eddie had one coming, a quick right to the jaw. The punk went down as if a trapdoor had opened under his shoes. The switchblade skittered across the bricks. Whoa, fuckin A, said the fat boy. Staring up at the night sky with glazed eyes, the pimpled punk moaned and twitched a couple times. Eddie rubbed his knuckles. You better get him out of here. The fat boy let go of their prey and edged into the alley. He bent down, wrestled his partner under the arms, and dragged him off in the direction of Ninth Street. Once he got a little distance, he looked back over his shoulder and said, Well see ya round, Sal. The guy named Sal slumped against the doorframe. Yeah, yeah, same to ya. His voice was a weary croak. Eddie walked over to have a look at the victim, a middle-aged guy, Italian. His lower lip was swollen, his left eye was puffing up all purple, and there was fresh blood dribbling out of one nostril. He looked like an empty sack of nothing, as if the beating in an alley was just the last insult in what had been a bad day all around. He weaved on his feet, trying to straighten his tie with one hand and brush the dirt from his sport coat with the other. Jesus Christ, he said. That was a hell of a smack you gave him. He peered at Eddie with his good eye, then pointed a stubby finger. Hey, I know you. Youre a fighter, right? Yeah, thats right, Eddie said shortly. You going to be okay?

Excerpted from The Blue Door by David Fulmer
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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