The Bad Die Young

By Jerome Charyn

A black defense attorney struggles with his obsession with the laziest whore in Harlem
From his penthouse in posh Sugar Hill, Edward Parkchester rules over Manhattan. A silver-tongued defense attorney with a flourishing criminal sideline, he has fame, fortune, and the respect of uptown and downtown alike. But for the right working girl he will throw it all away. He meets her at the Brig—a high-class cathouse that caters to the upper crust of Harlem society. Her name is Carla, and she does not bother to seduce him. She just lies there, munching on chocolate and working her way through the great books of Western literature. She is hypnotically indifferent, and he can’t get enough. His empire is crumbling beneath him, but Parky doesn’t notice. He’s too entranced by a prostitute who doesn’t give a damn.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MysteriousPress.com Open Road
• Release date: Apr 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781480410978

Jerome Charyn

Jerome Charyn (b. 1937) is the critically acclaimed author of nearly fifty books. Born in the Bronx, he attended Columbia College. After graduating, he took a job as a playground director and wrote in his spare time, producing his first novel, a Lower East Side fairytale called Once Upon a Droshky, in 1964. In 1974, Charyn published Blue Eyes, his first Isaac Sidel mystery. This first in the so-called Sidel quartet introduced the eccentric, near-mythic Sidel, and his bizarre cast of sidekicks. Although he completed the quartet with Secret Isaac (1978), Charyn followed the character through Under the Eye of God. Charyn, who divides his time between New York and Paris, is also accomplished at table tennis, and once ranked amongst France’s top 10 percent of ping-pong players.

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The Bad Die Young

Jerome Charyn

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BABY, DID YOU EVER MOVE your tail for a man, just a little bit?

If you don’t like my lovin’, she said, you can always go elsewhere.

There wasn’t any elsewhere. She was Parky’s burden, his white bitch. He should have zeroed her and all her junk out of his life, but he couldn’t. She was like a fugitive in his own crib, twelve rooms that sat above the bitter roofs of Harlem, on Sugar Hill. Carla wouldn’t leave the crib. She ate chocolates, yakked on the telephone, and devoured books while she lounged in Parky’s king-sized bed. She should have grown into a hippopotamus; her rump should have reached the sky, and it troubled Parky that Carla could stay so beautiful.

He’d met her at his favorite cathouse, called the Brig because it catered to black tycoons—generals, bankers, and criminal lawyers like Edward Parkchester—who didn’t want the public to watch over them; they took their delight behind closed doors, at the Brig. It was on East Ninety-Sixth Street, at the edge of Spanish Harlem, and it was run by a former fashion model, Marie. Parky would play chess with Brigadier General Washington Starke, who arrived from the Pentagon once a week to chat with Parky and drink champagne with the girls. The black tycoons enjoyed one another’s company. They lived in a world of white men, and battled when they had to, but relaxed at the Brig. And once, after Parky had been absent for a couple of weeks, defending a Mafia overlord, Brigadier Starke told him about the new girl at the Brig. Carla. None of the girls ever revealed their last names; they didn’t seem to have one.

Parky, this kid is a heartbreaker. She lies there, dead as firewood. I commanded her to wiggle. I wore my fucking uniform. Got no satisfaction from her. I’m in love with the bitch, but I have my pride. I’m asking Marie to toss her out.

The general had scratched Parky’s own pride as a criminal lawyer. He considered Carla a possible client, a girl he might have to defend. I’ll talk to her, Wash … I won’t give your secret away. I’m good at listening.

He climbed up to Carla’s roost on the third floor, armed with a split of champagne and Marie’s best crystal. Carla wouldn’t even open the door and retrieve the champagne. She was lying in bed with a book. The girls were supposed to wear negligees, it was a house rule, but Carla was naked. She wasn’t showing Parky her wares. She didn’t seem interested in Edward Parkchester. She had platinum hair, cropped very