Ladykiller [antikvár]

müiipvmApril Fool's Day and even the temperature joined in the joke: the daytime high had been ninety-three; at midnight the temperature stuck at eighty-six.He lay on the convertible sofabed in the front room stripped to boxer shorts, sheet thrown back, thin body oiled in sweat. The window fan brought no relief; it only sucked in a medley of ethnic cooking odors. Though the shades were drawn, the blue neon sign of the bar and grill downstairs kept the room half lit. From the adjoining bedroom Frank could hear his stepfather grunting and his mother moaning. He gritted his teeth and trembled.The sporadic passing of trains on the elevated section of the Queens-Flushing line rattled the windows and the kitchen china. Spreadreagled on the worn mattress, broken springs jabbing his lanky frame every time he shifted, Frank Salgo stared at the patterns on the ceiling, wide, wide awake. It wasn't much better than the bunk at Spofford. Worse, then he'd had something to look forward togetting out. Now he was out and more restricted than ever. Security at the correctional facility, supposedly the strictest of the juvenile institutions, had been a laugh; kids came and went, climbing in and out of windows, sometimes even walking1