Don Mclean Quotes

I don't deserve you." "You're not allowed to say that." "Why not?" "It's a breakup line. Unless you're breaking up-" Jason leaned over and kissed her. The colors of the Roman afternoon suddenly seemed sharper, as it the world had switched to high definition. "No breakups," he promised. "I may have busted my head a few times, but I'm not that stupid.

The greatest thing about dreams is they don’t expire. They can lay dormant for years and when you pull them out and dust them off, they shine like new.

Percy and Hedge lay on the deck, looking exhausted. Hedge was missing his shoes. He grinned at the sky, muttering, “Awesome. Awesome.” Percy was covered in nicks and scratches, like he’d jumped through a window. He didn’t say anything but he grasped Annabeth’s hand weakly as if to say, Be right with you as soon as the world stops spinning. Leo, Piper, and Jason, who’d been eating in the mess hall, came rushing up the stairs. “What? What?” Leo cried, holding a half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich. “Can’t a guy even take a lunch break? What’s wrong?” “Followed!” Frank yelled again. “Followed by what? Jason asked. “I don’t know!” Frank panted. “Whales? Sea monsters? Maybe Kate and Porky!” Annabeth wanted to strangle the guy, but she wasn’t sure her hands would fit around his thick neck. “That makes absolutely no sense.

Jason turned to Leo. “Do you think you can fly this thing?” “Um…” Leo put his hand on the side of the helicopter, concentrating hard, as if listening to the machine. “Bell 412HP utility helicopter,” Leo said. “Composite four-blade main rotor, cruising speed twenty-two knots, service ceiling twenty-thousand feet. The tank is near full. Sure, I can fly it.” Piper smiled at the ranger again. “You din’t have a problem with an under-aged unlicensed kid borrowing your copter, do you? We’ll return it.” “I-“ The pilot nearly choked on the words, but she got them out: “I don’t have a problem with that.” Leo grinned. “Hop in kids, Uncle Leo’s gonna take you for a ride.

because the thing is, you don’t fall in love with your best friends girl

I don't think anything, or anyone, is ever going to keep me away from you. I love you way too much. You're my heart, my world, my light.

Diary, you're a fucking asshole, you don't do shit to help me. No one does shit to help me. What's wrong with me?

Besides, Reyna will do what she can to slow things down. She's still on our side. I know she is." "You trust her." Piper's voice sounded hollow, even to herself. "Look Pipes. I told you, you've got nothing to be jealous about." "She's beautiful. She's powerful. Se's so...Roman." Jason put down his hammer. He took her hand, which sent a tingle up her arm. Piper's dad had once taken her to the Aquarium of the Pacific and shown her an electric eel. He told her that the eel sent out pulses that shocked and paralyzed its prey. Each time Jason looked at her or touched her hand, Piper felt like that. "You're beautiful and powerful," he said. "And I don't want you to be Roman. I want you to be Piper. Besides, we're a team, you and me.

I don't care that you can't quote my favorite movie, and you don't care that I don't know what book Will and Layken are from.

. . . you don’t need a happy ending to move onto a happy beginning.

I don't know. It's like my lips—on your pulse. I can feel your heart beating and know that you're here. I guess sometimes I find it hard to believe that you're real—and that you're mine.

Cam starts laughing, "Oh, I love it when she reads." He turns to Lucy who's face is starting to contort and turn to a bright shade of red, "She reads these smutty books, like full on dirty shit, full of sex and like... bdsm shit." "I'm not joking boys, they're like full on pornographic. Talking about silky shafts and veiny dicks and shit," Logan is now on the ground holding his side from the pain of laughing too hard. "Sometimes she'll be reading, then all of sudden she'll put her book down and look at me like she wants to eat me, literally eat me!" he yells, laughing harder, still swatting away her hands that are trying to shut him up, "I mean I don't mind it, not at all. It's hot as fuck. And she wants to try everything she reads in these books. Like... everything. She learns everything from these books... so I don't give a shit when, of how much she reads, I get rewards.

I'll wait for you, Luce, until you're ready. Just tell me now, so I don't sit around getting my hopes up… do you think that maybe someday you'll want me, too?

Hey, Jake?” “Yeah, Kayla?” He’s almost asleep. “I more than a lot like you.” It’s quiet for so long I don’t know if he heard me. Then, “I more than a lot like you too, so much more than a lot.

Being with Cameron— in his bed— it's not physical, or sexual. "I understand ," I tell her. "But you don't have to worry, it's not like that. Cameron— he's my strength. And right now, I don't know that I have any left.

I think it's human nature to blame yourself. When things fuck up in life, you always want to find a reason for it. There has to be a reason, right? Bad things don't just happen, especially to good people. "So we sit around and try to make sense of it all, and the only sense we can make is that we probably deserved it, so we make up these ideas in our heads.

Logan Matthews," I put my hand out to shake hers. She looked down at it, shook her head, laughed once, and then looked back up at me. "Definitely no." "What? Why? Give me one good reason," I spat out. I didn't know why it was getting to me, her not wanting me. But I was pissed off and I felt like I needed to win that argument, or whatever the fuck it was that was going on there. "Because." "That's not a reason." "Because I have a boyfriend." "No you don't." I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest. "Because you're an asshole." "Valid, but not accepted. Next?

I love you, Lucy. I'll always love you, even if you don't know it. So… even if forever isn't eternal, I promise to love you for our forever.

Come on, then!" she yelled. "I'll destroy you all myself if I have to!" A metallic smell of storm filled the air. All the hairs on Piper's arms stood up. "The thing is," said a voice from above, "you don't have to." Piper's heart could've floated out of her body. At the top of the nearest colonnade stood Jason, his sword gleaming gold in the sun. Frank stood at his side, his bow ready. Hazel sat astride Arion, who reared and whinnied in challenge.

I don’t think it’s our pasts that define us, and it’s not even our life’s final destination. It’s everything we do in between, the actual living, that creates who we are.

You are exactly who you need to be in this moment. Don't begrudge that or justify it.

You're not an object. I don't want you to think that I own you." "Why not? I'm yours.

I saw satan laughing with delight The day the music died.

My inspiration for writing music is like Don McLean did when he did "American Pie" or "Vincent". Lorraine Hansberry with "A Raisin in the Sun". Like Shakespeare when he does his thing, like deep stories, raw human needs. I'm trying to think of a good analogy. It's like, you've got the Vietnam War, and because you had reporters showing us pictures of the war at home, that's what made the war end, or that shit would have lasted longer. If no one knew what was going on we would have thought they were just dying valiantly in some beautiful way. But because we saw the horror, that's what made us stop the war. So I thought, that's what I'm going to do as an artist, as a rapper. I'm gonna show the most graphic details of what I see in my community and hopefully they'll stop it quick. I've seen all of that-- the crack babies, what we had to go through, losing everything, being poor, and getting beat down. All of that. Being the person I am, I said no no no no. I'm changing this.

When no hope was left inside On that starry, starry night You took your life as lovers often do But I could have told you, Vincent This world was never meant For one as beautiful as you.

I never want to hurt you, Red,” he whispers. “Don’t let me hurt you, okay?” “You haven’t,” I assure, running my hands through his hair. He rears back, his eyes on mine again. “Promise me?” “I swear.

some souls are just tortured – by what, who knows, and maybe they themselves don’t know.

Please, please be patient with me. Because I really don’t want to let go of this. And you—I don’t want to let go of you.” My voice drops to a whisper. “Of us.

I don’t want my past to determine my future—and my future is you, Josh.

I tried to leave you alone but I don't think I can do it." I blew out a quick breath. "What are you saying?" "You own me, Amanda. All of me.

Usually I give demigods something simple like a shopping trip, singing a funny song, that sort of thing. After all those labors I had to complete for my evil cousin Eurystheus, well...I don't want to be that guy, you know?

I know what you're thinking. Maybe a fifteen-year-old girl had stolen my phone and was texting those things to you. I'd love to say it's true, but I'd be lying. Please don't think I'm crazy. I mean I am. Over you. Shit. I just really want to see you. Bad. Wait. Do I sound like Nicholas Sparks?

The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don't have any. Alice Walker

I don't just love you. It's like the word I want to use hasn't been invented yet. Maybe it's because no one's ever felt this type of love before. Maybe I'm the first to feel it. I don't know. I can't explain it. But those words--I love you--they just don't seem like enough. Not anymore.

songwriters should make their statements and move on, maintaining a dignified silence.

For all the clever jokes that could be made here involving "mind" and "matter" there is one sure and certain variation you can take with you to the grave: "In the grand scheme of things you don't matter very much, and the laws of physics don't mind at all.

The sexual tension between Jake and I is off the charts. I’m actually scared I might combust any second . No joke. If doesn’t help that we’re around each other almost 24/7 or that we’re always finding ways to ‘innocently’ touch each other. It’s almost at that stage where we’re pushing each other a little further and further seeing how much we can take until one of us cracks. I’m about two fucking seconds from cracking and if I don’t get a release soon I will cut a bitch.

Is this… I mean… have you ever been kissed before?" My head shakes frantically. I can't control it. His face lights up. I don't know why he's happy that he's trying to make out with a pajama wearing, frozen, virgin kisser. That doesn't sound like happy times at all. "So I'm your first?" I nod again. The same speed as before. That's it—I've lost control of all bodily function. "I like that," he says, his mouth slowly descending. He presses his lips softly against mine.

She’s on the last few chapters of some book she’s been reading. She can’t stay away from it. We’re used to it by now. We always find her reading at the oddest times. Don’t we, babe?” He says the last sentence a little louder to get her attention.

take your time, but don’t waste it. Trust me on that one.

Maybe you don't need to be a complete person, or maybe you do. But maybe, he's it. Maybe he's the other half of you.

No angel born in hell could break that satan's spell.

Don’t you want to be the first to touch something? To reach out and grasp onto the world around you? You can’t touch it if you can’t see it.

We thought we'd seen the worst when those girls disappeared, but seeing, and not seeing, is a funny old thing. Even now, I don't know which is crueller in the end.

I don’t think I can be just friends with you Not now. Not when I know what it’s like to have all of you.

I'm sorry." She straightened up a little. "It would have just been an angry fuck, Logan. It didn't mean anything." "So angry fuck me. I don't give a shit!" I motioned my hand to my dick. "My dick doesn't give a shit!" She laughed again, moving closer to me. I thought she was about to give in, but instead, she lifted her chin and said, "You have hands, use them." I glared at her, then thrust my hips forward slightly. "You have hands, you use them.

At first you think you want to pour out your feelings into the bottle, but you come to realise that you don’t. You just want to drown them, to burn them away with alcohol until it stops hurting.

Say you have a dog, but you need to create a duck on the financial statements. Fortunately, there are specific accounting rules for what constitutes a duck: yellow feet, white covering, orange beak. So you take the dog and paint its feet yellow and its fur white and you paste an orange plastic beak on its nose, and then you say to your accountants, ‘This is a duck! Don’t you agree that it’s a duck?’ And the accountants say, ‘Yes, according to the rules, this is a duck.’ Everybody knows that it’s a dog, not a duck, but that doesn’t matter, because you’ve met the rules for calling it a duck.

She’d just watched Tristan McLean, her cool suave movie star dad, reduced to near insanity. Leo could barely stand to watch that, but for Piper—Wow, Leo couldn’t even imagine. He figured that would make her insecure about herself, too. If weakness was inherited, she’d be wondering, could she break down the same way her dad did? “Hey, don’t worry,” Leo said. “Piper, you’re the strongest, most powerful beauty queen I’ve ever met. You can trust yourself. For what it’s worth, you can trust me too.” The helicopter dipped in a wind shear, and Leo almost jumped out of his skin. He cursed and righted the chopper. Piper laughed nervously. “Trust you, huh?” “Ah, shut up, already.” But he grinned at her, and for a second, it felt like he was just relaxing comfortably with a friend. Then they hit the storm clouds.

I don’t think we can choose the direction in which our heart beats. Because I didn’t want to fall in love with you. I didn’t want to fall in love at all. But then you came along and…and I told you early on that I was falling for you, but I lied. I was already there. And now I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you.

Our raw imperfections make us real and make us human but they don't make us.

Babe,” I cut her off. “I don’t care about my friends, or what they think. I just care about you.

I don’t want to be just your friend, Mia. I want to be more. I want to be your Leo.

Truth be told, I don’t know,” I said. “They say in the temple that sometimes a man has to balance two evils in his hands, and choose the lighter one.

I don’t get to speak to Ava as much as I want to. Or need to, really. I’m a goner. For real. And I’m not even mad about it.

I don't know," I shrugged. "I'm afraid that it's not enough. That what I've said and what I've done, and what I'm doing right now isn't enough. That you won't forgive me and you won't want to be with me. And you do this thing—where you shut yourself off and you don't talk to me—or anyone—for hours, or days, and I have no idea how you're feeling or what you're thinking. So yeah—I'm nervous as all hell that this is the last time I'll get to hold you. I’m afraid that we'll never be as close as we were. I'm scared that you'll want nothing at all to do with me.

My hands don't follow my mind, my legs move only through a lifetime of repetitive motion. My stomach is a roller coaster: dipping, sliding, swirling. And my heart? My heart belongs to Mary.

How was your first time?” Oscar asks him, and I don’t know how we got to this conversation. Is this what guys talk about? Connor says, “The first six seconds, I was kind of nervous. But the last six…that was fucking money!

Mr. McLean looked up at Piper. He seemed unconcerned by her knife and blowgun. “Going out?” “Just for a while.” Piper kissed her father on the cheek. “I’ll be back tonight. Don’t let them take the sleeping bags, okay? You and I can camp out on the terrace. It’ll be fun.” “All right.” He patted her arm absently. “Good luck…studying?” “Yep,” Piper said. “Studying.” You have to love the Mist. You can stroll out of your house heavily armed, in the company of a satyr, a demigod, and a flabby former Olympian, and thanks to the Mist’s perception-bending magic, your mortal father assumes you’re going to a study group. That’s right, Dad. We need to go over some math problems that involve the trajectory of blowgun darts against moving targets.

He leaves every morning and he kisses me. The type of kisses that should be goddamn illegal, Rose. And he's getting hotter. How is that possible? He's started hitting the gym again and there are muscles and his stomach and his hair's like... I don't even... and the kisses.

You’re pretty hard not to love.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Really hard not to love.” My eyes drifted shut. I tried to settle the thumping of my heart before I spoke. “Lucky you don’t love me.” He didn’t say anything, just reached over, took my hand, squeezed once, and never let go. Blake

Don’t say you’re sorry. Or that you’ll miss her. Or that she was an amazing person and the world is a lesser place because she’s no longer part of it. Or that I’ll be okay. That one day, I’ll get over this. Or to remember her for everything she was, because I’ve heard it all. There’s not a damn thing you can say to make it okay. Not now. Not ever.” He didn’t say it with malice, and I didn’t take it that way. He was just… sad. So damn sad.

anyway. I just don’t ever want you to think that it’s because you didn’t mean anything to me. You meant the world to me. And if you didn’t know that—if you couldn’t see that—then that’s how I’ll start. Every day I’ll show you, and every day I’ll prove to you just how much you meant to me. How much you still mean to me.

And it kind of behooves you to pick a short song. I don’t care if Don freakin’ McLean shows up in a red-white-and-blue tuxedo, no one is allowed to sing “American Pie.” It’s actually kind of hostile to a group of partiers to pick a song longer than three minutes.

Many times over the years when Don McLean was asked to explain the meaning of the lyrics to the song "American Pie" he would answer that the meaning was "I will never have to work again.

I’ll miss you so much,” he says, just as the warning bell goes off. He curses under his breath, and I kiss him quickly. “I have to go,” I rush out. Another short kiss. “I’ll see you on Monday.” Then I shrug out of his hold and start running up the steps, the ache in my chest causing the heat behind my eyes. It’s just four days, I keep telling myself. I can do this. With each step up, each inch I move farther from him, the stronger my emotions become. Tears well in my eyes, and I can’t fight them off. And I don’t want to. Shit. I turn quickly, thankful he’s still there watching me. And then I run back to him, faster than I’ve ever run before. I didn’t want him to see me like this, but I can’t let him go without saying goodbye properly. He pushes off his truck when I get near enough, his arms open, and I practically jump into his embrace, my arms around his neck while he wraps his around my waist. Feet off the ground, my legs circle him. “I don’t want you to go,” I mumble into his neck. It’s stupid and petty, and I’m The Worst Girlfriend Ever. “Dammit, Ava, don’t mess with my emotions like that!” I rear back, still holding on to him. “I didn’t want you to know how badly I’ll miss you,” I murmur, unable to control my pout.

Ava?” “Yeah?” she murmurs, her mouth pressed to my neck. I pull her closer. “Promise not to tell anyone about the whole sleeping with a basketball thing?” She laughs but doesn’t pull away. Her lips skim along my jaw, stop just below my ear. “But then the whole flashing my boobs to the AV guys so they’d broadcast it at the next game would be for nothing.” I grunt when she bites down on my earlobe and bring my hand higher up her leg. “Don’t fucking joke.” Then I pull away, capture her mouth with mine, kissing her with a possessiveness I didn’t know was in me. She giggles into my mouth. “I’m not playing, Ava.” She just laughs harder.

And now, according to her, she wants to wait. Apparently, it’s her therapist’s advice. Because her therapist wants to make sure Ava is following her heart and not the parts between her legs that might be calling to me. I don’t see what’s wrong with her vagina calling to me. I wouldn’t mind it. Hell, it can call to me mid-game, and I’d go running.

And now I understand what you tried to say to me. How you suffered for your sanity...

On paper, we don’t make sense. In reality, paper doesn’t mean shit.

Living in a trailer park comes with a cliché stigma that isn’t fair to anyone. People do what they can to survive, to put a roof over their heads and food on the table, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. And, the possible judgment, coming from him, a boy whose—I’m willing to bet—parents are actually parents and do what they can to shield him from the bottom of the barrel, is… expected. And I don’t have the energy to be mad about it. Agitated, maybe. But mad? No. People don’t know what they don’t know, and Holden? He knows nothing about me.

Because… it would be different if he cheated on her with someone worthy, you know? I’m trailer trash who washes dishes at a truck stop.” She laughs, but it’s filled with so much sadness it creates a sudden, forceful ache in my chest. I stare at her, right into her eyes, and I can see all the broken fragments of a girl who refuses to see her worth. I’ve stared into similar eyes my entire life: my mom and Mia. “I can’t even imagine her shame,” she says, her words uneven. I don’t look away, and neither does she, not even when I can see her discomfort set in. “I mean, just look at her… and look at me.

By the time we get to the house, Jamie’s lifted her skirt halfway up her thigh, and almost every inch of exposed flesh is covered in lines so intricate I want to snap a picture of it so that I can study it later. I don’t, obviously, because there’s a special place in society for that level of creep, and it’s called prison.

It’s a thing that has to be understood about hired blades: they’re in it for the money, and you don’t get paid if you’re dead. They will fight for you, aye, but they probably won’t die for you.

think we all need someone to be our strength sometimes, and if you don’t want that to be Jake, then you can

Nightspots always look crap in the daytime for some reason. I don’t know why, but they do. Someone should do a study on that, get themselves a

thanks to Kayla. We walk around the mall with Julie in front of us. “So what was the deal with her?” I ask Kayla, bringing her hand to my lips and kissing it quickly. I can’t seem to keep my hands and lips off her. If we can’t be intimate in the way I want, I’ll take whatever I can get. “She’s just growing up. She wanted us to spend some girl time together today. She thinks she needs a training bra and wants to start wearing makeup.” Kayla giggles. “What?” I yell. Kayla nudges me and tells me to shut up. Julie turns around and eyes us suspiciously. She keeps walking when I fake a smile at her. “She’s frickin’ eight years old, Kayla!” “I know. I’m just going along with it to amuse her. Trust me, okay?” “Fine. But my eight-year-old sister better not end the day looking like a whore.” “Oh my God!” Kayla laughs out loud. “I can’t believe you just said ‘eight-year-old sister’ and ‘whore’ in the same sentence.” “Shut up! I’m not kidding.” We walk around for a bit longer before Julie decides to walk into a store. I don’t pay attention until we’re inside, and I’m surrounded by lingerie. “What the f—” A hand covers my mouth. “Shut up, Jake,” Kayla whispers fiercely. “Just play along, please.” “Fine, but I’ll wait outside.” They

I don’t like shorts promoting their position.

Leo pulls back, shaking his head. And then he laughs. Just once. “You don’t think your grandpa or my mom haven’t met Benny?” My brow dips. “Who do you think created him, Mia? They—together—gifted us the joy of Bennett.

I don’t need you to be my hero.” Moving towards me with his hands shoved in his pockets he cracks a smile, saying, “You’re your own goddamn hero, baby. I’m just here for the ride.

But seeing and not seeing is a funny old thing. Even now I don’t know which is crueler in the end.

There were about 20 pikeys surrounding this bloke who looked like he should be in a cage. I swear he was 6ft 8in and about the same across. His boat had been shifted around so often he didn’t look human. I whispered to Kenny. ‘Hope you got a better deal than 500.’ He said, ‘We’ll walk away with two grand from this one. He ain’t as tough as he looks.’ I said, ‘How do you know?’ I just got that big grin again. ‘I don’t, I’m just trying to cheer you up.’ We all moved back away from the flashing lights of the rides, and they formed a large ring. No formalities, no bell. Just, ‘Go on, boys.’ I steamed straight in putting all my weight behind four or five solid belts. Every “one connected on his arms. I tried to come up under and do his ribs in but I couldn’t get round those massive arms. It was like he was holding sandbags up in front. He threw a couple but his eyes gave him away before he even started to swing. I tried again. Bang. Bang. Bang. This time I got through and put a nice split in his forehead; good bit of claret. Then he grabs me, pins my arms to my sides, and nuts me full in the face, trying to get his teeth into my nose. I could smell his breath – a mixture of shit and beer. I brought my knee up into his sack and he let go with a surprised look on his bloody face. Got you now, you bastard. I slammed into him, but he’d got those fucking great arms up and I’m punching sandbags again. Round and round we went. I had him sussed now. He’s not a fighter, he’s a steamroller. He wanted to tire me out then drop 20 stone on top of me. He’s got the right idea; I’m knackered. It’s dead quiet except for faint music from the fair. No one was cheering encouragement, just a ring of brown faces watching us both with cold eyes. Kenny’s looking worried. Fuck it. I shouldn’t have looked round; he’s caught me with a right-hander full in the side of the head. My head’s ringing, I’ve gone deaf on that side and now I’m really pissed off. This has gone on for long enough. I had to take a risk. I turned my back on him, raised my arms in Kenny’s direction and said, ‘When are you going to ring the fucking bell?’ At the same time, I spun round and, as I’d hoped, the big animal was so surprised at me turning my back he dropped his arms. Everything I’ve got went into a straight punch to the heart. He fell backwards and down like a falling tree.

I don't know why your ma named you Mercy. There ain't a merciful bone in your body.

How was your first time?” Oscar asks him, and I don’t know how we got to this conversation. Is this what guys talk about? Connor says, “The first six seconds, I was kind of nervous. But the last six… that was fucking money!

I’m not playing these fucking games with you, Jamie.” Her eyes widen. Just a tad. “I like you because I fucking do, and I want you because, honestly, I don’t think I have a choice.” Her hands are on my jaw now, thumbs stroking. I tilt my head, kiss the inside of her palm as if it’s something we’ve done a thousand times before. “And you have no idea what it does to me when you touch me like this.

You think it’s stupid, don’t you?” The crack in my voice betrays the strength I’m attempting to portray.  “I don’t think it’s stupid,” he says, sitting taller, his gaze distant. “It’s just that… I don’t think you went through what you did and survived what you have so you could come out of it and be normal.” He pauses a beat. “You’re not here to be average, Jamie. You’re here to be extraordinary.

He shakes his head, looks down his nose at me. “She was with Dean last night!” he spits, his chest rising and falling with each sharp inhale. Each forced exhale. “Dean! Who you loved, right? And you said it yourself, it’s not like we were in love! But I was, Jamie!” He points to himself, his arms moving, veins popping out of his flesh. “I was in love with you! I was so fucking in love with you that just the idea of hurting you ruined me!” He’s yelling so loud, I feel each of his words inside me, beating me down, one by one. “And if you’d given me a chance to explain that, then you’d know exactly how I feel about you! But you didn’t! And then you come here… accusing me… thinking that I would actually do something like that to you…” He laughs once, his eyes to the sky, and I don’t take a breath. Not a single one. “That just proves how fucking little you think of me!

Just because we weren’t together anymore, it doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.

deal in mumbo-jumbo. Why, I felt your aura the moment you stepped through the front door.’ ‘And do you know why we’ve come calling then?’ It was MacBride who asked the question, but only because he beat McLean to it. ‘Of course, of course. You want to know about ritual killing. Nasty business. Never works, at least not in my experience, but it’s worse than alcohol for bringing out the devil in people, if you know what I mean.’ ‘How did you … ?’ MacBride’s mouth hung open as the words escaped. Madame Rose let out a snort of most unlady-like laughter. ‘The spirit world talks to me, detective sergeant. And Jayne McIntyre from time to time.’ ‘I don’t have a lot of time, and even less patience.’ McLean shoved his warrant card back in his pocket. ‘I was led to believe you knew

I don’t know what I’m going to do without him.” For thirty years he’d been the centre of her world. Every waking moment had been focused on him. Supporting his career, raising his children. Pacifying him.

Of course it wasn’t bloody Margaret. But your lot are always saying most murders are domestic. It can’t be hard to make that stick.” “I don’t like doing this to her.” “Once again, if your opinions were any use, you’d be asked for them. Just do your job.

a woman is a good deal more important than fucking is, and you can’t feel that with someone you don’t know.

Enemies? People don’t make enemies. So melodramatic.

Your brother has been abducted. We’re looking for him. You don’t need me to tell you all that. And you also don’t need me to tell you that an officer so closely involved with an investigation is always reassigned.

Yeah, yeah. It’s a mouthful, and you know it. I don’t care what your team think of me. But I do care about finding this fucker before he kills again. You either want me working this case, or you don’t.

I’m not playing these fucking games with you, Jamie.” Her eyes widen. Just a tad. “I like you because I fucking do, and I want you because, honestly, I don’t think I have a choice.

Oh, I know the Terrorism Act, Inspector. You don’t spend nine years representing Muslims in this city without knowing how the police like to use it to persecute the community and insinuate that activities

Randle sighed. “I need you all to do better than this. This is the highest profile case we’ve had for a decade. If we don’t make progress soon, it’ll be taken off us.

Don’t you say another word. I would never take dirty money, Jim. If you don’t know that about me, you know nothing. Have you told Nicholas you think I might be capable of this kind of thing?

If mutual decimation of the McLaughlins and the McLeans marked the end of Charlestown’s “gangster era,” a host of gangs endured in the Town. These were less criminal bands than expressions of territorial allegiance. Every street and alley, every park and pier had its own ragged troop which hung on the corner, played football, baseball, and street hockey, and defended its turf against all comers. The Wildcats hung at the corner of Frothingham and Lincoln streets, the Bearcats at Walker and Russell streets, the Falcons outside the Edwards School, the Cobras on Elm Street, the Jokers in Hayes Square, the Highlanders on High Street, the Crusaders at the Training Field. Each had its distinctive football jersey (on which members wore their street addresses), its own legends and traditions. The Highlanders, for example, took their identity from the Bunker Hill Monument, which towered over their hangout at the top of Monument Avenue. On weekends and summer afternoons, they gathered there to wait for out-of-town tourists visiting the revolutionary battleground. When one approached, an eager boy would step forward and launch his spiel, learned by rote from other Highlanders: “The Monument is 221 feet high, has 294 winding stairs and no elevators. They say the quickest way up is to walk, the quickest way down is to fall. The Monument is fifteen feet square. Its cornerstone was laid in 1825 by Daniel Webster. The statue you see in the foreground is that of Colonel William Prescott standing in the same position as when he gave that brave and famous command, ‘Don’t fire till you see the whites of their eyes.’ The British made three attempts to gain the hill …” And so forth. An engaging raconteur could parlay this patter into a fifty-cent tip.