(H)e
reached for the key in his trouser pocket and found his shirt-tail on fire.
Ipe! Josh jumped around like a
Watusi, whacking at his right hip like a move in a Bob Fosse dance, while the
damn woman in the van looked at him with the first honest smile he’d ever seen
her wear.
How could he catch fire? Holy
Batman, his whole shirt was on fire!
What had he touched, what had he brushed against, how-
Yanking the shirt off to reveal the tattered and filthy sleeveless
undershirt beneath, staring around in wild surprise, Josh saw, against the far
wall, forty million dollars in counterfeit twenties in brown paper bags burning
like a Magritte tuba.
(from Smoke by Donald E. Westlake)
7½*/10.
The complete review is here.
.
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