A Treat, a Venture

I want to take a read. A read where someone has been shot and he’s clutching the wound on his stomach while driving, and it’s raining and he’s groaning but you know he isn’t going to die just yet because he’s Russian. He’s the bad guy and he will only die if he’s looking into the eye of an American superhero; the American who will grin at him while he bleeds and he will hiss something defiant in Russian before he dies with a Cold War reminiscent sneer. A book that is simply a dark, wicked, twisted iceberg.  

I am ready for the book where when there is a sudden knock at the door you look up and listen if the knock came from your door. Or a book with a woman who peels apples with a penknife wearing only blue underwear. And have pink nipples. She wears the…