From Megan Abbott, the “new Queen of noir” (Ken Bruen, author of American Skin ), a thrillingly hardboiled novel about two women who must stay one step ahead of their bosses and each other in the ruthless world of nightclubs and casinos. A young woman hired to keep the books at a down-at-the-heels nightclub is taken under the wing of the infamous Gloria Denton, a mob luminary who reigned during the era of Bugsy Siegel and Lucky Luciano. Notoriously cunning and ruthless, Gloria shows her eager young protégée the ropes, ushering her into a glittering realm of late-night casinos, racetracks, betting parlors, inside heists, and big, big money. Suddenly, the world is at her feet—as long as she doesn’t take any chances…like falling for the wrong guy. As the roulette wheel turns, both mentor and protégée scramble to stay one step ahead of their bosses and each other. Working from her story in the anthology Damn Near Dead (2006), noir's reigning crown princess delivers a royally entertaining rumination on toxic female friendships set in the harsh neon underbelly of early-1960s Las Vegas. The tale of an avaricious assistant to a Virginia Hill-style Mob courier unfolds so cinematically it's difficult not to picture it onscreen--perhaps pitched as The Grifters meets Casino , with Sharon Stone and Scarlett Johansson under the leering direction of Quentin Tarantino. "Gloria's girl," they call her when she's corralling payoffs from casino managers, fixing odds at the track, and doling out pad money to the cops. But she's out for a glorious score, and the taste of a gem heist she sets up only makes her ravenous for more. It's too bad that head for nasty business is paired with a body built for even nastier sin--and a heart foolish enough to go out to Vic Riordan, a self-destructive gambler nearing his final spin of the wheel. It'd be nice to get a better glimpse of her motivations, but this is a sleek, slick, seductive treat. Frank Sennett Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved "Quite a stunning achievement. With Queenpin, her third superb book, Megan Abbott proves beyond all doubt she is the new Queen of Noir." -- Ken Bruen, author of Priest and American Skin "Subtle, seductive, stunningly violent, this perfectly executed hardboiled title of complex relationships between grifters is a stone-cold classic." -- Allan Guthrie, author of Hard Man and Kiss Her Goodbye "Megan Abbott continues to be my absolute favorite new author." -- Lisa Scottoline, author of Dirty Blonde "Classy, daring, and alluringly amoral, Abbott's portrayal of a woman desperate for the "good life" illuminates the deep motives of a femme fatale, as she chooses tough over soft and pleasure within pain in order to satisfy her thrill-seeking personality in an era when opportunities are scarce. A slick, murderous adventure with passion enough to draw any reader inside." -- Vicki Hendricks, author of Cruel Poetry Megan Abbott is the author of three acclaimed novels, the Edgar Award–winning Queenpin , The Song Is You , and Die a Little . She lives in New York City. Queenpin A Novel By Megan Abbott Simon & Schuster Copyright © 2007 Megan Abbott All right reserved. ISBN: 9781416534280 Chapter One I want the legs. That was the first thing that came into my head. The legs were the legs of a twenty-year-old Vegas showgirl, a hundred feet long and with just enough curve and give and promise. Sure, there was no hiding the slightly worn hands or the beginning tugs of skin framing the bones in her face. But the legs, they lasted, I tell you. They endured. Two decades her junior, my skinny matchsticks were no competition. In the casinos, she could pass for thirty. The low lighting, her glossy auburn hair, legs swinging, tapping the bottom rim of the tall bettor stools. At the track, though, she looked her age. Even swathed in oversized sunglasses, a wide-brimmed hat, bright gloves, she couldn't outflank the merciless sunshine, the glare off the grandstand. Not that it mattered. She was legend. I was never sure what she saw in me. You looked like you knew a thing or two, she told me later. But were ready to learn a lot more. It was a soft sell, a long sell. I never knew what she had in mind until I already had such a taste I thought my tongue would never stop buzzing. Meaning, she got me in, she got me jobs, she got me fat stacks of cash too thick to wedge down my cleavage. She got me in with the hard boys, the fast money, and I couldn't get enough. I wanted more. Give me more. When I met her, I was doing the books at Club Tee Hee, a rinky-dink joint on the east side, one of a twinkling row of red- and blue-lit joints the cops never touched. Starlite Strip, it was called, optimistically. I'd been working there a few months. Accounts paid and receivable. Payroll. My old man knew the owners, red-eyed, slump-shouldered Jerome and his terrier-faced brother-in-law, Arthur. Had fille