chesty dolls that wore the slits up their skirts in smoky night clubs

 

epub or mobi, many thanks to the anonymous contributor

 

When he cut across Ninety-eighth Street going toward Park Avenue, Flip knew he was heading for Leemie’s store. He could get a fresh shirt from Leemie, maybe. Leemie was a creep one, but he had a way of getting things. Some of the things he could get were fantastic—all the dirty books and pictures, and bull whips, and things Flip sometimes didn’t even know what a person did with. He pushed a little, too, Flip thought; not just “pot,” but the real stuff. Leemie had his own monkey on his back. Flip smirked when he remembered the way Leemie sang:

“I get my kicks from cocaine. Mere alcohol doesn’t thrill me at all …"

The store was on the bad end of Park Avenue, up in the Hundreds under the New York Central tracks. Flip used to go up to the fruit and vegetable market nearby to buy for the place sometimes, and he got into the habit of stopping off at Leemie’s to listen to records. Leemie sold sheet music and songbooks too, but he never sold very much of anything on display. It was his “front.” Leemie knew all the latest jazz lingo, with some jargon peculiar to dopeys thrown in, and Flip liked to listen to it and memorize it. Even though Leemie was a little squirrily, no one could say he was square.