Cinnamon Kiss (Easy Rawlins Series #9)
  • Cinnamon Kiss (Easy Rawlins Series #9)
  • Cinnamon Kiss (Easy Rawlins Series #9)
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Cinnamon Kiss (Easy Rawlins Series #9)

3.7 14
by Walter Mosley

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It's 1966, and Easy Rawlins is desperate for cash to pay for his daughter's much-needed medical treatment. Easy gets a gig working for a legendary private eye on a missing person case. Soon, Easy's search uncovers a shocking crime in Mosley's latest sizzling "New York Times" bestseller.  See more details below


It's 1966, and Easy Rawlins is desperate for cash to pay for his daughter's much-needed medical treatment. Easy gets a gig working for a legendary private eye on a missing person case. Soon, Easy's search uncovers a shocking crime in Mosley's latest sizzling "New York Times" bestseller.

Editorial Reviews

It's the Summer of Love, but anxiety, not libido, is at the forefront of Easy Rawlins's thoughts. His daughter, Feather, has contracted a rare blood disease; to save her life, Easy must come up with $35,000 lickety-split. Predictably, his Watts pal Mouse has a surefire money-making plan that involves armed robbery. Rejecting that risky option, Easy tries his luck instead with a missing-persons job involving an eccentric lawyer and an alluring woman named Cinnamon Cargill. Indelible atmosphere; memorable characters; realistic suspense.

Product Details

Hachette Book Group
Publication date:
Easy Rawlins Series, #9
Edition description:
Product dimensions:
5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.70(d)

Read an Excerpt

Cinnamon Kiss

By Walter Mosley

Little, Brown

Copyright © 2005 Walter Mosley
All right reserved.

ISBN: 0-316-07302-4

Chapter One

So it's real simple," Mouse was saying. When he grinned the diamond set in his front tooth sparkled in the gloom.

Cox Bar was always dark, even on a sunny April afternoon. The dim light and empty chairs made it a perfect place for our kind of business.

"... We just be there at about four-thirty in the mornin' an' wait," Mouse continued. "When the mothahfuckahs show up you put a pistol to the back of the neck of the one come in last. He the one wit' the shotgun. Tell 'im to drop it -"

"What if he gets brave?" I asked.

"He won't."

"What if he flinches and the gun goes off?"

"It won't."

"How the fuck you know that, Raymond?" I asked my lifelong friend. "How do you know what a finger in Palestine, Texas, gonna do three weeks from now?"

"You boys need sumpin' for your tongues?" Ginny Wright asked. There was a leer in the bar owner's voice.

It was a surprise to see such a large woman appear out of the darkness of the empty saloon.

Ginny was dark-skinned, wearing a wig of gold-colored hair. Not blond, gold like the metal.

She was asking if we needed something to drink but Ginny could make a sexual innuendo out of garlic salt if she was talking to men.

"Coke," I said softly, wondering if she had overheard Mouse's plan.

"An' rye whiskey in a frozen glass for Mr. Alexander," Ginny added, knowing her best customer's usual. She kept five squat liquor glasses in her freezer at all times-ready for his pleasure.

"Thanks, Gin," Mouse said, letting his one-carat filling ignite for her.

"Maybe we should talk about this someplace else," I suggested as Ginny moved off to fix our drinks.

"Shit," he uttered. "This my office jes' like the one you got on Central, Easy. You ain't got to worry 'bout Ginny. She don't hear nuttin' an' she don't say nuttin'."

Ginny Wright was past sixty. When she was a young woman she'd been a prostitute in Houston. Raymond and I both knew her back then. She had a soft spot for the younger Mouse all those years. Now he was her closest friend. You got the feeling, when she looked at him, that she wanted more. But Ginny satisfied herself by making room in her nest for Raymond to do his business.

On this afternoon she'd put up her special sign on the front door: CLOSED FOR A PRIVATE FUNCTION. That sign would stay up until my soul was sold for a bagful of stolen money.

Ginny brought our drinks and then went back to the high table that she used as a bar.

Mouse was still grinning. His light skin and gray eyes made him appear wraithlike in the darkness.

"Don't worry, Ease," he said. "We got this suckah flat-footed an' blind."

"All I'm sayin' is that you don't know how a man holding a shotgun's gonna react when you sneak up behind him and put a cold gun barrel to his neck."

"To begin wit'," Mouse said, "Rayford will not have any buckshot in his shooter that day an' the on'y thing he gonna be thinkin' 'bout is you comin' up behind him. 'Cause he know that the minute you get the drop on 'im that Jack Minor, his partner, gonna swivel t' see what's what. An' jest when he do that, I'ma bop old Jackie good an' then you an' me got some heavy totin' to do. They gonna have a two hunnert fi'ty thousand minimum in that armored car-half of it ours."

"You might think it's all good and well that you know these guys' names," I said, raising my voice more than I wanted. "But if you know them then they know you."

"They don't know me, Easy," Mouse said. He looped his arm around the back of his chair. "An' even if they did, they don't know you."

"You know me."

That took the smug smile off of Raymond's lips. He leaned forward and clasped his hands. Many men who knew my murderous friend would have quailed at that gesture. But I wasn't afraid. It's not that I'm such a courageous man that I can't know fear in the face of certain death. And Raymond "Mouse" Alexander was certainly death personified. But right then I had problems that went far beyond me and my mortality.

"I ain't sayin' that you'd turn me in, Ray," I said. "But the cops know we run together. If I go down to Texas and rob this armored car with you an' Rayford sings, then they gonna know to come after me. That's all I'm sayin'."

I remember his eyebrows rising, maybe a quarter of an inch. When you're facing that kind of peril you notice small gestures. I had seen Raymond in action. He could kill a man and then go take a catnap without the slightest concern.

The eyebrows meant that his feelings were assuaged, that he wouldn't have to lose his temper.

"Rayford never met me," he said, sitting back again. "He don't know my name or where I'm from or where I'll be goin' after takin' the money."

"And so why he trust you?" I asked, noticing that I was talking the way I did when I was a young tough in Fifth Ward, Houston, Texas. Maybe in my heart I felt that the bravado would see me through.

"Remembah when I was in the can ovah that manslaughter thing?" he asked.

He'd spent five years in maximum security.

"That was hard time, man," he said. "You know I never wanna be back there again. I mean the cops would have to kill me before I go back there. But even though it was bad some good come out of it."

Mouse slugged back the triple shot of chilled rye and held up his glass. I could hear Ginny hustling about for his next free drink.

"You know I found out about a very special group when I was up in there. It was what you call a syndicate."

"You mean like the Mafia?" I asked.

"Naw, man. That's just a club. This here is straight business. There's a brother in Chicago that has men goin' around the country scopin' out possibilities. Banks, armored cars, private poker games-anything that's got to do wit' large amounts of cash, two hunnert fi'ty thousand or more. This dude sends his boys in to make the contacts and then he give the job to somebody he could trust." Mouse smiled again. It was said that that diamond was given to him by a rich white movie star that he helped out of a jam.

"Here you go, baby," Ginny said, placing his frosty glass on the pitted round table between us. "You need anything else, Easy?"

"No thanks," I said and she moved away. Her footfalls were silent. All you could hear was the rustle of her black cotton trousers.

"So this guy knows you?" I asked.

"Easy," Mouse said in an exasperated whine. "You the one come to me an' said that you might need up t' fi'ty thousand, right? Well-here it is, prob'ly more. After I lay out Jack Minor, Rayford gonna let you hit him in the head. We take the money an' that's that. I give you your share that very afternoon."

My tongue went dry at that moment. I drank the entire glass of cola in one swig but it didn't touch that dryness. I took an ice cube into my mouth but it was like I was licking it with a leather strip instead of living flesh.

"How does Rayford get paid?" I asked, the words warbling around the ice.

"What you care about him?"

"I wanna know why we trust him."

Mouse shook his head and then laughed. It was a real laugh, friendly and amused. For a moment he looked like a normal person instead of the supercool ghetto bad man who came off so hard that he rarely seemed ruffled or human at all.

"The man in Chi always pick somebody got somethin' t' hide. He gets shit on 'em and then he pay 'em for their part up front. An' he let 'em know that if they turn rat they be dead."

It was a perfect puzzle. Every piece fit. Mouse had all the bases covered, any question I had he had the answer. And why not? He was the perfect criminal. A killer without a conscience, a warrior without fear-his IQ might have been off the charts for all I knew, but even if it wasn't, his whole mind paid such close attention to his profession that there were few who could outthink him when it came to breaking the law.

"I don't want anybody gettin' killed behind this, Raymond."

"Nobody gonna die, Ease. Just a couple'a headaches, that's all."

"What if Rayford's a fool and starts spendin' money like water?" I asked. "What if the cops think he's in on it?"

"What if the Russians drop the A-bomb on L.A.?" he asked back. "What if you drive your car on the Pacific Coast Highway, get a heart attack, and go flyin' off a cliff? Shit, Easy. I could 'what if' you into the grave but you got to have faith, brother. An' if Rayford's a fool an' wanna do hisself in, that ain't got nuthin' to do with what you got to do."

Of course he was right. What I had to do was why I was there. I didn't want to get caught and I didn't want anybody to get killed, but those were the chances I had to take.

"Lemme think about it, Ray," I said. "I'll call you first thing in the morning."


Excerpted from Cinnamon Kiss by Walter Mosley Copyright © 2005 by Walter Mosley.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Cinnamon Kiss (Easy Rawlins Series #9) 3.8 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 14 reviews.
steveforbertfan More than 1 year ago
This is my first Walter Mosley book and I found it a tad boring and tiring. Its dated of course and its interesting reading about that time in the US. The story flows alright, just found it hard to keep my interest.
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Guest More than 1 year ago
Walter Mosley's exciting portrayal of L.A. in the 40s,50s is dead on! He names streets naborhoods and landmarks as if the reader was right there.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Walter Mosley delivers a unique perspective on the 50's & 60's. Easy Rawlins is a complex character, unapologetic for the flaws and foibles of his friends, yet getting along in the world that's tilted against him, the entire series is an education on being Black in America the way it was.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Even though I am not a true fan of the author due to previous reads outside of Easy Rawlings, I fell head over heels for him on this one. The suspense was great and it was easy to relate to the trials and lifestyle of the main character due to view the author gives you. I enjoyed it.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Reading Mosely's Easy Rawlins mysteries are more than a delight. This one elaborates the turbulent but changing times of the 1960's and its characters in LA and San Fran. Easy has grown to be an efficient sleuth, with much deserved respect from friends and foes. The black street experience is persuasive and prevalent with each turning page. I can't wait for the next one. What color(s) will Mosely think of next to blend into an intriguing title!
Guest More than 1 year ago
Talk about great character motivation to cross the line that is drawn between order and law. If your little girl had a disease and you needed money, what would you do? Hold ups are the nephews of criminal activities such as bank robbing, drug dealing and the new phenomenon of human sex trafficking. Mosley is one of the grandfathers of ethnic crime/detective drama. The Michael Connelly for the African-American crime drama. I read name brand authors and some of the literary upstarts. Like 50 Cent's new book. Like After Hours. Like a rugged little independent book that I stumbled across, called Masks of the Darkest American Game by Reginald Carter. There's Ernest Gaines', A Lesson Before Dying don't forget upstart Nathan McCall's Makes Me Wanna Holler and, of course, the Autobiograph of Malcolm X. A Mosely book was given to me by my Pop sometime ago, and I've been a fan eversince.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I can't put my finger on exactly why I didn't care for this book -- maybe unaccustomed to the very odd names of the characters for one. I do like the style of easy writing - but this just isn't my cup of tea.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Walter Mosley writes so well that I almost believe Easy Rawlins is a real person. He must be someone Walter Mosley knows or knew. The story is exciting, quick, funny, and sad. I'm always ready for the next Easy Rawlins Mystery. The characters are so deep and colorful I find myself giving them faces to go along with their voices in the story. Cinnamon Kiss is a keeper and a winner. I won't be loaning this one out.
harstan More than 1 year ago
In 1968 Los Angeles with the Watts riot over but fresh in everyone¿s minds Easy Rawlins needs money to take his beloved daughter Feather to the specialized Bonatelle Clinic in Switzerland the cost is $35,000. At the Cox Bar, his pal Mouse suggests they hold up an armored vehicle, but after almost running over a mother with babies, Easy decides that is to dangerous of an approach to gaining the money especially since he is over the edge and fears everything will go wrong and then his daughter will have nobody................. Instead he obtains work from a white friend, private investigator Saul Lynx who gets him a job in San Francisco with mysterious sleuth Robert E. Lee to locate two missing persons for $10K. Though expecting treachery as no one outside of entertainment pays a black man with cash, Easy searches for wealthy attorney Axel Bowers and his assistant lover, Cinnamon Cargill, who have vanished. ..................... The easy Rawlins late 1960s tales are some of the best historical suspense thrillers on the market over the past few years. CINNAMON KISS is a terrific tale that once again showcases the lot of a black man in 1968 California while providing a deep light on the period. Easy is fabulous struggling to send his beloved child to Europe for treatment that is not available in L.A. If you have not read his adventures you are missing a treat because his escapades are enlightening and entertaining.............. Harriet Klausner