Macao Mayhem (Terry Harknett, 1974)

I was a bit disappointed at the beginning. Just another formulaic thriller, placed in somewhat exotic surroundings and fueled by over-the-top violence. The story is about some sinister mastermind criminal orchestrating a plot in which a few small-time Hong Kong gangsters would kidnap a high-ranking US official and sell him for 5 million bucks to the Chinese (I think). It gets even more ridiculous when it turns out that this genius (mysteriously referred to as "Man from Macao") is only slightly less small-time than his crew. The story just doesn't add up (why the hell would killers bring a massacred body to a whorehouse?), and to make matters worse, the police investigation is pretty pathetic too and based on some hard to swallow coincidences (victim was a cop's friend, his partner's informer knew her housemaid, etc).

Mediocre stuff, especially considering it was written by the author of the solid Squeeze Play. But just when I expected it to fall apart entirely and explode into total chaos (true to its title), it got better. Much better. Relentless pace settles down a bit, and marginal characters (Jenny, her boyfriend/pimp Kai) become more involved. It turns into a 'proper' mystery that is actually quite smart, makes sense and builds up some proper tension as it nears the conclusion.

Unfortunately, neither suspense nor narration is sustained, and the whole thing disintegrates at the end. Too bad, it deserves a better ending.

It's far from perfect and could be improved by rewriting some dialogues and shortening action sequences descriptions, but I liked it anyway. Characters are natural, made of flesh. Especially, both killers are memorable - contrary to the cliches, they repeatedly (three attempts in 24 hours!) fuck up their contract, and Jo is just a scared alcoholic. Our two cop heroes also get fair treatment, but let's leave them for the next time. I will probably check out other books in this series.

3/5
 
Facts:

Hero: 
Senior Superintendent John Crown of the Royal Hong Kong Police Force and his partner, Chang Po. Their senior calls them "The Lone Ranger and Tonto".

Location:
Hong Kong (where "Spies were, of course, part and parcel of the scene.") and briefly Macao.

Body count: 
9, most of them meet their maker in a pretty gory fashion. Check this:

• First victim - when already dead! - is slashed with aikuchi from the throat down to her abdomen and then stabbed at least thirty times!
• Then the door cut him in half against the frame and the weight of the descending car pulped his upper body into the ground. The Challenger began its roll, trailing a spray of blood.
• Skin burst and bones crunched. Blood sprayed and crimson tissue oozed. Before so many of his vital organs were pulped into the street surface, Willie had time to reflect that he had been right to regard thirteen kills as unlucky.
• Ju's body was hurled high into the air. For an instant it was whole. Then it disintegrated like a clay pigeon hit with both barrels. Pieces of torn flesh, charred by heat and dripping blood, rained down over vehicles and horrified watchers.
• First shot took him in the stomach... The second entered the mouth, smashing the bridge-work...and lodge in the brain. The third and fourth went into his right and left eye... Blood poured out fast in vast quantities...
• Guy is shot dead (with a mandatory "spray of bright crimson") and then run over by the car!

Dames: 
Unfortunate Mu Li (one of the highest paid call girls on the island), a bit less unfortunate prostitute Jenny (for some reason, she's referred to as "whore" all the time, which was really annoying), and let's not forget the sexy maid Rosita.

Blackouts: 
Chung gets knocked out, and it's pretty forgettable ("It was unsubtle but effective. With no chance of retaliation."). But another occurrence definitely deserves mentioning, even though it is not related to any of our heroes. Drunken sailor Hans de Jong is hit on the head when entering a brothel room where (surprise, surprise) "his" prostitute is, and the poor guy is so horny that he ejaculates when he sinks into unconsciousness!?!  I mean wtf - is this even possible??

Title: 
Pretty unoriginal. I think something like "The Man from Macao" would be better (I admit it's a bit 007-ish). It's also not very accurate because only 22% of killings take place in Macao. So "Hong Kong Mayhem" would be more appropriate (but still unoriginal).

Cover: 
Illustration (not credited) of Crown and Chang causing mayhem on the streets of Macao. Crown's facial expression is really cool; he looks plenty pissed off.

First time on this blog: 
Crime in Asia.

Cool lines: 
"No ifs!" Crown snapped. "You tried to sell yourself into this mess. I may let you buy yourself out of it. The currency is words."

Let's Hear It for the Deaf Man (Ed McBain, 1972)

In this one, we follow three unrelated cases assigned to detectives Carella and Kling. So, I guess, it's about a typical week at the 87th precinct police station.

The best one by far is the "Jesus case" - a young man wearing only shorts was found nailed to the wall in the abandoned building. I loved the scene in which various officials (medical examiner, detectives, policeman) who arrive at the crime scene argue about who is responsible for getting the poor John Doe off the wall and into the morgue. The investigation that follows is not exactly a typical “police procedural”, but I think it’s a pretty common one – basically lots of legwork. Since Kling's only solid clue is a left tennis shoe, all he can really do is roam around the neighbourhood asking people, “Have you seen this man?” Things start to unravel when he encounters a suspicious guy who acts nervously and refuses to cooperate. And he’s missing the left shoe...

So, btw, I would disagree with that “he eventually cracks [the case] mainly thanks to the long arm of coincidence” in the otherwise excellent review that can be found here.

The second story is cool too. It’s about catching a daring thief who operates in an area of posh apartments and who’s arrogant enough to leave a little kitten as a calling card in burglarised flats. It’s pretty intriguing and, at times, funny (I liked that part where the surveillance cop’s undercover is immediately blown by a stripper) with an unexpected ending. Needs to be said, though, that the whole thing gets a bit tarnished by a silly romance between Kling and supermodel Augusta, whose flat was on our cat (kitten)-and-mouse guy's list. It goes something like this: "You're so beautiful... Yes, I am, but it's my job to be beautiful... You are beautiful too"...

Unfortunately, the third one, which is the central one, is a total mess. It's about this uber-criminal Deaf Man - a modern Dr Moriarty type - planning and pulling off a bank heist. The essence of his ingenious master plan is to hit the bank twice in the same day so that the second time employees wouldn't be so alert and (with a little bit of luck) police would ignore the silent alarm even if one were triggered. Hm... Obviously, for this to work, Deaf Man needs to make sure that the first attempt will fail, so he sends a few cryptic clues to the police department. Which are, in fact, so cryptic (for example, a picture of the Japanese zero fighter symbolises a circle which represents repetition; get it?) that the police choose to simply ignore them. And I must say I didn't blame them...

I don't know. I guess McBain tried to blend his police procedural stuff into a classical mystery, but the end result just doesn't work. But nevertheless, it was a quick and fun read. Definitely worth 1 euro it cost me.

3/5

Facts:

Hero:
Detectives Steve Carella and Bert Kling

Location: 
The usual "The city in these pages is imaginary..." stuff, but it's pretty evident that it takes place in New York. In fact, the whole 10th chapter is "dedicated" to the city, which I found a bit redundant...

Body count: 
5, not counting "badly wounded" robber of the second "assault team" and also not counting the guy killed in the domestic violence call from the above-mentioned 10th chapter that has nothing to do with any of the three stories.

Dames: 
Supermodel Augusta Blair - “He had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life”
Angela Gould  - "perhaps the least attractive woman the Deaf Man had ever met."
Mary Margaret Ryan - "as sweet a young lass as had ever crossed herself in the anonymous darkness of a confessional."

Blackouts: 
Carella gets knocked out when muggers sent by the Deaf Man steal his badge and gun.

Title: 
Pretty weak. And it totally ignores the other two stories. Something like "Deaf Man's caper, the Jesus case and little kittens left behind" would sound much cooler.

Cover: 
Deaf Man is not really deaf; he's just hard of hearing, so he wears a hearing aid.

Notable cover blurbs: 
For some reason, the reviewer at the Sunday Telegraph found this "Marvelously ingenious, as always." Surely they were not referring to Deaf Man's master plan!?

Cool lines:  
The girls were wearing blue jeans and long hair. The boys were bearded. In terms of police investigation, this was awkward. It meant they could be (a) hippies, (b) college students, (c) anarchists, (d) prophets, (e) all of the foregoing. To many police officers, of course, long hair or a beard (or both) automatically meant that any person daring to look like that was guilty of (a) possession of marijuana, (b) intent to sell heroin, (c) violation of the Sullivan Act, (d) fornication with livestock, (e) corrupting the morals of a minor, (f) corruption, (g) treason, (h) all of the forgoing. Carella wished he had a nickel for every clean-shaven, crew-cutted kid he had arrested for murdering his own brother. On the other hand, he was a police officer and he knew that the moment he showed his badge in this place, these long-haired youngsters would automatically assume he was guilty of (a) fascism, (b) brutality, (c) drinking beer and belching, (d) fornication with livestock, (e) harassment, (f) all of the foregoing. Some days, it was very difficult to earn a living.

Kinds of Love, Kinds of Death (Donald E. Westlake writing as Tucker Coe, 1966)

Interesting and original premise. An ex-cop, disgraced and fired from the police force after some serious fuck up (his partner got killed while Mitch was cheating on his wife), is hired by a mobster to find his mistress’ killer. Our hero Mitch is more or less happy with (literally) building a wall around him, but he also feels bad about his wife needing to support the family. So he decides to take a well-paid job.

So it’s a kind of PI mystery combined with a police procedural, and it works pretty well. My only minor objection is that it’s a bit too procedural, which makes it slowly become repetitive. Mitch’s modus operandi basically consists of systematically interviewing suspects on the list compiled by his employees. With a few exceptions (like blowing up his improvised office), nothing much happens in his investigation and revealing the culprit at the end is done in Poirot-like classical whodunit style. Which is okay. I certainly didn’t see it coming.

Since this is Westlake’s (and mine) introductory novel of Mitch Tobin, I guess our leading man deserves a word or two. He’s definitely neither the stereotypically Parker-like tough guy nor the comically eccentric Dortmunder-like joker. Tobin is just an ordinary (and quite likeable) guy, a smart cop who had a bad break but isn’t too bitter about it. Plus, I think Westlake made a good decision by not portraying him as a guilt-ridden jobless drunk deserted by his wife (who, in fact, forgave him for cheating and hadn’t deserted him at all). Which is another thing I liked about this book: there’s no family shit or drama whatsoever. Mitch sends his family away when things get hot, and they return once the case is solved. Nice!

A quick and entertaining read. Solid, fluent and easy to follow, without heavy character studies or complex sub-plots. At times, it felt like something Westlake decided to put together quickly after becoming bored with Parker novels.

3.5/5

Facts:

Hero: 
Mitchell Tobin, ex-cop. Doing private investigations these days.

Location: 
New York

Body count: 

4

Dames: 
Rita Castle, the victim

Blackouts: 

/

Title: 
One of those poetic types. The "Kinds of love" part makes sense, and it's pretty easy to decipher. It relates to either Rembek's feelings towards Rita (It was guilt that kept him tied to his wife, but it was desire that had linked him with Rita Castle) or Donner's feelings towards his disturbed sister. Not sure about the kinds of deaths part, though. People die in this one in pretty usual ways (strangulation, bomb explosion, shootings)

Cover: 
Pretty cool, showing Mitch being tempted by the money.

Cool lines:  
"Failure is your way of life," I said. "Don't try to change it."
She turned her head, with puzzled animation in her eyes. "That's a rotten thing to say."
"Bring me the money, Betsy."

Halo for Satan (Howard Browne writing as John Evans, 1948)

Private detective Paul Pine is hired by a priest, an ageing mobster and two beautiful women to find some ancient manuscript written by, ahem, none other than our saviour Jesus Christ. With such an incredibly preposterous plot vehicle (and I'll get back to this, no worries), this one didn't promise much initially. With all respect to Browne and despite his reputation...

But it gets better and better with every chapter. Classical hard-boiled detective novel (see facts below), filled with dames, gangsters, sinister killers, tough cops, etc. Everything is a bit over the top, but the plot is really cool, and every now and then, the author throws a curveball that misleads the reader. Of course, everything culminates with an excellent and surprising whodunit that makes sense. The story is easy to follow, and it's driven mainly through snappy dialogue and action. Honestly, I cannot remember the last time I read such a good Chandler imitation.

Pine shares a lot of characteristics with Marlowe: he is cool, smart, streetwise, witty, resourceful, efficient (he hardly sleeps and spends nights being interrogated by the police after finding corpses), follows his moral code (I like to keep my promises!) and - above all - he has an attitude. The Attitude! I loved the scene where he takes his money out of the wallet before handing it to a cop for identification. Hilarious! I will be tempted to do that myself next time police stop me :)

But there are, of course, differences too. He reads a lot and, in fact, keeps books instead of a bottle in the office drawer. In this one, he reads a couple of paperbacks written by Philip Wylie and William P. McGivern (The women in it were beautiful and the private eye was brilliant). Pine is not as cynical (disillusioned?) as Marlowe, and his methods differ a bit. For example, I was surprised he had given his client's name to both the police (in fact, he made a deal with them and used the client's name for bargaining) and to the mobster...

And before I wrap this up, what about that Christ nonsense? The manuscript actually never materialises, and it (supposedly) gets burned before the end. So it is either another curve ball thrown at us to make the plot more interesting, or it's maybe simply a "stuff that dreams are made of".

Either way, this is excellent stuff. More than appropriate for the 100th post of this blog.

5/5

Facts:

Hero:
"Private investigations." Her voice quavered ever so lightly. "Does that mean you're a detective, Mr.Pine?"
"Just a private kind," I said. "I couldn't arrest anybody, if that's what you mean."

Location: 
Chicago

Body count: 
7 - not forgetting Kurt in LA, but not counting Louie, who died peacefully in his sleep.

Dames: 
A lovely girl, Lola North. Enough figure and not too many years and a face that could come back and haunt you and maybe stir your baser emotions. A girl who could turn out to be pure as an Easter lily or steeped in sin and fail to surprise you either way. 

Constance Benbrook was a beautiful woman whose glands were stronger than her inhibitions. Shake the tree even gently and she'd fall right in your lap.
 
Blackouts: 
He gets knocked out twice:

Whoever was behind the blackjack must have been an old hand at the game. I never heard a thing.

Something came down on the back of my head and simultaneously I felt the gun torn from my fingers.
The pavement reached slowly up and laid itself against my cheek.
 

Title:  
But this time we gave a halo to the wrong man. This time it was a halo for Satan. 

Cover: 
Cool illustration of the scene in which Constance finds Pine regaining consciousness.

Cool lines: 
"How do you know he's dead?"
"The blood ran out of him and hardly anyone can live without blood."
That one got what it deserved. "You drunk, young man?"[The Coolest!]

"Have you get anything, Paul?" She sounded anxious.
"Leprosy. Go away."[The Coolest!]

"Don't give me that," I said nastily. "You could sit on his belly and eat your breakfast. You're tougher than the sides of a battleship and we both know it."

No more fear in her face now. Fury, the kind of fury that would put claws at my throat in the next three seconds. Hatred, the kind of hatred that pulls triggers. The jungle looked at me out of those wild brown eyes and I stepped back one step.

She was as confident and at ease as a Mississippi congressman up for re-election. She was a widow with millions in the bank and a smooth story ready to tell: two things every cop would respect.

Her left hand was hanging limply at her side. Her right hand was pointing a small blue-steel automatic at the sweet roll I'd had for breakfast.

Me, Hood! (Mickey Spillane, 1963)

Needed something normal after that excruciating Woolrich experience, and who else would be more appropriate than good old Mickey Spillane? It's incredible how popular his titles still are and how easy (and cheaply) they can be obtained. So I usually keep a few of his paperbacks ready for the right moment, and this little one containing two novellas and one short story seemed perfect. With titles like "Me, Hood!" and "Kick It or Kill It!", there was no doubt about what I was going to get.

And yes, no surprises here. It's yet another sex & violence madness. The plot is pretty far-fetched, and due to its relentless pace (the whole thing is about 70 pages long), it quickly becomes almost incomprehensible. And to make matters worse, it falls into the "grand issues" category. But at least we get an early warning about this because our hero, after being recruited by a secret service (I think) to do some dubious job, quickly concludes that:

Patriotism doesn't exist on any local level. Suddenly we're international and I can only think of three fields where you striped pantsers could exploit me: The narcotic trade through Italy, Mexico or China; illegal gold shipments to Europe; then last, the Commies.

Welcome, once again, to the beautiful, frightening and simplistic world of Mickey Spillane. Btw, I liked the touch with commies being written with the capital C - makes the whole thing a bit personal, don't you think?

But it turns out that the evil our hero will be fighting in this one ticks the first check box. Heroin! And this is where things get absurdly hilarious, making this short pulp unforgettable. Because - believe it or not - 8 kilos (kilograms) of smack in the year of our lord 1963 cost "Millions. Not one or two. Not ten. More than that. Enough to get a whole city killed off."

Let's take a quick break and do some math. To help us understand things correctly, let's calculate the running costs of a junkie living in NYC in the early 60s. Assuming that the street price is twice as much as 'retail' (probably much more; I have no idea really) and considering inflation that blows 10 million to 77.79, we can calculate that the price of a single gram is 19.447.50 US dollars. Since the daily dose of an addict is at least 1 gram (according to this site), we can conclude that an average junkie in 1963 would spend almost 60 grand a month supporting their habit. Which, in other words, means that drug addicts used to be millionaires.

So this makes a difference and puts a new perspective on the whole setup. Obviously, since "There hasn't been a single shipment that size in twenty years", we can now better understand the ridiculous body count and involvement of the CIA and Mafia. Italian boys even dispatch their top East Coast enforcer, Keyser Soze-like dude named Lodo, to kill our hero. Which is another (also unintentionally funny) story, but I don't want to reveal everything.

2.5/5

Kick It or Kill It!

Craziness continues. Drugs again, but this time we also get Commies because "Reds are injecting a poison into this country." All three axis of Evil are somehow involved: Cuba is a collection point for China-grown narcotics, and the whole deal is supervised by the Soviet attache. Also aided by mysterious and uber sinister Mr Simpson, who eventually (and most unsurprisingly) turns out to be a corrupted senator.

In short, it's Spillane's take on Hammett's Red Harvest. A secret agent arrives in a godforsaken little town and cleans it up. So I don't think that recapping the last five pages will be a major spoiler:

"The guy on the dock died easily and quietly... I took him with one sudden stroke... The other one... went just as easily... My hands were tied. My feet weren't. It took only three kicks to kill him... Then I was ready... When the man there saw me he tried to call out and died before he could. The other one was just as unsuspecting. He died just as easily. Soft neck... There was Harry Adrano. I shot him. There was Calvin Bock. I shot him. There was Sergei Rudinoff. I shot him and took the briefcase off his body and knew that what I had done would upset the Soviet world... There was the man who owned the airlines and I shot him... so I shot him too... I brought the shotgun up and let him look all the way into that great black eye and then blew his head off."

I liked that "soft neck" touch. Otherwise, no further comments are needed...

2.5/5

Facts (only for Me, Hood!):

Hero: 
I asked, "Who am I?"
His answer was flat and methodical. "Ryan. The Irish One. Sixteen arrests, one conviction for assault and battery. Suspected of being involved in several killings, several robberies and an un-cooperative witness in three homicide cases. Associates with known criminals, has no visible source of income except for partial disability pension from World War II. Present address.."
"That's enough," I said

Location:
New York

Body count: 
18, not counting "Holmes in emergency ward with a couple of slugs in his chest and not expected to live."

Dames: 
Miss Carmen Smith. Ryan's description (shortened, as it goes on for two hefty paragraphs):

Most times a woman is nothing... then one day you see one... you not only like but one you must have... instinctively you know... she's big and beautiful... full-breasted... She's not trying for anything. She doesn't have to... long legged and round and in her loins there's a subtle fire that can be fanned, and fanned, and fanned.

Blackouts: 
None. There is one in "Kick It or Kill it!"

Title: 
"May I ask who you are?"
"The name is Ryan, honey. In common parlance I'm a hood. Not a big one, but I get along."

"The things you do... are so different. I never know what to expect-"
"They're hood things, kitten."

Cover: 
Great looking dark-haired semi-naked woman. Hm, did I just use the word 'woman'? Correction - in Spillane's world, they are called sweeties, kittens, dolls, kids, sugars, honeys...

Cool lines:  
I don't think I looked like the typical Haynes client. I wasn't carrying a briefcase, either. I was carrying a rod, but that was one reason for the $200 suit. It didn't show. 

"I need a doctor..."
"You'll need an undertaker more."
"Look..."
"Talk." My hand started to go white around the butt.[The Coolest!]

Fright (Cornell Woolrich, 1950)

All good stuff in this one happens in the first fifty pages. And such brilliant start it is indeed! We get to know this dude Prescott who is pretty unsympathetic figure - an average, self-centered guy, Wall Street wanna-be yuppie who's about to make a next step on the social ladder by marrying a girl from a wealthy family. One night he gets drunk, picks up a girl in a bar, takes her home and things happen. Soon she begins blackmailing him and finally he accidentally kills her.

It's a cool setup, especially because we don't (at least I didn't) feel sorry for him as a blackmail victim and kind of secretly cheer for Leona. True, she's a cold bitch but also very charming in her own way. Plus she has plenty of style when driving our poor Press crazy.

But then it begins. It probably began right at the start, but I didn't really notice because introduction was so good.

You see, in Fright nobody ever simply says something. Instead they relate, protest, admit, confine, echo, demand (and counter-demand), exclaim, interject, concur, chortle, parry, admonish, note, retort and even - I kid you fucking not - ejaculate!

And they do so palpitating, pensively, assiduously, obdurately, demurely, strenuously, vociferously, amiably, ebulliently, wonderingly, charitably, ruefully, inwardly, magnanimously, caustically, neutrally, stonily, guilelessly, reticently, deprecatingly, parenthetically. Or simply in dazed exaltation, in disquietude, in discomfiture, in fervent gratitude, in attitude of morose pensiveness, with aching diffidence, or surrounded by surreptitious air of excitement.

This shit is incredible. And relentless! While reading it, I kept thinking about the video I'd seen in which Elmore Leonard gives a few writing lessons. One of them being that "one should never use a verb other that 'said' to indicate a dialogue and certainly shouldn't use an adverb to modify 'said'.. because that's the author and not character talking". I'll bet that he had just finished reading Fright when he said that. Anyways, check out the clip, it's really cool and interesting!

I did read some short stories of Woolrich recently and as far as I can remember language used in that book wasn't so archaic and stories were easy to follow. I guess in this one he wanted to be authentic as much as possible since Fright is taking place in 1915. But still, for non native English speaker as myself, it was at times agonizing. I have great respect of all languages and enjoy old fashioned expressions (see 'cool lines' in Bulldog Drummond or Blackadder clip) but this was simply too much. No joy in reading a book if one needs to look-up obscure words in dictionary every five minutes. I just lost a modicum of my affability...

So much about the form. After the initial promising beginning, story falls apart. Or to be more precise: it turns into heavy psychological melodrama in which Press is paralyzed with fear and sinks deeper and deeper into madness and paranoia. Eventually he even has a nervous breakdown and contemplates suicide. There are occasional attempts to revive the plot and accelerate its pace but they are not very believable. Stuff with shooting the wrong guy is pretty pathetic, but episode with insurance agent is pretty cool though.

It is unforgettable, but for the wrong reasons. And I'll be definitely reading the next Woolrich on my Kindle with built-in dictionary.

2.5/5

Facts:

Hero: 
see the first paragraph of this post.

Location: 
Part one is titled "New York", second one simply "Some Faraway Town" and the last again "New York Once More"

Body count: 5

Dames: 
She was quite young; twenty-two or twenty-four at the utmost. She was quite pretty, but in run-of-the-mill sort of way. It was not a lifelong beauty of feature and formation such as Marjorie had; it was a transient coloration lent her by the fact of her youth alone, that would disappear with that again some day.

Huh? Transient coloration?

Blackouts: 
There isn't typical one but towards the end Press is so fucked up that he's kind of half conscious all the time. Needs alcohol to be able to talk and even to get asleep on the train back to New York,

Title: 
Press is overwhelmed, totally paralyzed with fear of getting caught for murder. No remorse, no sympathy, no nothing. Which makes him an even bigger asshole...

Cover: 
At one point Press "sobbingly screams" at her: "You're not human at all! You're a demon". Nice cover by Arthur Suydam but I found even better one. 

First time on this blog: 
First entry with YouTube  clips embedded. It's pretty easy and somehow cool so I also used the one with Blacadder although I know I pushed that language thing a bit too far with it.

Cool lines:  
The man's head, over the top of it, was like an egg sitting in its cup, waiting to be cracked.

Squeeze Play (Terry Harknett aka Thomas H. Stone, 1973)

The private detective is hired by an elderly, impoverished black woman to locate her niece. Innocent Avis left her Seattle home and went to San Francisco six months ago to find her long-lost sister. She found her alright, but in the process, got hooked on heroin and found herself mixed up in a nasty blackmail affair. It's a big-time game involving organised crime, beautiful women with a shady past, failed actresses with their sleazy cameraman companions, tough cops (one is named Bogart!), dirty politicians, switched identities and so on.

In short, it's a classical detective novel. Written in 1973! It doesn't try to reinvent the wheel and keeps things simple and as straightforward as possible. The plot is far from trivial but still easy to follow, and the final revelation (let's not even call it a twist) totally makes sense. The characterisation is more than decent, mainly our main mulatto hero, who is complex just enough. Special mention must go to the time and location - even though it takes place in San Francisco, there's no mention of hippies, Nixon, Vietnam War, etc. It felt like the author had intentionally ignored all that political and sociological crap and had instead simply focused on telling a damn good mystery story.

It's nothing special. Certainly nothing I would call a masterpiece, but it simply works. At least it worked for me. There are many more ways to fuck up this kind of novel than there are ways to make them right, and it seems to me that Mr Harknett was well aware of that.

I often buy crime paperbacks of unknown (to me at least) authors at flea markets and second-hand bookstores, and usually, they are pretty disappointing. But I'm glad I came across this one and will definitely check out the other four of the Chester Fortune series. I googled Terry Harknett (and Thomas H. Stone too) and was amazed how obscure he is, especially since he wrote more than 200 books! There's his Wikipedia page with a single link to some publisher, and that's it. No online interviews, studies, blog posts, etc. I would appreciate it if anyone could give me some tips about his stuff!

4/5

Facts:

Hero:
Chester Fortune, PI. The cover describes him as "Fortune is a Man of Violence in a Violent World"

Location: 
San Francisco

Body count: 
Pretty bloody affair for mere 120 pages: 6 + 5 mobsters + not sure about "two detectives and a patrolman went down, clutching at their stomachs and spraying blood"

Dames: 
Karen - "Youth was a thing of the past for her and he guessed she was into that period of a woman's life when the thirty-second birthday comes around every year."

Blackouts: 
There was a split-second of agony under his skull, a blinding flash of white light, then darkness. Cool and soft and damp like the earth in a forest after a summer storm.

Title: 
Poor beautiful damsel in distress Karen is being blackmailed (squeezed).

Cover:
See the 'hero' section

Cool lines:  
The severed head hit the ground and rolled. Flames exploded from the wrecked car and in their flickering light he looked into the sightlessly staring eyes of what had once been Natalie Webb.
"Told you the ride was coming to an end, baby," he muttered.[The Coolest!]


The right side of his chest was soaked with blood, which had finished seeping from the wound made by a knife. The heart they had cut out was lying several feet away from him.
"I always thought he was a heartless bastard," Bogart said between teeth clenched against his pain.
"Just wasn't cut out for the job," Fortune responded.[The Coolest!]