Category: Fiction Page 144 of 341

Ink & Sigil

by Kevin Hearne
Series: Ink & Sigil, #1

eARC, 336 pg.
Del Rey, 2020

Read: August 12-14, 2020
Grab a copy from your local indie bookstore!

The biggest challenge to writing about this book is choosing what not to talk about, I really feel like I could go on and on and on about it. Then the pendulum swings to the point I don’t say much at all…

What’s Ink & Sigil About?

Aloysius MacBharrais is a Sigil Agent—one of five on the Earth. They’re tasked with preserving the various treaties that supernatural creatures had set up throughout the world to keep the peace and govern the activities of the various pantheons on the mortal plane. They’ve been equipped with the barest magical tools necessary to get the job done—largely by Brighid of the Tuatha Dé Dannan to make up for the work that her Druid wasn’t doing when he was hiding for centuries on end.* There’s more to it, but that’ll work for starters.

* See everything that Atticus O’Sullivan was doing before the first of the Iron Druid Chronicles.

Al has horrible luck when it comes to apprentices, they keep falling prey to accidental death. The most recent is Gordie, who died after choking on a raisin scone. Before I get into things, can I say how wonderful it is to have a magic-user—even an apprentice—die by such mundane means (and you have never, I mean ever, come across this many jokes about raisins or scones in your life)? As Al goes to Gordie’s house to clean up all traces of his magic tools, he discovers that Gordie’s been up to some pretty dark and criminal stuff right under his nose.

This book takes Al and his associates around Scotland and even to the U.S. finding out just what Gordie was into and trying to set it right.

A New Kind of UF

There are outliers, but largely, Urban Fantasy series deal in variations on a theme—I’m not complaining, I’m into most of them. But basically, you’ve got a wizard (or something like that), a vampire, and/or a werewolf doing a P.I./Private Security/Hunter thing. There are different kinds of magic users, or vampire types, or were-species, but really, that’s about it. Lately, some variations have come from using different kinds of protagonists, like whatever Nell Ingram is or…(I had another example when I started this paragraph), but you get the point.

Here our variation comes in the type of mage—he uses sigils, particular designs in particular (and strange) inks which give a temporary effect to the bearer or beholder. Also, Al’s an elderly Scot who wears a derby and has an immaculately-styled mustache. He’s about as far from the grizzled hero in a leather jacket/trenchcoat as you can get. Outside of supporting characters or Marley Jacobs from A Key, an Egg, an Unfortunate Remark, you don’t see that (outside of characters who are supernaturally old, but appear young) .

Al’s associates aren’t standard either, but I’m going to resist using 3-4 paragraphs talking about them. I’m just going to say I enjoyed them all and can’t wait to spend more time with them.

Iron Druid Tie-in

As indicated above, this takes place in the same universe as The Iron Druid Chronicles, sometime after Scourged and contains references to some of the series’ events and characters. Al himself shows up in a short story in Besieged as a minor character.

There’s a brief appearance by Atticus and Oberon, and a longer one with Brighid. Both were a lot of fun, and the Atticus one was pretty sweet. I enjoyed seeing Brighid from someone else’s point of view. The door is open for more IDC characters to show up, but it’s not necessary, which I appreciate.

You do not have to have read the IDC to get into this, and not catching all the allusions/references/cross-overs will not diminish anything for you. It’s a spin-off, but isn’t dependent on the original.

Did Hearne Regret this Choice?

Al’s a Glaswegian and most of the book takes place in and around Glasgow. Hearne made the choice to write all the dialogue (and even Al’s first-person narration) in the dialect. Most authors wouldn’t have gone this far, and I have to wonder how often Hearne questioned this choice as he wrote—talk about making things hard on yourself. I enjoyed it—and it really helped me “hear” Al and everyone.

So, what did I think about Ink & Sigil?

While the IDC contained more than it’s share of laughs (and even The Seven Kennings had amusing moments), this seemed like a better merging of jokes and story. It feels like a natural outgrowth of The Tales of Pell (but not as humor-focused as those). For sheer enjoyment value, this was fantastic.

The story was pretty strong, too. But a lot of space was devoted to introducing us to this particular corner of the world and the cast of characters. I’d like to see what Hearne does with a novel where he doesn’t have to do that.

The world is familiar, yet Hearne’s doing something new in it. The characters are just not what you’re used to seeing in the genre. The plot was great—and speaks clearly to our current situation. And I laughed a lot. There’s little to complain about here and a lot to commend. I had a blast and I think most readers will, too. I can’t wait for the sequel.

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Random House Publishing Group – Ballantine via NetGalley in exchange for this post—thanks to both for this.

4 1/2 Stars

PUB DAY REPOST: Betty by Tiffany McDaniel: A Beautiful Novel about a Tragic Childhood

By HCNewton

On August 18, 2020

In Fiction, General Fiction/Literature

Betty

by Tiffany McDaniel

eARC, 480 pg.
Knopf, 2020

Read: July 25-28, 2020
Grab a copy from your local indie bookstore!

I’ve struggled with this one for days now and was tempted to say something like, “It’s a Tiffany McDaniel book. This means the writing is gorgeous, the subject will provoke you, you will be moved. And did I mention it’s wonderfully written?” But I knew I couldn’t post that…it doesn’t actually tell you anything about this book (“Tiffany McDaniel” and “gorgeous writing” is essentially a tautology) and since when do I express myself in twenty-seven words?

Who’s Betty About?

Yeah, I normally ask what a book is about, but the what is so unimportant in this book a reader could be excused for not remembering. You won’t forget the who anytime soon. The who is what matters.

It’s about a young, poor family’s struggles between 1939 and 1973—with a focus on 1961-73 (when Betty was 7-19) when the family settles in Appalachian Ohio (and largely stays there). The father is of Cherokee descent (Tsa-la-gi. A-vn-da-di-s-di), the mother is white—and you can imagine how easy life was for them and their children in that time (harder for Betty who takes more after her Cherokee lineage, while her siblings favor their mother). While none of the children has an easy life, there’s a greater degree of difficulty of Betty.

I could spend a good deal of time talking about various family members, but I’m going to focus on two of them.

Landon Carpenter (a.k.a. “Dad”)

When Landon Carpenter met Alka Lark, he was working as a gravedigger, he later worked at a clothespin factory—and then several other jobs, including a stint in a coal mine (which left him with a permanent limp due to a beating given by racists), while the family moved from state to state. When they settled in Breathed, Ohio*, he became known for selling moonshine, herbal remedies (based on “Cherokee wisdom” that was essentially what he happened to make up on the spot), and hand-crafting furniture.

* A fictional city that also served as the setting for The Summer that Melted Everything—one of several nods to that work included here.

But really, what he does with his time is father his children and try to take care of his wife. They don’t all appreciate it, or understand what he’s doing, but they’re (largely) devoted anyway. He will be frequently found passing on a bit of received knowledge through myths or parable form. He wasn’t ready to be a father when he became one and two decades later, he still wasn’t entirely ready when Betty arrived (or her younger siblings, either), but he rises to the occasion as best as he can. I don’t get the picture that he’s the easiest guy to get to know or get along with for prolonged periods. But for those who do get to know him, he’s clearly a loyal and supportive friend.

Betty (a.k.a. “Little Indian”)

Either as a quirk of personality or because she’s physically closer to her Cherokee heritage (likely a combination), Betty embraces the cultural lessons her father passes down more readily than her siblings do—and always wants more. She’s naive, inquisitive, and somehow despite everything she witnesses innocent and optimistic (not precisely, but that’s the best word I can come up with). Life hands her horrible experience after horrible experience, and while momentarily cowed, she comes back, wiser, but still innocent. Toward the end of the book, she has a couple of experiences (one thing she’s told about, one thing she witnesses) that drive her to the breaking point—but even then she holds on for a little longer.

She’s our Point of View character and doesn’t understand everything that’s going on around her for most of the book—things really kick off when she’s seven, after all. So we see a lot of the book through unreliable eyes, but very reliable emotions and reactions. From the latter, we can get a good understanding of what’s going on, better than she can.

The Magic (for lack of a better word)

In McDaniel’s The Summer that Melted Everything, many things happen that may be supernatural or magical in origin, there’s a semi-magical realism feel to it. That’s not the case here. Nor is the source of the “magic” in this novel one mysterious stranger.

The power that keeps Dad and Betty—and the rest of the family—going comes from story. Dad’s constantly telling stories to his children, Betty in particular—and, we learn, he even tells stories to his friends (I don’t think Landon’s wife has much patience for many such stories, as much as she needs them). Betty typically doesn’t tell her stories to anyone, but she writes them down, filling notebooks with them. Some she keeps, some she buries (to preserve or to hid), some she gives away. By their use of story—sometimes use of words—Dad and betty keep themselves, and those around them, going. They inspire, encourage, and teach with them.

A story that Betty’s mother tells her is arguably the most powerful story in the novel—and it explains more of the novel than anything else. Her story, is wholly true, and wholly heartbreaking, but even that comes down to the power of storytelling.

Drawbacks to the book

I don’t really want to label these as problems with the book, but there are a few things that keep me from being as enthusiastic about Betty as I was for The Summer that Melted Everything (which I am enthusiastic about to this day). I basically proselytized readers over that book, I won’t go that overboard for this.

The first is that it took me far longer than it should have to get what McDaniel was trying to accomplish, I kept waiting for a plot to emerge, and there’s never much of one by design. Instead, as I indicated above, this is about the characters. Growing, developing, faltering, stumbling, and retreating. It’s about how they react to the events (or non-events) in their lives that matters, now the events themselves. It’s entirely possible that this is all me and not the text. But I don’t think that’s the case (or I wouldn’t have gone on about it).

Secondly, the non-Carpenter characters. With two notable exceptions (the town Doctor who comes running when they call; and a friend of Landon’s who rents them the house they settle in. But the rest of the people (almost without exception), are simply horrible. Some of the Carpenters are okay, and most of them demonstrate growth (at least). But everyone else is horrible, blatantly so…so many people in authority of varying degrees are just horrible, spiteful, evil people. And it’s just hard to read that. I firmly believe in man’s inhumanity to man, but it’s usually tempered, at least on the surface/occasionally, with something positive. We aren’t given anything to look to and say, “Hey, there’s someone decent”, or “There’s someone doing something decent. Spiteful, racist, ignorant, misogynous, capricious, and evil. Those are the words that come to mind as I think about the non-Carpenter characters, and it’s just hard to read them.

So, what did I think about Betty?

I started off liking it, and that feeling slowly grew. There weren’t many moments that wow’ed me, but there were a handful that broke my heart. I sincerely want another 50 pages of the Dad’s odd little myths (some of which, I’m pretty sure contradict themselves, which Betty sees and rolls with). I wanted to help Betty through her challenges, to at least shoulder some of her burden with her.

And did I mention the prose is fantastic?

That said, I don’t think I connected with the characters (particularly those who aren’t Dad or Betty) the way McDaniel wanted me to. I don’t think there’s enough going on to urge people to read this, but I will recommend it strongly. That said, I think I will be in the minority with this book and most readers won’t understand my hesitation to rave over this. I do recommend this book, I do plan on re-reading it in a year or two, and I will be first in line for McDaniel’s next book.

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group via NetGalley in exchange for this post—thanks to both for this. I also want to thank McDaniel for approaching me to let me know it was available for request. None of the above kept me from giving my honest opinion.

4 Stars

This post contains an affiliate link. If you purchase from it, I will get a small commission at no additional cost to you. As always, opinions are my own.

Screamcatcher: Dream Chasers by Christy J. Breedlove: Back to the Nightmares

By HCNewton

On August 17, 2020

In Fantasy, Fiction, YA/MG/Children's Books

Screamcatcher: Dream Chasers

by Christy J. Breedlove
Series: Screamcatcher, #2

Kindle Edition, 250 pg.
Fire & Ice Young and New Adult Books, 2020

Read: August 3, 2020
Grab a copy from your local indie bookstore!

What’s Screamcatcher: Dream Chasers About?

Having survived their trip to the world of her family’s dream catcher, Jory and her friends have determined they can help others in the same (or similar) situation they were in—and better yet, they can make some good money off of it. In my post about the first book I said, “I don’t see how this leads to a sequel, in fact, I’d have thought it precluded one.” This? This is the way to a sequel—most of these kids could use a decent income and monetizing this particular skill is a smart move.

I’m going to cheat, again, and use the official blurb:

Seventeen year-old Jory Pike knows a thing or two about Indian lore from her half-blood Chippewa ancestry. She can trap, hunt and fish with the best of them. She has a team of three other teens friends called The Badlands Paranormal Society. Instead of bagging groceries or playing on I-pods, they think they can excel at banishing evil spirits. They hope to cleanse houses and earn fat paychecks for their services.

Dream catchers aren’t just the chic hoops tourists buy at novelty shops—they work. And sometimes they clog up with nightmares until they collapse under their own evil weight, imploding and sending the dreamer into an alternate world. Jory uses her worst nightmare to enter the dream catcher world. She’s pulled her teammates in deliberately. Everything goes right on schedule but they’ve bitten off more than they can chew. Now Jory and her friends are there, trapped between the people who have confessed their sins to the Great Spirit and are seeking a way out, and the monsters and evil spirits, which are happy to keep them trapped in the web world forever.

They were once considered Seekers in the dream world. Now they’ve become vigilantes and call themselves Pathfinders. Is it spiritual enlightenment they after? Or have they now become fatally reckless?

I can’t put it better than that—or more succinctly without being flippant.

The Problem of Peril

These next two paragraphs get a vaguely spoiler-y. Sorry. You’ve been warned.
In the second book of a series, you pretty much take for granted that the series characters will make it to the end—no matter how much danger might be lurking around the corner. So the threat has to hover over the new characters. And for me, I didn’t feel that for a moment for any of the “Seekers” they were trying to help get out of the nightmare world. Yes, there were obstacles, deadly ones at that—but, I just never doubted that anyone would survive.

It didn’t seem that any of the Badlands Paranormal Society felt that much different than I did—it seemed like they were just approaching the whole adventure as just another day at the office (or at the fast-food cash register, they are that age). And while this is a job to them, it shouldn’t feel like they’re punching a time-clock already, they’re too fresh at this to be so jaded. If Breedlove had made them confident to only turn and make the reader and the characters see that confidence as hubris, I’d have been all over it. But no, it was a near-blasé attitude toward the dangers and obstacles they faced. That just didn’t ring true or right for me.

So, what did I think about Screamcatcher: Dream Chasers?

That said, I liked it. It’s imaginative, you never know what’s going to be lurking around the next corner and how the team will get through it. These nightmare worlds are fantastic, the monsters they’re filled with are, too—and the opportunities to do just whatever in them seem almost endless. The characters are likeable—but they could all use a little more depth. But in too many ways, this felt like a slightly tweaked version of the previous book. The problem with peril that I just talked about is another stumble. If Breedlove can address those, and I imagine she will, I can see myself sticking around for a while with these books, and I do think people in the market for a YA fantasy adventure—particularly one not in the Western European mold—will have fun with this book.

Now that I know how the series is going to go, the question I had last time about how Breedlove could build on Web World is answered and I like the answer. I see that I’ve taken so long to write this up that the third volume in this series is available, I’ll be ordering it here shortly. I have great hopes for it.

Disclaimer: I received this novel from the author in exchange for this post and my honest opinion—I appreciate that, and do apologize that it’s taken so long to get it read and posted.

3 Stars

This post contains an affiliate link. If you purchase from it, I will get a small commission at no additional cost to you. As always, opinions are my own.

Imaginary Numbers by Seanan McGuire: The Most Exciting Mathematician This Side of Charlie Eppes and Dr. Larry Fleinhardt

By HCNewton

On August 17, 2020

In Fiction, InCryptid, Seanan McGuire, Urban Fantasy

Imaginary Numbers

by Seanan McGuire
Series: InCryptid, #9

Mass Market Paperback, 365 pg.
DAW Books, 2020

Read: June 16-19, 2020
Grab a copy from your local indie bookstore!

What’s Imaginary Numbers About?

The Price’s cousin, Sarah, the Johrlac (aka “cuckoo”) adopted by the family years ago and last really seen in Midnight Blue-Light Special—but mentioned in almost/every book since—has finally recovered from the events of that book (5 years ago, in the series chronology), or at least recovered enough to travel on her own. She’s still not at 100% (and is further from it than anyone but Sarah realizes).

She flies out to Portland to reconnect with the family out there, and while she does reconnect with the Prices, she also finds herself connecting to a bunch of other cuckoos. Which is something that the species just doesn’t do—these telepathic apex predators have developed in such a way that they can’t share territory for long at all. So the fact that you have a group of them working together spells trouble for Sarah and any cryptozoologists trying to keep the peace between the species (and, in this case, to preserve a spot for every species that isn’t a Johrlac to live).

That’s a little brief, but I don’t know how else to be.

Imaginary Numbers’ Place in the Series

It’s been five years in series’ time, seven years and seven novels in our timeline, since we spent any real time with Sarah. I remember really liking her as a character for the first two books and couldn’t believe McGuire would do what she did to her so soon out of the gate for the series. But over the years, as she’s been largely “off screen” recovering, I’ve pretty much forgotten everything about her and what made her click for me as a character. I remembered enough to understand what a big deal it was for Sarah and Artie to see each other and to be say all they needed to say. But beyond that…it’d just been too long for me. Maybe if I’d re-read Midnight Blue-Light Special recently (or ever), this wouldn’t have been a problem.

This is our fourth narrator (fourth plus? There’s a lot of this book not narrated by Sarah) in this series, and like most fans, I’ve embraced that as a feature and as a strength. But this one feels more like a sequel to the Annie books (the previous three novels) than we usually get with a narrator switch. There’s a direct connection between the events of Verity’s Chaos Choreography and Annie’s Magic for Nothing, and all the other books show an awareness of the others. But the cast from <‘b>That Ain’t Witchcraft is present and accounted for here, and Imaginary Numbers is happening in its shadow. This isn’t good bad or indifferent, it just gives this book a different vibe than I’m used to in this series.

And the way this ends is pretty different, too—McGuire hasn’t given us a cliffhanger (this is a pretty complete story, thankfully) before. It’s a good one, but, again, not something I’m used to in these books.

One of the advantages of the way this series is set up is that it can do things like this—each book, or each “set” of books*, can take on a different flavor, a different way of approaching the story, a different way to fit in the series, a different way to end a book. While all being part of a larger, overarching story. But there are some dangers with this approach, too. And right now I’m not sure what to think of the Sarah set’s approach.

* The initial “Verity” set, the “Alex” set, then the three “Annie”s and now, two (at least) “Sarah”s, I’m not sure how to group the Verity novel between the Alex and Annie sets.

Hail, Aeslin Mice!

There was much rejoicing here (and I’m betting among all fans) that the Aeslin Mice were back in these pages. If we took nothing else from their absence in the last two books, it’s just how important they are for the telling of these stories—they’re far more than comic relief (although they are that), and for me, the best emotional moments of this particular novel came from them.

So, what did I think about Imaginary Numbers?

I liked it, but not as much as I expected to, not as much as I wanted to. There was just so much space devoted to getting everyone caught up with Sarah (and reminding us who she was/what happened to her). Then another big chunk explaining Jorlacs—and then there was another exposition dump when the Johrlacs explained what was going on to Sarah (and then another chunk when it was explained to the Prices). Just so much talking that it felt like the story got pushed out of the way.

Based on the way this ended, I’m not sure I can actually say what I thought about the book. I might have to wait until the end of Calculated Risks. Still, I enjoyed it. I like this world, I like the characters. McGurie writes a good book, and is probably incapable of writing anything but.

3.5 Stars

This post contains an affiliate link. If you purchase from it, I will get a small commission at no additional cost to you. As always, opinions are my own.

The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding: BOOK XI., iii.-viii.

By HCNewton

On August 14, 2020

In Fiction, Fridays with The Foundling, General Fiction/Literature

Fridays with the Foundling
Allrighty, folks…buckle in. We’ve got to get through 30 pages here to get back on schedule.

We start with Mrs. Fitzpatrick telling Sophia what has her on the road, essentially recapping her entire life from the time she married Mr. Fitzpatrick. It takes three long (by Fielding’s standards) to get through. In short, she was taken in by his (fleeting) charms—a personality that disappeared soon after their wedding, and looks that went the way of all things. He, on the other hand, seemed primarily interested in her “Ready Money” (in the words of one of his impatient creditors). Even as she becomes aware of the latter, he’s able to talk her into returning to Ireland with him and to take up residence in an increasingly gloomy house. From this point, we get a tale of repeated arguments, infidelity (on his part), imprisonment in her quarters, and attempts to force her to sell part of her landholdings.

What a great guy, eh?

They’re interrupted briefly by the landlady with news that the French have arrived to throw in with the rebellion against the Queen. It’s distressing news to Sophia, but she’s so worried about her father’s arrival and what Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s been telling her that her reaction isn’t quite right.

Then Sophia tells her tale—Fielding tells us that he won’t recap what she says, because we’ve already read it. But, there’s a catch:

she made no more mention of Jones, from the Beginning to the End, than if there had been no such Person alive. This I will neither endeavour to account for nor to excuse. Indeed, if this may be called a Kind of Dishonesty, it seems the more inexcusable, from the apparent Openness and explicit Sincerity of the other Lady.—But so it was.

A Gentleman arrives at the Inn and, after a lot of fuss and bother, is revealed to be the gentleman and neighbor of Mrs. Fitzpatrick who helped her escape from her home and get to England. He agrees to help the ladies get to London safely.

I’ve got to say, this was hard to get through. It was exactly the kind of info dump that most authors try to avoid today, and just wasn’t that interesting. I hope, hope, that learning all this pays off eventually and is something more than just Mrs. Fitzpaterick’s backstory just to be told it.

Still, that little nugget about Sophia leaving Tom out of the tale of her last few months is interesting…

The Revelators by Ace Atkins: It’s All Been Leading to This

By HCNewton

On August 14, 2020

In Ace Atkins, Fiction, Mystery/Detective Fiction/Crime Fiction/Thriller, Quinn Colson

The Revelators

by Ace Atkins
Series: Quinn Colson, #10

Hardcover, 386 pg.
G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 2020

Read: August 4-10, 2020
Grab a copy from your local indie bookstore!

“Place kinda looks like when you came home ten years back?”

“Nope,” Quinn said, placing the small bottle back in the glove box. “It’s a lot worse.”

What’s The Revelators About?

How is it already book ten?

The Revelators starts with Boom Kimbrough trying to keep his friend alive. Quinn Colson has been responding to a call about a domestic dispute and had been ambushed by The Watchmen—the far-right vigilante militia beating him and then someone shooting him. When a book starts off with your series’ protagonist clinging to life, you know it’s going to be a grim time and it is.

A year passes and Quinn’s rehab has gone pretty well. The governor has appointed someone to fill in as Sherriff, and that man is everything that Quinn isn’t, he make’s Quinn’s crooked uncle look like a fine lawman. He’s not entirely physically ready, but he can’t wait anymore—Quinn’s got to step up and do his job before it’s too late and criminal elements have completely taken over. Quinn, Boom, Lillie Virgil, and the Jon Holliday (plus who knows how many undercover agents he has—he won’t tell anyone) prepare for a significant move that’ll put most, if not all, of the major elements in prison.

Meanwhile, the new Sherriff and ICE raid a local chicken processing plant (to the surprise of almost everyone in the county), arresting everyone, not allowing anyone to provide their immigration papers (of those who have them), merely sending them off somewhere to await deportation. Lillie and her church have their hands full with the children left behind by this move. If anything, this action galvanizes Quinn to step up his work.

Fannie Hathcock is making moves of her own, securing her position not only in Tibbehah County but the entire state (and beyond). And…well, I don’t have the space to keep going. There are so many moving pieces in this book I’m not even going to attempt to summarize.

There’s at least an allusion to the previous books, and many characters/crimes/events from them directly impact what happens here. The Revelators is the culmination of ten novels’ worth of events and nothing’s going to be the same after it. It’s clear from the get-go that Atkins has something major in mind and the atmosphere of the whole book reflects that. At various points in the novel, I have notes like “please don’t do anything to X and Y.” And at times it feels like this could be the series finale, and I spent a little time wondering how there’ll be any way for it to continue.*

* I’ve heard/read enough interviews of Atkins at this point to know he’s not keeping the next novel a secret, so I don’t feel bad about saying that.

Is this Fiction?

From the ICE raid on a chicken processing plant—and the way that parents are kept from their children afterward, to the police corruption and abuse of power, to the militant (and well-armed) right-wing group pushing their way around, and a few other spoilery actions—these “ripped from the headlines” storylines made me wonder time and time again how little fictionalization/sensationalism Atkins was pouring int this. I’m so relieved that it is fiction but at far too many points, it doesn’t feel all that fictional and you get a little sick wondering just how much of this could really be happening in Mississippi (or your own state).

Lights in the Darkness

In the middle of all this corruption, crime, inhumanity, and impending doom, there are moments of hope, joy, and family. Quinn’s nephew, Jason, falls for a girl (who falls right back). Quinn and Maggie are expecting. Maggie’s son Brandon grows closer to his new family—there’s one very sweet scene between Brandon and Quinn. Caddy seems to have found another chance at love.

And an old foe realizes how far down the wrong road they’ve gone and seeks to make it up to Quinn. I had to read a couple of scenes twice to make sure I understood what was going on.

Not only does that kind of thing keep Quinn and his allies going—it’s a reason to keep fighting, even if things are worse in the ten years since he came home. But, it also makes it easier to read. If it was all crime, corruption, racism, impending doom, and the rest, sure, it’d be worth reading, but these brief reminders that even Tibbehah County isn’t as bad as it could possibly be make it so much easier to keep reading.

So, what did I think about The Revelators?

“Johnny Stagg, J. K. Vardaman, the Watchman—all of them come from the same place,” Quinn said. “Me and you been fighting them over since we came home.”

“Been here long before me and you were born,” Boom said. “And they gonna be around long after we die.”

“That’s a hard take,” Quinn said.

“Do I lie?”

That is a hard—and honest—take. But what Quinn leaves unspoken is that it really doesn’t matter how long this kind have been around, people like he and Boom have been around resisting, fighting back the darkness, and trying to make it easier for light to shine. That’s why readers have kept coming back to this series for ten years. And they’ll keep coming back as long as that fight’s being waged.

Atkins has outdone himself this time—there are so many moving parts, so many interweaving plotlines, so much that he has to reveal slowly (or not let us see) so that he can let it all loose at the right time.

While reading it, I kept muttering about how good it all was, how fantastically Atkins was pulling off this very ambitious novel—and he made it look easy while keeping the reader white-knuckling the cover.

Book 11 in this series is going to look pretty different than the ten that came before, but it’ll be Quinn facing off with the same type of people—and as long as we get books of this caliber (or near it), that’ll be more than good enough.

5 Stars

This post contains an affiliate link. If you purchase from it, I will get a small commission at no additional cost to you. As always, opinions are my own.

Going Back by Neil Lancaster: Improvise, Adapt, Overcome. Just another day for Novak.

By HCNewton

On August 14, 2020

In Fiction, Mystery/Detective Fiction/Crime Fiction/Thriller

Going Back

by Neil Lancaster
Series: Tom Novak Thriller, #3

eARC, 506 pg.
Burning Chair Publishing, 2020

Read: August 11, 2020

What’s Going Back About?

Over the last couple of books, Tom Novak has received some pretty significant favors from Mike Brogan, his old friend who does some sort of work for American Intelligence (I like how vague his actual role is kept). And now he’s collecting.

There’s an ex-Serbian Special Operations officer who was freed from a prison van by a paramilitary force using some sort of device that seems like a portable EMP. Which is something that everyone (including governments around the world) wants, but no one’s been able to create. There’s a two-fold interest in this—1. can that portable device actually do what they think? and 2. There seems to be something major underway from this officer, probably using the EMP-like device. Which is not good for anyone.

Brogan’s team is pretty sure they know who’s bringing the tech-savvy to the team. Stefan Cerović left the country about the same time as Novak—but he ended up in the States. He was recently fired from a prominent tech company for failing a drug test and resurfaced in Belgrade. Cerović appeared to be relying on one particular black-market arms dealer, who’d recently been arrested. The job is for Novak to present himself as a new supplier as a way in. His ability with the language and similar background to Cerović is seen as a way for him to connect.

Mike will be around as backup, and of course, Pet will be around, too, doing all the typical technical wizardry.* Pet’s one of those characters that changes every scene she’s in—and makes Novak a more likable character when she’s around. I forget how much I like her until she shows up.

* Minor spoiler: Pet makes a costly mistake. I was so happy to see this. So often tech wizards like her are depicted as nigh infallible. But she makes a bad judgment call and she and Tom pay for it, keeping her human—a fantastically talented human, sure—but human.

As things are wont to do, after some initial success (Cerović’s a lot more interested in drugs than initially thought, which opens up so many doors for Novak), Brogan’s nifty plan goes off the rails—but not in a way you’d expect. Novak and Pet have to rely on Novak’s Marine slogan, and improvise and adapt so they have a shot at overcoming their opponents.

Serbia, huh?

I keep wondering how much mileage Lancaster’s going to be able to get out of Novak’s heritage and assume at some point we’re going to get a novel where it’s not so central. But until then, I’ll continue to be interested in seeing how Lancaster can adapt it.

This time out, putting him in his old homeland allows (forces?) him to confront and better understand his history (both recent and decades-old). Lancaster is able to get a two-for-the-price-of-one return here, not only is it the perfect setting for this kind of story, but we get a little character development.

One Gripe…

No self-respecting Texan is going to describe himself as from the “Deep South.” Sorry. Yes, it’s a minor issue, but it took me out of the moment. And for a book/series that reeks of authenticity, it’s a conspicuous blunder.

I did read an eARC which I know are still subject to change. Hopefully, that’s one of those edits that’s addressed before publication date.

So, what did I think about Going Back?

The first two books in this series had a pretty clear line of demarcation between the “undercover police officer” part and the “action hero” part of the book, and it worked pretty well. In Going Back, however, Novak slides back and forth between the two pretty easily (although the there is a clear shift in emphasis). I liked that a whole lot and hope Lancaster can do more of that in the future.

Throughout the whole book it felt to me like Lancaster had taken everything that worked best in Going Dark and Going Rogue, combining them while leaving off everything that didn’t work as well. Giving us the best in the series, a confident and well-paced thrill ride that will please fans and probably pick up a few for the series. You don’t have to have read the previous three to enjoy this one, the backstory isn’t that important to it. This is a fun way to spend a couple of hours and I recommend it to you.

Disclaimer: I received this eARC from the author in exchange for this post and my honest opinion—thanks for this.

Coffee and Condolences by Wesley Parker: Two People with an Incredible Amount of Baggage Trying to Fit It All in the Same Overhead Compartment

By HCNewton

On August 13, 2020

In Fiction, General Fiction/Literature

Coffee and Condolences

by Wesley Parker

eARC, 268 pg.
2020

Read: July 21, 2020

There’s a bit from the movie Grosse Pointe Blank that has inexplicably gotten stuck in my brain, to rear its head from time to time.

Debi: You know what you need?
Marty: What?
Debi: Shakabuku.
Marty: You wanna tell me what that means?
Debi: It’s a swift, spiritual kick to the head that alters your reality forever.
Marty: Oh, that’d be good. I think.

This snippet of conversation came to mind a few times while reading this book, because if there’s anyone who needs Shakabuku, it’s Miles Alexander. The only question is: where will this kick be coming from?

What’s Coffee and Condolences About?

Miles Alexander is a man on a mission. Following the death of his wife and children and a suicide attempt worthy of Lane Meyer*, his therapist points out that there are two women alive that he needs to repair his relationship with—his mother and sister. For pretty understandable reasons, Miles is willing to work on only one of those—so he flies to New York to track down his sister at NYU, where she’s working on her Master’s.

* Yeah, I did just make a second John Cusak reference, not sure where that came from.

The damage he did to their relationship was pretty bad, and Lily’s not over it. But, she loves her brother and is willing to forgive. They spend some time connecting, but they largely ignore the problem. I enjoyed and appreciated watching the two of them spar and support each other.

While waiting for Lilly, Miles stops off at a coffee shop near campus and falls in deep smit at first sight with a barista, Melody. She seems to be interested in him, too (giving him her phone number unsolicited was the first clue). She knows that Miles is working through some stuff, and gives him space to do so and tell her about it in his own time—she’s got her own particular kind of baggage, too. She’ll share that when she’s ready.

Readers will know her secret almost immediately, but that’s okay, the focus isn’t supposed to be on the mystery—it’s about Miles working through things and when he learns it, that’s the important part. As nice as the romance is, as fun (and important) as the brother/sister bond is, the book’s focus is Miles and his continuing grieving and healing. In a move reminiscent of Nick Hornby’s Rob coming clean to the reader about the horrible thing he did to his girlfriend*, Miles eventually tells his reader about the horrible thing he did shortly before his wife’s death. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, but you can’t help but feel for the guy—he and his wife would’ve worked through it (you sense) had they been given the opportunity. Instead, it’s something that Miles has to work through on his own, so he can move forward with his life. With Melody’s secret and the revelation Miles gives us, the important part isn’t the content—it’s how Parker delivers the revelation. And he does it exactly right.

* Not a Cusak reference, I meant the book. But it’s close.

Lilly gives the support and encouragement, Melody gives Miles the security to process what he needs to—and Dr. Felt helped equip him to do these things. Somewhere in there, Shakabuku.

Yes, eventually, their mother appears and Miles has to deal with her. Up until the end, the whole thing between his mother and Miles didn’t click with me—it’s probably a problem with me and my attention span, not with Parker’s writing. But anything that took focus away from Lilly or Melody wasn’t really that interesting to me. But once Miles got serious about mending fences and making amends with her, I finally bought into the relationship and thought Parker did a good job with the resolution there.

Now, sure, you might be thinking that a therapist by the name of Dr. Felt has all the subtlety of a brick flying through the air. And you’d be right. But, you know what? The name Felt actually works for her. She’s a cool character, and a nice tribute to the mental health professions on Parker’s part. The Miles/Dr. Felt relationship/interplay is one of my favorite parts of the book.

What can I say about the ending without any spoilers? It’s sweet and gratifying. Just what the doctor ordered.

So what did I think about Coffee and Condolences ?

It occurs to me as I write this that I’ve enjoyed a lot more of “Lad Lit” in the last year or so—mostly self/independently published. I dabbled in some of it years ago, and largely was annoyed and turned off by what I read. But since I read Matthew Hanover’s Not Famous, I’ve been exposed to some really good—and really entertaining—works in this subgenre. I need to get better at talking about them, because I feel myself floundering here—and I feel bad about that. Parker deserves a little better than what I’ve come up with.

The plot was decent, I liked the characters (not necessarily everything they did, but them) and was engaged with most of them right away, I was invested in the outcome of most of the plotlines, I thought it was a great idea to tie in the therapy Miles received to what was going on, and I enjoyed Parker’s voice and most of his choices.

Coffee and Condolences was like a medium-dark chocolate mocha. Just a hint of a bite, but a sweet treat (and I specified medium, because I wanted a little more), a very pleasant experience. I recommend it, I will be in line with cash ready for the next book Parker releases.

Disclaimer: I received this book from the author in exchange for this post and my honest opinion—I appreciate that, and apologize that it’s taken me so long to get this posted, but it had no impact on what I said or how I rated the book.

The Blues Don’t Care by Paul D. Marks: Jazz, Murder, and Rampant Phone Book Vandalism

By HCNewton

On August 12, 2020

In Fiction, Mystery/Detective Fiction/Crime Fiction/Thriller

Earlier, I posted an excerpt from this book (which you should read if you haven’t yet), now here’s what I thought about the book.

The Blues Don’t Care

by Paul D. Marks
Series: Bobby Saxon, #1

Kindle Edition, 376 pg.
Down & Out Books, 2020

Read: July 30-31, 2019
Grab a copy from your local indie bookstore!

What’s The Blues Don’t Care About?

Bobby Sexton is a young Los Angeleno, of military age (who is not serving but wants to) during the height of World War II. His greatest desire in life is to be a piano player—he can’t get on with a serious band (mostly due to age, it seems—but there’s something else, too). So he starts spending time in black jazz clubs and finally works out the nerve to try to get in with the Booker ‘Boom-Boom’ Taylor Orchestra. He’s given a shot, and during his first gig, a white man is murdered. One of the other band members is arrested for the murder, but Booker (and Bobby) are sure he’s only arrested because he’s a convenient black man.

So, Booker makes Bobby a deal—use his whiteness in a way that no one else in the band can—find the killer. Or, at least, find a way to get James out of jail. Drawing on knowledge of detecting gained solely out of films, Bobby gives it a shot.

He catches a break by striking up the beginning of a friendship with a Deputy assigned to the case (who is not all that sure that James is guilty, but isn’t free to find an alternate suspect). Given the hints from that deputy, Bobby plunges in and soon finds himself lost in a maze of smuggling, big business, refugees, intelligence about the Concentration Camps, Nazis, and more. Bobby quickly learns (and relearns and relearns) that real life and real detective work isn’t like it looks in the movies, still he seems to have some talent for detecting (or is he just too stubborn to realize he doesn’t?).

A Couple of Thoughts about the Setting

It occurs to me, that every book I’ve read that takes place in World War II (and doesn’t involve the armed forces) takes place in or around New York City (or wherever the Pevensie children go). Seeing Los Angeles at this time was a nice change. I’d never really thought about what it was like during this time in L.A.—or anywhere that wasn’t where my grandparents lived or NYC.

For a book that’s largely about tolerance and acceptance of others, the era-appropriate racial and ethnic slurs fly pretty freely in this book. I can see a lot of people being made uncomfortable by it, being offended, or objecting to it. Not me, it’s how people talked—the slurs directed toward the African Americans Bobby plays with or spends time around did feel ugly, and those who used them weren’t depicted favorably. But the epithets for Axis powers (or their citizens) were casually used by just about every character. It didn’t strike me as hateful, just as slang. Maybe it says something about me (or maybe I read too many books written in the 1940s and 50s) that I didn’t care about it, it just seemed like context-appropriate dialogue. But I do know that not all readers will appreciate that aspect.

A Note about the Framing Device

There’s a framing device used here to introduce us to Bobby, Booker, Bobby’s music, and to give us a glance at their future. I’m not sure it was needed, I don’t know what it added—but I didn’t mind it. But as I thought about the book, I wondered, “why?” I just didn’t see the value.

I can see where in any sequels it could come back, and maybe turn into something I don’t wonder about, but I’m not convinced we need that device.

I’m not saying it was bad…just extraneous.

Has Bobby Never Heard of a Notepad?

Sure, I get it. There were shortages of everything, rations were the name of the game, but Bobby couldn’t have used a notepad, scratch paper, the back of sheet music, anything? Every time he looks something up, like an address in a phone book*, he rips out the page that has the information to take it with him.

* Kids and younger adults should ask your parents.

I remember reading other, older, PI novels where this happens some—and even some TV shows/movies. But Bobby’s a serial vandal—I lost count of who many phone books he ruined. Please, please, Mr. Marks, get the guy a pencil and a notepad for the sequel.

So, what did I think about The Blues Don’t Care?

First of all, I would’ve liked more about the jazz/band. Bobby playing, thinking about, or listening to music was the best part of the book. Yeah, I know, it’s a murder mystery, not a band novel, so the focus needs to be on the murder and hunt for the murderer. But, I tell you what, we could’ve used a lot more of the music scene for flavor, for grounding the story—and just for fun.

There are aspects of the novel, particularly about Bobby, that I don’t feel comfortable talking about at this point—I can’t do it without ruining some reveals. But I do appreciate the way that Marks deals with the characters and their circumstances. That’s really all I can say.

I see that this is listed as the first of a series, and I’m not sure how long you can use the “fish out of water” musician-turned-detective idea before it stops working, but I’m interested in seeing how Marks tries to do it. I’ll be back for at least the first sequel.

On the whole, though, I enjoyed this book. I enjoyed the amateur (very) detective stumbling his way through the L.A. underworld, through the racial divide, and through his first case—and through a degree of maturation and self-acceptance. It’s got the heart of a hard-boiled mystery, but isn’t as grim or violent as you’d expect (not that it’s a cozy by any means). Marks hits the right notes* with his prose and characters, creating a mystery that appeals on many levels. I recommend this for mystery readers looking for the kind of thing they haven’t read before.

* You know I had to.

Disclaimer: I received this book from the author via Saichek Publicity in exchange for this post and my honest opinion—thanks to both for this.

3.5 Stars

This post contains an affiliate link. If you purchase from it, I will get a small commission at no additional cost to you. As always, opinions are my own.

EXCERPT from The Blues Don’t Care by Paul D. Marks

By HCNewton

On August 12, 2020

In Fiction, Mystery/Detective Fiction/Crime Fiction/Thriller, Quotations

I was pretty excited when I got the email for this excerpt, it was precisely what I’d hoped Marks would give me (and a little more, but that’s just frosting on the cake). This is a great sample of the book.

From author Paul D. Marks: Bobby Saxon’s on a mission. He wants to play piano for the Booker ‘Boom-Boom’ Taylor Orchestra (big band), the house band at the famous Club Alabam on Central Avenue in the heart of Los Angeles during World War II. But there’s a problem: he’s young and he’s white. So if he gets the gig he’d be the only white player in the otherwise all-black band. That’s not the only thing standing in his way. In order to get the gig he must first solve a murder that one of the band members has been accused of. And if that’s still not enough there’s another big thing standing in his way…

This excerpt begins the morning after the murder of Hans Dietrich aboard the gambling ship Apollo offshore from Los Angeles. Bobby had just played his first gig with the Booker ‘Boom Boom’ Taylor Orchestra on the ship and the band’s sax player James Christmas has been arrested for Dietrich’s murder. Booker shows up at Bobby’s apartment and asks Bobby to try to clear James of the murder. He figures since Bobby is white he can go places and ask questions that Booker can’t. And he makes Bobby an offer he can’t refuse…a permanent place in the band if he agrees to help.

from Chapter Four of The Blues Don’t Care by Paul D. Marks (available from Down & Out Books)

Bobby’s head swirled with thoughts of James and the dead guy, Dietrich. Had James done it? Bobby didn’t know him very well but James seemed like a hot head. The way he overreacted to everything and seemed angry all the time, Bobby wouldn’t put it past him, especially since the dead German had made comments about colored people.

His wristwatch read five to twelve, almost the witching hour, but not very late by musicians’ standards, when he pulled up in front of his apartment in his 1935 Oldsmobile Six convertible. Several years old, it had been in an accident, so Bobby got it cheap. It was still one snazzy car and he loved the running boards, rag top, rumble seat, and magenta color. Not the original color, but a hot jazz color if ever there was.

Bobby grabbed his stuff, didn’t bother locking the car, headed up the walk. His building was like a thousand others in Hollywood, a million in L.A. White stucco and Spanish style, but it had seen better days. He opened the wood-and-glass-paneled front door, walked down the carpeted but threadbare hall to his tiny apartment in the back. He’d thought about going to a Gene Autry Western at the all-night theater to unwind, decided against it. A smoke and his couch would help him unwind just fine.

He threw off his hat and coat, yanked off his tie and shoes, and flopped on the sofa. It was too much trouble pulling down the Murphy bed. He pulled out the ever-present pack of Viceroys, lit up, drew hard, turned on the radio—war news, what else? It was as good as anything to drift off to sleep to.

Intense morning sun streamed through the venetian blinds, casting long shadows, while dust mites jitterbugged on the light. Bobby, asleep in his clothes on the couch, turned. A loud knock on the front door seeped into his semi-consciousness. Who the hell was it, the cops?

He got up, adjusted his shirt carefully, making sure everything was in place. He ran his hand over his chin and cheek, then headed to the door, saw Booker through the peephole. Booker was in the same suit he’d worn last night; looked like he’d slept in it.

“Booker,” he said, opening the door.

Booker stumbled in. “You got any coffee?”

“Sure.” Bobby walked to the kitchen on the far side of the room, followed by Booker. He started the percolator while Booker made himself comfortable at the banquette. “How ’bout some breakfast?”

“I didn’t sleep at all, Bobby. You?”

“Nothing keeps me from sleeping.”

“You’re lucky.”

“In some ways.” Bobby thought this was a slip, but Booker didn’t pick up on it. Bobby started frying up some eggs and bacon. Making toast. They would use up most of his rations for the week, but Booker was a guest.

“I got a funny look from one-a your neighbors coming here.”

“Probably Mrs. Hazelton, the landlady.”

“I don’t think she likes colored folk in her neighborhood.”

“She looks at everyone like that. I’ve been living here a year and she still looks at me funny.”

“I don’t know if you’re telling me the truth or not, but it makes me feel better anyways. Bobby, this is a nice place.”

“This dump? It’s all right, but I’m aiming to move to better digs.”

“You ain’t no rich white boy just slumming, playin’ on Central Avenue with the darkies to stick it to your folks?”

“Nope.”

“You go to school?”

“I graduated high school. I like to read. But I’ve never been to college.”

“That’s good. I don’t want no eggheads in my band. They tend to intellectualize everything.” Booker sipped the coffee Bobby gave him. He looked the room over. “So, where’s your piano?”

“If there was a piano in here there’d be no room for me. I go to my old piano teacher’s house in Edendale to practice.”

“Edendale? The land of kooks and crazies.”

“Maybe that’s why I fit in.” Booker laughed. “So who do you like? Musically.”

“Benny Goodman. Dorsey. Ellington. Armstrong.” “All the usual suspects.” Booker threw a hard glance at Bobby. “So whatd’d ya think about them hauling James off?”

Booker’s abrupt change of subject threw Bobby for a moment as he put out the plates of food and topped off Booker’s coffee. He set a bottle of ketchup on the table. Both of them dug in. Anyone looking at this scene from outside would have seen two pals chowing down.

“Do you think he did it?”

“I don’t know, man,” Booker said. “What I do know is that the cops don’t care. They got a suspect. A colored suspect. They’re happy. I know you and James aren’t exactly tight, but maybe you can do some checking around.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, ask some questions. See what you can find out.”

“Criminy, Booker, I’m no detective.”

“I know that. But you got something I don’t, something no one else in the band has.”

“What’s that?”

“A passport.”

“Passport?” Booker pinched Bobby’s pink cheek. “White skin. You can go places we can’t. Ask questions we can’t and get away with it. Maybe even get some answers.”

“You want me to play Sam Spade? Like in that movie The Maltese Falcon?”

“Sure, why not? But you ain’t no ‘spade’ far as I can see.” Booker looked Bobby up and down, grinned.

“I’m no Humphrey Bogart either.”

“Hell no, you’re ten times better looking.”

“I’m not sure how much that says about me,” Bobby said. “But I do have a fedora. What else is there?”

“A gun.”

“Well, that I don’t have.”

“And hopefully you won’t need one.”

Bobby hoped not. He had never fired a gun, though he’d seen Gene Autry and Roy Rogers and Bogart all do it in the movies a million times. What was he getting himself into?

“What about the gig, I’ll have to be there every night to play.”

“There is no gig. The Apollo’s shut down, at least temporarily. And you’re on probation with the band. You solve this, you got the gig.”

“I thought I’d get the gig ’cause I can play.”

“That too. ’Sides, what else you got to do now that we’re on hiatus since they shut the Apollo down?” Booker shrugged. “If you get James off, I’ll give you a permanent spot with the band.”

“What if he’s guilty?”

“If he is, if you prove him innocent or guilty without a doubt either way, you got the gig.”

“So where do I start?”

“You seemed to be talking to that plainclothes deputy a long time. Maybe start with him. See what they have on James. I’m gonna try and get him a lawyer. White lawyer. Jewish lawyer.” Booker took a drag on his cig.

“I want a spot, but I want it ’cause I’m a good musician.” “You are a good musician. Now go and be a good detective.” Bobby had no idea where to begin, but something inside him liked the idea of playing detective, at least for a little while, even if he wouldn’t admit it to Booker. It might make him more of a man.

Bobby parked across the street from the Los Angeles County Hall of Justice, an imposing building and right now it was imposing itself on Bobby. The top five floors of the 1926 beaux arts structure housed the main jail for the county and that’s where Bobby was headed. He stood in its shadow, trying without success to light a cigarette in the wind. He stopped, looked at the columns of highly polished gray granite, tossed his match. Headed inside.

Ionic columns, marble walls, a gilded ceiling, and a vaulted foyer, looking like a Grecian palace and running the length of the building, belied the jail that lay on the top floors. All that majesty changed when Bobby got off the elevator on the fifth floor. The unwelcoming yellowed linoleum and hard-tiled walls made Bobby’s footsteps carom off the ceiling. The visitor’s area, with its filtered yellow light and stained dull green walls, didn’t improve his mood. And if this is what the county presented to the public, he couldn’t imagine what the jail’s cells were like. He longed for a drag on a cigarette.

A uniformed deputy sat him at a long wooden table. The scarred surface bore the marks of almost every prisoner who’d sat there. A large, pissed-off-looking man shuffled in, accompanied by a larger, more pissed-off deputy.

“Yer the last person I expected to see here,” James said, looking even angrier upon seeing Bobby.

“Booker asked me to come.”

“’Course you wouldn’t come on your own.”

Why the hell would I the way you went after me? “Do you hate everyone or just whites?”

“Mostly whites. But I pretty much hate everyone equally.”

“I think you hate yourself more than anyone else.”

Instead of shutting James up, he came back with, “Don’t go being no Freud on me. Why don’t you go home to your silver spoon and perfect family?”

Bobby stifled a laugh. “Booker asked me to help you.”

“An’ what can you do for me, white boy? You who’s wet behind the ears and don’t even look like you started shaving yet.”

“I see that you don’t need my help. Enjoy the food, I hear it’s yummy in here.” Bobby got up to leave, turned his back on James.

“Bobby?” James stood. The deputy shoved him down on the chair—hard. “Wait.”

They stared at each other across the table. The deputy stood rock solid behind James. The look in his eyes said he hoped the big man would make a move. James disappointed him. In a very small voice that admitted defeat, he said, “Got a smoke?”

Was that James’ way of asking Bobby to stay, maybe even to help? Bobby shook out a Viceroy, started to pass it across the table. The deputy took it, rolled it around in his fingers, probably to make sure a Bowie knife wasn’t hidden inside, and handed what was left of the crumpled cigarette to James. He put it in his mouth and Bobby lit it for him.

“Maybe I do have a small chip on my shoulder.”

Bobby sat down again. “I’ll say. Only about as small as the Rock of Gibraltar.”

“Well, could be bigger. Could be as big as Everest.” James cracked the slightest smile, held up his arm. A long, angry slash. Fresh. He pulled up his shirt. More bruises. The deputy slapped his billy club on James’ shoulder. The shirt went down.

“What happened?”

James leaned in, talked softly, “They beat me. Of course, they kept away from my face. But they had a hell of a good time doin’ it. And my chip keeps growing. So what’d Booker send you here for? Got a hack saw up your sleeve?”

“He thought I might be able to help.”

“You got friends or maybe your daddy’s on the po-lice force?”

“No. But why don’t you tell me where you were when Dietrich was killed.”

“That his name? No one ever told me.” He sighed. “’Course no one knows exactly when he was killed. But they had to have enough time to haul the body up to the rafters. I think I was probably back in the lifeboat, smoking reefer. Wasn’t feeling too good that night. Seasick, you know. And mad as hell after my confrontation with this Dietrich.”

“Uh,” Bobby didn’t know how to proceed. He was no private eye. “Was anyone with you?”

“I know I’m just a lowly spade, but I don’t have to have someone holding my hand every minute.” “I’m trying to help. It would be good if we had someone to alibi you.” Bobby was getting into the rhythm of being a detective.

“Got no alibis. All I got is my sax and I don’t even have that here.”

“And we miss it in the band.” Bobby stared beyond James, at the grimy walls. “James, did you do it?”

“Hell no!”

Bobby figured people in jail lied. He didn’t know if James was lying or not. But for now he’d take him at his word. “I’ll do what I can.”

He pulled out his pack of Viceroys, tossed it on the table. The deputy grabbed it. Stuck his fingers inside, pulled two cigs, tossed them to James. Stuck the pack in his pocket.

Out on the street in front of the jail, Bobby sucked in a deep breath of fresh air, opened a new pack of smokes. Lit up and took one long drag. He looked across the road to the rundown Bijou Theatre, playing a re-release of The Maltese Falcon. Bobby darted across the street. Short of a correspondence course on private detecting, he figured this would be about as much of a class in the subject as he could hope for.

Bobby emerged from the theater a couple hours later to a dark Los Angeles, lit by streetlamps haloing in the low-hanging fog that had rolled in. He got in the Olds, cut over to Beverly Boulevard, drove west. I should be playing music, not hunting for a killer. I didn’t take a correspondence course in Detecting 101. Criminy, I’m even more of a fish out of water than Booker knows.

Where the hell do I go now? I guess it would help to know who the, uh, dead guy is, was. I have to look at this logically, Bobby thought on the drive home. The answer’s probably right in front of my face.

He flopped on his sofa, listening to Artie Shaw’s sweet clarinet on the radio in between war news. Bobby flipped through the pages of his high school yearbook. He had tried calling Deputy Nicolai. He had gone home for the day. The desk sergeant wanted to take a message. Bobby didn’t leave one.

The Andrews Sisters’ “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” followed Shaw. Bobby’s eyes grew moist. All those boys overseas. The service flags in almost every window, gold star flags in too many of them. Sometimes he wished he could join the boys in Europe or the Pacific. He didn’t want to think about that now. He wanted to look at the pictures in the yearbook. Johnny Larkman, senior class president. Very handsome. Is that why he was prez? Jane Feldman, most likely to succeed. What else could she be with her glasses and librarian hair? David Chambers. Handsome, smart. The reason Bobby had pulled out the dusty old yearbook in the first place. David in drama club with Bobby. They had appeared in Cyrano de Bergerac together. In the lead roles. Georgiana Greene, voted prettiest and homecoming queen. Bobby had had a major crush on her. Who didn’t? Mary Cooper. Bobby’d sent her a love note in fifth grade and gotten in trouble for it. Mary never said another word to him. They all went through school together, elementary, junior high, high school. And now they were all out on their own, facing their demons. Facing the world. He kept turning pages and reliving memories. Band. Drama club. Lunches in the quad.

It was fun seeing David Chambers the other night, even if Bobby had been too shy to go up to him. He must be doing pretty good to have money to spend on the Apollo.

Bobby fell asleep on the sofa again.

The Malibu sheriff’s outpost, or station, wasn’t much to look at. At least parking was easy. Bobby got out of the Olds Six, inhaled fresh ocean air. Walked inside. After some palavering with the desk sergeant he was allowed back to the detective room. It looked a lot like detective rooms in the movies did. A bunch of wood desks with blotters, file cabinets, and telephones. Men in shirt sleeves and shoulder holsters, some with fedoras on their heads, some with their hats on their desks or hanging from a rack.

Bobby and Sergeant Nicolai sat at a desk in the corner, by the water cooler. Bobby explained he’d come to find out what he could about the Dietrich case.

“Why’re you so interested?”

“James is a member of the band. I’m a member of the band.”

“Doesn’t sound right. Gotta be something more.”

“We have no gig. The Apollo is shut down. We need to hold the band together,” Bobby vamped.

“With a murderer?”

“What if he isn’t?” Nicolai thought a moment. “I’d like to help you but I can’t divulge information on an ongoing investigation.”

“Is it ongoing, Sergeant? And that sounds like a very nice, very formal ‘don’t bother me, kid.’ ”

“I don’t buy your spiel. That boy a friend of yours?”

“I’d hardly say that. But he is a bandmate and we need our first sax.”

“So why doesn’t your leader, Mr. Booker Boom-Boom, come down here himself?”

Bobby’s eyes wandered the room. Nicolai followed. He knew the answer.

“All right, I know why he doesn’t come down. Still—”

“Can’t you give me something?”

“His name’s Hans. Hans Dietrich. I believe he worked in the import-export field. That’s all I know.”

Bobby looked down, then up and straight into Nicolai’s eyes. “I got that much from the papers.”

“You’re a persistent little cuss, aren’t you?” “I got Booker to give me a spot in the band.” “And now you think I’ll just give you information in an ongoing—”

“Tell me something I don’t know and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Something tells me you’ll never be out of my hair.” Nicolai drew a deep breath. “He and his partner, Harlan Thomas, an American, worked as Dietrich Enterprises, on Third Street. Dietrich’s a German citizen, moved here a couple years ago. Forty-five. Unmarried. Blonde over blue. No arrests.”

“That should get me started. Thanks, Sergeant.” Bobby stood, tipping his hat to Nicolai.

Bobby lit up a Viceroy, stepped out into the raging sun and wind and fresh, stinging ocean scent.

“So who are you,” Bobby sucked in the cigarette, exhaled, “Mr. Hans Dietrich?”

Read the rest in The Blues Don’t Care by Paul D. Marks to see what happens from here.

Thanks to Down & Out Books, Paul D. Marks and Saichek Publicity for this excerpt!