HCC 044

4 out of 5

Daaaaamn, Westlake.  There’s some disparagement, apparently, for Westlake’s so-called “nephew” books – i.e. hapless narrator, comedic-bent tales – but this long-since-published tale, brought back to life by Hard Case Crime, can haplessly comedic-bently stumble its way through my readin’ paws anytime.  This is prime Westlake, to me: not hardboiled, fine, and a bit slow to muster its momentum, but once it’s going, it’s freaking going.  And what I love about this, as the pages fly by, is how well this book could work in any era, updated technology be damned: written in 1969, the story of Chet trying to track down a 900 dollar bookie bet leading to his involvement in a mob murder investigation would sing on screen, big or small, but sings loudest on the paper, where we can revel in Westlake’s casual tone and repartee and – again, once it gets going – ace pacing.

The any-era comment is legit: 900 bucks is enough money to make sense for a paycheck-to-paycheck earner to follow up on, and due to the way Chet gets stuck in the middle of, like, 1800 different squads’ squabbles regarding his bookie (whom Chet discovers shot dead when going to retrieve his bid), no smart phone or dark web connection is going to help him sort out who did what and why and make it clear to gang boss X, Y, or Z that he… just wants his money.

Which Westlake milks for all due hilarity, and, in a way, it’s only his dedication to the relative reality of Chet’s personality that slows down the midsection of the book.  The dude is no hero; when the bookie’s sister gets involved, he’s not a Mr. Suave; when the cops get involved, he’s not overly cautious or clever with his explanations – just honest; and so Westlake takes us through the paces of a normal dude with a normal, sane, dedication to staying alive and avoid gunshots gearing up for action.  This leads to a lot of prime banter, but you see some clues dropped here and there about what’s going on, and you’re just watching the pot boil for a bit.

But it does, and the heat just keeps turning up from there.

Confession: I didn’t read the HCC edition, but rather a used 70s nab. Which makes me all the happier that Charles Adlai’s publishing outfit knows its genre, and brought this book back into print, where it deserves to be forevermore.