• Huge, by Brent Butt (Seal):It sounds like the set-up for a bad joke: three stand-up comics walk into a bar in Canada …
But it’s no joke—it’s a scene played out several times in comedian Brett Butt’s dead-serious thriller, Huge.
One of the comedians is Dale, a cash-strapped but seasoned pro who knows how to leave ’em laughing. Not a superstar, maybe, but he knows how to play the game, serving as emcee and closing headliner on a low-key, low-budget tour of nowhere Canadian prairie towns (Brass Hole! Wire Beach! Horsewater!), working its way to big-city Winnipeg, Manitoba, a prime spot (really!) on the North American comedy circuit. Joining Dale is Rynn, a feisty young Irish comedienne with a possible TV show deal in the works. She’s the opener. And the third comic, occupying the middle slot, is Hobie Huge, an over-sized Canadian desperate to make it as a comedian. He’s local, and so he’s using his customized van to drive them from gig to gig.
Only catch? Hobie’s a frickin’ psychopath—a stone-cold, homicidal nutjob with absolutely zero impulse control and a hair-trigger temper. So what starts out as a fascinating behind-the-scenes peek at the world of stand-up comedy ends up being infinitely darker as Hobie slowly loses it, and Dale and Rynn realize—too late—just how far out on the crazy train their co-star really is.
The lovably schlubby Canadian author, Butt, is probably best known in the United States for Corner Gas, a long-running, still-streaming Canadian sitcom, and No Clue, a 2014 film comedy in which a mild-mannered, middle-aged Vancouver, British Columbia, novelty salesman (played by Butt) poses as a hard-boiled private investigator, hoping to impress a woman. But Huge is something else again—a disturbing,
twitchy, and surprisingly effective nail-biter that draws you in … before it yanks the rug right out from under you.Killer, eh?
• Where the Body Was, by Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips (Image Comics):
By this point, a kick-ass graphic novel by Brubaker (words) and Phillips (art) is no surprise—it’s pretty much an annual event. But Where the Body Was, which marks a break from their regular (and much harder-boiled) Criminal and Reckless series, is something else again—a clever and engaging standalone that borders on cozy; a crime story featuring a group of characters who all live in the same sleepy 1980s American suburban neighborhood, told through a bunch of overlapping viewpoints.
It’s almost quaint: tree-lined streets, well-tended (mostly) lawns, tranquil cul-de-sacs, a tree house, a slew of seemingly comfy bungalows, an old boarding house and, as presented in the helpful “Cast of Characters” list (a nod to vintage Dell Mapbacks), a closed circle of suspects. Those include a couple of ne’er-do-well “wild” kids, a loner with a badge and a rich fantasy life, a horny housewife, a workaholic psychiatrist, a homeless Vietnam vet, a precocious 11-year old fangirl who has appointed herself the local superhero, and an outsider private eye hunting for a runaway girl. And of course a murder that rocks this little world.
It’s all depicted with a nuanced and empathetic hand by Phillips, and as the viewpoint slides back and forth between multiple players and timeframes, the tale feels as cozy as a cup of Earl Grey, poured by Dame Agatha herself. At first, anyway, because Brubaker and Phillips can’t help but slide in a deliciously dark if-not-quite-noir sucker punch at the end. As the various pieces slowly come together, they click into place in a fashion that, frankly, knocked me for a loop.
But of course. How else could it end?
Well played, gentlemen, well played.
• California Bear, by Duane Swierczynski (Mulholland):
I generally hate serial-killer novels. Too often they’re simply workarounds for lightweights who want to skip over the tough job of creating credible villains. But Swierczynski does the heavy lifting here, because he’s after much bigger game. This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco—he ain’t foolin’ around.
Sure, there’s the obligatory hunt for a serial killer, but that's just the corkboard for this author to
pin a whole lot of things to, including:— A multiple murderer known as the “California Bear,” who vanished four decades ago but is now coming out of retirement.
— An upcoming true-crime documentary by some scruple-free filmmakers about that slayer coming out of retirement.
— Cato Hightower, a crooked former cop who smells money, and isn’t beyond a little extortion to get what he wants.
— Jack Queen, a recently released ex-convict and single parent who’s trying to do right by his 15-year-old daughter.
— Jeanie Hightower, Cato’s beleaguered wife, a genealogist unwillingly dragged into her husband’s schemes.
— A slew of California Bear online fans and true-crime podcasters, plus a handful of real-life wannabes and copycats gumming up the works.
— The Girl Detective (aka Matilda), Jack Queen’s aforementioned daughter, a brainiac problem solver, confined to a hospital bed with a bad case of leukemia. And the prognosis is not good.
Along the way, Southern California writer Swierczynski takes savage pokes at a true-crime industry that cashes in on other people’s tragedies, a health care system run for profit, a legal system’s sometimes shaky notions of justice, and the million ways we can be torn apart, while shining a defiant light on the fragile, yet enduring ties that somehow—against all odds—bind us together.
Yeah, the plot slips and slides all over the place, its short, punchy chapters leaping from viewpoint to viewpoint, the head-whipping twists held together only by this author’s always muscular storytelling chops. But what it all adds up to is arguably Swierczynski’s best novel yet—a multilevel triumph that burns red hot, with an ending guaranteed to put the boot to even the most hardened of hearts. (And for those of us fortunate enough to know Duane Swierczynski, that ending is even more devastating.)
• Galway Confidential, by Ken Bruen (Mysterious Press):
There are all kinds of tough guys (and gals), and the Shamus Game has had more than its fair share of both, starting back in the pulps when bullet wounds, knife wounds, the ever-popular KOs, and every other sort of bodily misfortune could be miraculously cured by a shot of hooch from the office bottle, a Lucky or two, a good night’s rest, and maybe a therapeutic roll in the hay.
And in some ways that hasn’t changed much. Bruen’s latest entry in the Jack Taylor series carries on the tradition in grand old fashion. The private eye’s first instinct, after awaking in a Galway, Ireland, hospital from an almost two-year-long coma (thus conveniently skipping the entire pandemic), is to reach for a drink.
And who could blame him?
Alas, that restorative slug is offered by Rafferty, a poetry-spouting stranger who, it’s soon revealed, has been Jack’s only regular visitor. Allegedly an ex-Marine (among other things), he’s the guy who saved Jack from the brutal attack that had landed him in the hospital.
But upon release, it’s a whole new, more violent Galway that greets Jack (Masks! Reduced hours in the bars! Someone setting fire to homeless people at night!). He’s approached by a woman who wants him to find the man who’s been attacking nuns with a hammer.
Reluctant at first (Jack’s no fan of the Catholic Church), he eventually relents, and so, wearing his all-weather Garda coat and armed with his beloved hurley, he sets out to do what must be done.Simple enough, maybe, but fans of these books know that Bruen, one of the most distinctive stylists in crime fiction, only makes it look simple—the Taylor series contains multitudes. Loyal, steadfast, and as Irish as a pint of the black, Jack’s also an angry, bitter alcoholic and drug abuser, broken, battered, tattered, and scarred inside and out, and prone to violence—and not even much of a detective at times. “Cases get solved around me,” he admits, “very rarely did I actually find the solution.”
But try turning away. Somehow, despite numerous betrayals and failures, Jack perseveres. And really, how can anyone turn their back on a man who is so damned that even the nuns, he tells us, were “no longer praying for” him?
• Hero, by Thomas Perry (Mysterious Press):
In this standalone Perry yarn, the man behind the critically acclaimed Jane Whitfield series gives us another strong, resourceful female. But Justine Poole isn’t a
“guide,” shepherding people into new lives under new identities.Nope, Justine—we eventually find out—has already done that. To herself. Not that it matters—it’s her present life, as a personal security agent on the payroll of a high-priced and well-regarded Los Angeles firm, that lands her in trouble.
She's young, ambitious, attractive, quick on her feet, and very good at her job, protecting wealthy, high-profile Hollywood celebrities, attending lavish galas, and hobnobbing with Tinseltown’s rich and famous. So when she gets a call from her hands-on boss, who suspects a couple he’s been guarding—an elderly television producer and his wife—are possibly the targets of a home invasion, she doesn’t hesitate. She rushes to the couple’s swanky Beverly Hills home, and confronts five armed robbers lying in wait, who open fire. Her training kicks in, and she kills two of them, reluctantly becoming the “hero” of the title.
But that acclaim doesn’t last. Her brief moment of local celebrity does not go down well with the fragile ego of Mr. Conger, the man behind the robbery; a self-styled criminal mastermind who takes umbrage at a lone “girl” who not only took out two of his lackeys, but more importantly, blew his scheme to smithereens. Gee, what will all the other criminal masterminds think?
So he dispatches Leo Sealy, a coldly efficient assassin with a few ego problems of his own, to take out Justine and, he hopes, restore the chronically insecure Conger's reputation. Should be a snap, Leo figures, especially with the easily manipulated local media more than eager to dish on the new “hero” and her current whereabouts. Thus begins a dangerous game of cat-and-mouse, as the young bodyguard finds herself trying to stay out of the sights (literally) of a much more experienced and deadly foe.
I said cat-and-mouse, but maybe I should have said roadrunner-and-coyote. It turns out that Justine Poole is unexpectedly resourceful, clever, and … lucky. A few coincidences click into place, a few missteps occur, and the increasingly frustrated Leo winds up badly rattled, making him even more dangerous.
This is a fine romp, a blood-flecked cartoon of deadly intentions and random chaos, tinged with black humor.
Meep-meep.
• Negative Girl, by Libby Cudmore (Datura):
All rock stars die in plane crashes of one kind or another. Sex. Drugs. Actual plane crashes. Take your pick. Someone (Lennon?) said that.
For former rock musician Martin Wade, it was definitely drugs (mostly heroin) that ended not his life, but at least his gig as front man for the French Letters, a 1990s punk band that had a brief slam dance with success. Well, the drugs and the subsequent disappearance of Wade’s wife, Cecilia, for which the LAPD has long suspected (and still suspects) Martin was responsible. As he tells it, “they didn’t know if she was dead or alive, but they saw a junkie ex-rock star aching for a fix and a blackout where a woman should be.”
That was almost two decades ago, though, and somehow Martin was eventually cleared. He survived, cleaned up his act, earned his P.I. ticket, and moved to Perrine, a small town in upstate New York, where he “learned how to run searches and what to look for.” Revisiting his wife’s fate, he finally came to the conclusion that “there was no trace of the woman [he] had once planned to spend [his] life with.”
Yet it’s that years-past tragedy that adds a strong touch of compelling melancholy to this story by Shamus and Black Orchid award winner Cudmore. Martin continues to rebuild his life, attend AA meetings, and live quietly and alone, working simple cases out of his shabby office over a vape shop, playing piano by himself in his living room. Not drinking. Not doing drugs. And keeping his head down.
Of course, one of the big hooks for a geek like me is the never-quite-gone music that is still a huge part of the middle-aged Martin's life, with songs and bands being name-dropped like confetti all over the place. His former bandmates have been mentioned casually in previous Wade stories Cudmore has contributed to Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine,
Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, and other periodicals. But in this long-awaited novel-length debut (its title nicked from a Steely Dan song), one of them is finally dragged into the spotlight.Janie Carlock, a promising young classical musician, shows up one day at Martin’s office and asks his new assistant, the heavily tattooed, 30-something Valerie Jacks, for an appointment. Janie wants Martin to speak to her estranged, drug addict father, who has lately been stalking her, trying to push his way into her life. As it transpires, that father is Ron Carlock, Martin’s old friend and a guitarist from the French Letters, who is still struggling with pills and booze. When Martin finally hooks up with Ron, the reunion isn’t a happy one. And their association doesn’t improve after Janie’s corpse is fished out of a river only days later.
The cops quickly write this drowning off as an accident, but Martin, Valerie, and Janie's heart-broken father don’t buy it. Martin reluctantly starts to nose around, unaware that Valerie, eager to prove her investigative chops and do more than manage their office, is conducting her own parallel investigation. Martin, we learn, isn’t the only sleuth here with a dark past, and Valerie has more than enough confidences of her own to confront.
As Cudmore’s story unfolds, and the side-by-side investigations crisscross in an uneasy tango (at one point, Valerie confesses that she doesn’t mind Martin when he “wasn’t being an asshole”), façades fall away and both secrets and hard, unpleasant truths are brought to the fore. Addiction, family ties, obsession, greed, resentment, mental illness, jealousy, and denial swirl around as Martin and Valerie swap the first-person narrative chores from chapter to chapter. When the solution of this moody, noir-tinged weeper comes, it cuts deep.
But not as deep as the concealed histories of our two gumshoes.
Wrenching. But you can dance to it.
Other 2024 Favorites: Murder at La Villette, by Cara Black (Soho Crime); Cream of the Crop: Best Mystery and Suspense Stories of Bill Pronzini, by Bill Pronzini (Stark House); Kingpin, by Mike Lawson (Atlantic Monthly Press); The Murder of Mr. Ma, by S.J. Rozan and John Shen Yen Nee (Soho Crime); and Buster, by George Pelicanos (Akashic).
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