Bust (Hard Case Crime)

When Max Fisher, who is cheating on his wife, hires a psychopath to kill his wife, things go horribly wrong for everyone involved. Original.

Starred Review. This first-time collaboration between two rising crime fiction writers is a full-tilt, rocking homage to noir novels of the 1950s, taking full advantage of the neo-pulp Hard Case Crime imprint. Wealthy, successful New York City business owner Max Fisher finds himself in a delightfully familiar scenario: he wants to get rid of his nagging wife so he can shack up with his sexy secretary, Angela Petrakos. When Angela introduces Max to Dillon, a former IRA hit man, Max thinks he's found his man; what Max doesn't know is that Dillon is already Angela's man—and the two plan to double-cross Max as soon as it becomes profitable. Dillon, however, proves to be less a professional than a psychotic: he'd just as soon kill "for the price of a pint" as he would for Max's wealth. Rolling in on the action is wheelchair-bound Bobby Rosa, an ex-con with a taste for lewd photography, guns and blackmail. As it tends to do, the murderous plot goes awry, sending Bruen and Starr's delicious, despicable characters scrambling for their money and their lives. A seamless blend of Bruen's dead-on Irish underworld and Starr's hellish vision of the Big Apple, Hard Case's latest release is smart, trashy fun, fulfilling ably the series' irresistible promise. (May)
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All-star jams are usually disappointing; put Keith Richards and Eddie Van Halen onstage together, and they won't have a feel for each other's songs. The authors' star status may be debatable, but in the tiny world of two--author novels, the analogy is worthwhile. Both Bruen and Starr have strong, idiosyncratic voices: Bruen favors deep-thinking, soulful heroes, while Starr leans toward shallow losers. Will Bust be number one with a bullet or a B-side? The plot, which seems Starr-like, concerns a New York businessman who hires someone to kill his wife so he can marry his secretary. There are crosses and double-crosses, miscalculations and blunders, and plenty of dead bodies. Written in limited third-person--a smart approach--it reads as if each writer writes for certain characters (and would Bruen let Starr write the Irishman?). For those who like the bungling-criminal genre, this is good fun. Those who prefer to empathize won't like it as much. But it's only a diversion for fans of either writer: like an all-star jam, this one isn't quite equal to the sum of its talent. Keir Graff
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