From Kirkus Reviews
Leonard's 30th novel--a thicket of sting and countersting- -finds him in fine fettle, his piquant characters aging along with him but losing none of their edge as they look for that one big score before death shuts them down. Here, it's $500,000 in illegal arms-dealing profits that has everyone running in circles. The trouble is, it's stuck in the Bahamas, and slick, middle-aged gun-runner Robbie Ordell can't figure out how to get it back to Miami, even with the help of his old ex-con pal Louis Gara. Robbie had been using stewardess Jackie Burke, 44, to bring in the cash at $10,000 a flight, but now Jackie's been nabbed by two cops who are trying to lever her against him. And Jackie has designs of her own on the money, designs that depend on the aid of Bogart-like bail-bondsman Max Cherry, an ex-cop who's finding that, at age 57, ``writing paper'' on sleazy cons just doesn't kick like it used to--especially after the mob has muscled in on his business, and after Robbie has blown away a punk he'd had Max bail out of jail. An attempted theft by Robbie, his blowzy moll, and Louis of the arms cache of a local neo-Nazi offers a cathartically bloody interlude, but the story surfs primarily on a tide of tension arising from Jackie's tricky plan to work both sides of the law to get the cash--persuading both Robbie and the cops to let her bring in the money in one last run, while claiming loyalty to both. Meanwhile, Max falls hard for Jackie; but as her sting--a complicated shuffling of money-laden and empty bags--nears, will he decide to toss away a lifetime of law-enforcement, even for a prize as rich as the sexy-cool stewardess and her promised loot? Leonard's control of this complex scenario and its brilliantly realized actors is breathtaking. Like the title says, it's a heady brew. -- Copyright ©1992, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved.
Review
“The greatest crime writer of our time, perhaps ever!”
From the Publisher
"Leonard's best work! He brilliantly reaffirms his right to the title of America's finest crime-fiction writer."
--People"Unputdownable! Beneath its fast-moving surface, [this] is a novel about growing old, about the way that time changes us, about the old dream of starting over again and its cost."
--The Washington Post Book World
"An intricately compelling plot...a strong cast of characters...and an exciting climax."
--The New York Times
"Perfect pitch...incredible pacing...An equal opportunity kind of story where the sleazebags come in all colors and genders, and their habits run from blowing people's brains out to lip-synching. Leonard may write the best dialogue of any contemporary writer; his ear is unerring, he doesn't miss a nuance."
--The Plain Dealer (Cleveland)
From the Inside Flap
Jackie Burke's future looks grim. She's been a flight attendant for twenty years and she's down to working for an island-hopping airline the day she lands in Palm Beach International with fifty grand and is taken into custody. The Feds know Jackie works for a man who sells machine guns to bad guys, but they don't know his name. Jackie looks at her options. She can tell what she knows about Ordell Robbie, the gun dealer, and get off--except that if Ordell suspects you're talking about him, you're dead. Or she can keep her mouth shut and do five years. Then she meets Max Cherry--late fifties, recently separated, and just starting to think that maybe there's more to life than being a bail bondsman--and sees she has more options than she thought.
Max is hooked on Jackie from the first time he sees her. But when he meets Ordell, he has quite a different reaction. Nineteen years a bail bondsman, Max knows trouble when he sees it.
Jackie comes up with a plan to play the Feds off against the bad guys and walk off with Ordell's money, but she needs Max's help. Max allows himself to be drawn in just to stay near Jackie, yet he can't help but wonder if he's being used. As for Ordell, he's making it now after years of busted deals. No one is going to stand in the way of his million-dollar payoff...
From the Trade Paperback edition.
From the Back Cover
Ordell “Whitebread” Robbie makes a fine living selling illegal high-powered weaponry to the wrong people. Jackie Burke couriers Ordell’s profits from Freeport to Miami. But the feds are on to Jackie—and now the aging but still hot flight attendant will have to do prison time or play ball, which makes her a prime “loose end” that Ordell needs to tie up permanently. Jackie, however, has other options. And with the help of Max Cherry—an honest but disgruntled bail bondsman looking to get out—she could even end up with a serious nest egg in the process.
About the Author
Elmore Leonard has written forty-five books during his highly successful writing career, and many of his novels have been made into movies. Leonard is the recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award from PEN USA and the Grand Master Award from the Mystery Writers of America. He lives in Bloomfield Village, Michigan.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Sunday morning, Ordell took Louis to watch the white-power demonstration in downtown Palm Beach.
"Young skinhead Nazis," Ordell said. "Look, even little Nazigirls marching down Worth Avenue. You believe it? Coming now you have the Klan, not too many here today. Some in green, must be the coneheads' new spring shade. Behind them it looks like some Bikers for Racism, better known as the Dixie Knights. We gonna move on ahead, fight through the crowd here," Ordell said, bringing Louis along.
"There's a man I want to show you. See who he reminds you of. He told me they're gonna march up South County and have their show on the steps of the fountain by city hall. You ever see so many police? Yeah, I expect you have. But not all these different uniforms at one time. They mean business too, got their helmets on, their riot ba-tons. Stay on the sidewalk or they liable to hit you over the head. They keeping the street safe for the Nazis."
People would turn to look at Ordell.
"Man, all the photographers, TV cameras. This shit is big news, has everybody over here to see it. Otherwise, Sunday, what you have mostly are rich ladies come out with their little doggies to make wee-wee. I mean the doggies, not the ladies." A girl in front of them smiled over her shoulder and Ordell said, "How you doing, baby? You making it all right?" He looked past her now, glanced at Louis to say, "I think I see him," and pushed through the crowd to get closer to the street. "Yeah, there he is. Black shirt and tie? A grownup skinhead Nazi. I call him Big Guy. He likes that."
"It's Richard," Louis said. "Jesus."
"Looks just like him, huh? Remember how Richard tripped on all that Nazi shit he had in his house? All his guns? Big Guy's got more of everything."
Louis said, "He's serious. Look at him."
"Wants power. He's a gun freak," Ordell said. "You know where you see different ones like him? At the gun shows."
Ordell let it hang. Louis was supposed to ask Ordell what he was doing at gun shows, but didn't bother. He was busy watching the Nazigirls, all of them skinny rednecks, their hair cut short as boys'.
Ordell said, "I got something would straighten them out, make their eyes shine."
He had people looking at him again. Some of them grinned. Louis moved out of the crowd and Ordell had to hurry to catch him. Louis bigger in the shoulders than he used to be, from working out in prison.
"This way," Ordell said, and they started up South County ahead of the parade, couple of old buddies: Ordell Robbie and Louis Gara, a light-skinned black guy and a dark-skinned white guy, both from Detroit originally where they met in a bar, started talking, and found out they'd both been to Southern Ohio Correctional and had some attitudes in common. Not long after that Louis went to Texas, where he took another fall. Came home and Ordell had a proposition for him: a million-dollar idea to kidnap the wife of a guy making money illegally and hiding it in the Bahamas. Louis said okay. The scheme blew up in their face and Louis said never again. Thirteen years ago . . .
And now Ordell had another scheme. Louis could feel it. The reason they were here watching skinheads and coneheads marching up the street.
Ordell said, "Remember when you come out of Huntsville and I introduced you to Richard?"
Starting to lay it on him. Louis was positive now.
"That's what today reminds me of," Ordell said. "I think it's fate working. This time you come out of FSP and I show you Big Guy, like Richard back from the dead."
"What I remember from that time," Louis said, "is wishing I never met Richard. What is it with you and Nazis?"
"They fun to watch," Ordell said. "Look at the flag they got, with the boogied-up lightning flash on it. You can't tell if it's suppose to be SS or Captain Marvel."
Louis said, "You got another million-dollar idea to try on me?"
Ordell turned from the parade with a cool look, serious. "You rode in my car. That ain't just an idea, man, it cost real money."
"What're you showing me this Nazi for?"
"Big Guy? His real name's Gerald. I called him Jerry one time, he about lifted me off the ground, said, 'That's not my name, boy.' I told him I'm for segregation of the races, so he thinks I'm okay. Met him one time, was at a gun show."
Throwing that one at Louis again.
Louis said, "You didn't answer my question. What're we doing here?"
"I told you. See who Big Guy reminds you of. Listen, there's somebody else you won't believe who's down here. This one a woman. Guess who it is."
Louis shook his head. "I don't know."
Ordell grinned. "Melanie."
"You're kidding."
Another one from that time thirteen years ago.
"Yeah, we kep' in touch. Melanie phone me one day . . . She's in a place I have up at Palm Beach Shores. You want to see her?"
"She lives with you?"
"I'm there on and off, you might say. We can drop by this afternoon, you want. Melanie's still a fine big girl, only bigger. Man, I'm telling you, fate's been working its ass off, getting us all together here. What I'm thinking of doing, introduce Big Guy to Melanie."
Leading up to something. Louis could feel it.
"For what?"
"Just see what happens. I think it'd be a kick. You know Melanie, she hasn't changed any. Can you see her with this asshole Nazi?"
Ordell acting like a kid with a secret, dying to tell it, but wanting to be asked.
He said to Louis, "You don't know where in the fuck you're at, do you? Keep coming out of prison and starting over. I see you got rid of your mustache, have some gray in your curly hair. You staying in shape, that's good."
"What'd you do," Louis said, "get your hair straightened? You used to have a 'fro."
"Got to keep in style, man."
Ordell ran his hand carefully over his hair, feeling the hard set, ran it back to his pigtail braid and curled it between his fingers, fooling with it as he said, "No, I don't imagine you know what you want."
Louis said, "You don't, huh?"
"Giving me the convict stare. Well, you learned something in the joint," Ordell said. "Otherwise, Louis, that shirt you have on, you look like you pump more gas than iron. Ought to have 'Lou' on the pocket there. Clean the windshield, check the oil...."
Smiled then to show he was kidding. Ordell in linen and gold, orange crew-neck sweater and white slacks, the gold shining on his neck, his wrist, and two of his fingers.
He said, "Come on, let's go see the show."
Louis said, "You're the show."
Ordell smiled and moved his shoulders like a fighter. They walked up behind the crowd that was held back by yellow police tape cordoning off the steps in front of the fountain. A young Nazi up there was speaking as the others stood facing the crowd in their supremacy outfits. Ordell started to push through to get closer and Louis took hold of his arm.
"I'm not going in there."
Ordell turned to look at him. "It ain't the same as on the yard, man. Nobody has a shank on them."
"I'm not going in there with you."
"Well, that's cool," Ordell said. "We don't have to."
They found a place where they could see enough of the young Nazi. He was shouting, "What do we want?" And his buddies and the Nazigirls and the rest of the cuckoos up there would shout back, "White power!" They kept it up until the young Nazi finished and shouted, "One day the world will know Adolf Hitler was right!" That got voices from the crowd shouting back at him, calling him stupid and a retard. He yelled at the crowd, "We're going to reclaim this land for our people!" his young Nazi voice cracking. And they yelled back, what people was he talking about, assholes like him? A black woman in the crowd said, "Come on up to Riv'era Beach and say those things, you be dead." The young skinhead Nazi began screaming "Sieg heil!" as loud as he could, over and over, and the cuckoos joined in with him, giving the Nazi salute. Now young guys in the crowd were calling them racist motherfuckers, telling them to go home, go on, get out of here, and it looked like the show was over.
Ordell said, "Let's go."
They walked over to Ocean Boulevard where they'd left his car, a black Mercedes convertible, with the top down. The time on the meter had run out and a parking ticket was stuck beneath the windshield wiper on the driver's side. Ordell pulled the ticket out and dropped it in the street. Louis was watching but didn't comment. Didn't say much of anything until they were on the middle bridge heading back to West Palm. Then he started.
"Why'd you want to show me that guy? He call you a nigger and you want his legs broken?"
"That payback shit," Ordell said, "you must get that from hanging out with the Eyetalians. Ain't nothing they like better than paying back. Swear an oath to it."
"You want to see where I hang out?" Louis said. "You come to Olive, take a right. Go up to Banyan, used to be First Street, and hang a left." The next thing Louis was telling him, on Olive now, "That's the court building up on the right."
"I know where the courts are at," Ordell said. He turned onto Banyan and was heading toward Dixie Highway now. Halfway up the block Louis told him to stop.
"Right there, the white building," Louis said, "that's where I hang out."
O...
Elmore Leonard has developed a well-deserved reputation for snappy dialogue, explosive plots and black humor. His books never rely on unreasonable plot twists to bring the stories to logical conclusions. Joe Mantegna is nothing short of brilliant. He delineates the various characters with subtle, yet unforgettable, nuances. After the first few minutes, you know exactly which character is speaking at any given moment. The only flaw is in the music--trying for a "Miami Vice" effect, short bits of rock music play in the background for the violent scenes. As this device is not supported by visuals, the music seems contrived and artificial. R.A.R. (c)AudioFile, Portland, Maine
“Bad planning on your part does not automatically constitute an emergency on my part.”Highlighted by 108 Kindle readers
