No Way, El Rey

If you're looking for some wild, hard-boiled crime fiction, where regular old psychopaths figure out how to navigate this lonely planet as best they know how, then check out Jim Thompson-- otherwise known as "The Dime-Store Dostoevsky"-- I read my first two Jim Thompson novels a few weeks ago: Pop. 1280 and The Getaway and I am a changed man, ready to do whatever is necessary to survive and thrive-- just like Nick Corey, the shaper-than-he-seems sherriff of Pottsville-- and if my schemes and ruses don't work out, then I'm ready to go on the lam, like Doc McCoy and Carol . . . although I hope I don't end up bankrupt and betrayed in the kingdom of El Rey (this mythical criminal sanctuary is also alluded to in the film Dusk to Dawn).

Spenser Being Spenser

Robert B. Parker's fourth Spenser novel, Promised Land, is more about relationships than crime, and I should warn you: there's quite a bit of romance between Spenser and Susan Silverman (blech) which makes me think something terrible is going to happen to her later in the series, and-- far more fun-- we learn about Spenser's complicated connection to Hawk, a gangster adjacent black dude who Spenser knows from back in his boxing days . . . anyway, this isn't my favorite Spenser book, but it still has its moments; here are some highlights from my Kindle notes:

Spenser on radical feminism . . .

“No,” I said. “Annoyed, maybe, if you push me. But not at her, at all the silliness in the world. I’m sick of movements. I’m sick of people who think that a new system will take care of everything. I’m sick of people who put the cause ahead of the person. And I am sick of people, whatever sex, who dump the kids and run off: to work, to booze, to sex, to success. It’s irresponsible.”

Susan Silverman on Spenser . . .

“More than maybe,” Susan said. “It’s autonomy. You are the most autonomous person I’ve ever seen and you don’t let anything into that. Sometimes I think the muscle you’ve built is like a shield, like armor, and you keep yourself private and alone inside there. The integrity complete, unviolated, impervious, safe even from love.”

Spenser on human nature and belief . . .

Everyone gets contemptuous after a while of his clients. Teachers get scornful of students, doctors of patients,  bartenders of drinkers, salesmen of buyers, clerks of customers. But, Jesus, they were saps. The Promised Land.  Holy Christ.

Spenser and Pam on the city in the distance . . .

“What is it,” Pam Shepard said, “about a cluster of skyscrapers in the distance that makes you feel… What?…  Romantic? Melancholy? Excited? Excited probably.”

“Promise,” I said.

“Of what?”

“Of everything,” I said. “From a distance they promise everything, whatever you’re after. They look clean and  permanent against the sky like that. Up close you notice dog litter around the foundations.”

“Are you saying it’s not real? The look of the skyscrapers from a distance."

“No. It’s real enough, I think. But so is the dog litter and if you spend all your time looking at the spires you’re  going to step in it.”

“Into each life some shit must fall?”

“Ah,” I said, “you put it so much more gracefully than I.”

Spenser being Spenser . . .

Outside I bought two hot dogs and a bottle of cream soda from a street vendor and ate sitting by the fountain in  City Hall Plaza. A lot of women employed in the Government Center buildings were lunching also on the plaza and I ranked them in the order of general desirability. I was down to sixteenth when my lunch was finished and I had to go to work. I’d have ranked the top twenty-five in that time normally, but there was a three-way tie for seventh and I lost a great deal of time trying to resolve it.

The restaurant wasn’t very busy, more empty than full, and I glanced around to see if anyone was casing me. Or looked suspicious. No one was polishing a machine gun, no one was picking his teeth with a switchblade, no one was paying me any attention at all.

Spenser on Hawk . . .

“Why did you warn that black man?” Pam Shepard said, putting cream cheese on her bagel. She had skipped the hash and eggs, which showed you what she knew about breakfasts. The waitress came and poured more coffee in both our cups. “I don’t know. I’ve known him a long  time. He was a fighter when I was. We used to train together sometimes.” 

“But isn’t he one of them? I mean  isn’t he the, what, the muscle man, the enforcer, for those people?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Doesn’t that make a difference? I mean you just let him go.” 

“I’ve known him a long time,” I said.

Hawk on Spenser . . .

Hawk shrugged. “Me and your old man there are a lot alike. I told you that already. There ain’t all that many of us left, guys like old Spenser and me. He was gone there’d be one less. I’d have missed him. And I owed him  one from this morning.”