Caught Stealing
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- £4.99
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- £4.99
Publisher Description
“[A] fantastically hopped-up thriller . . . a wrong-man plot worthy of Hitchcock.”—Entertainment Weekly (Editor’s Choice)
It’s three thousand miles from the green fields of glory, where Henry “call me Hank” Thompson once played California baseball, to the Lower East Side of Manhattan, where the tenements are old, the rents are high, and the drunks are dirty. But now Hank is here, working as a bartender and taking care of a cat named Bud who is surely going to get him killed.
It begins when Hank’s neighbor, Russ, has to leave town in a rush and hands over Bud in a carrier. But it isn’t until two Russians in tracksuits drag Hank over the bar at the joint where he works and beat him to a pulp that he starts to get the idea: Someone wants something from him. He just doesn’t know what it is, where it is, or how to make them understand he doesn’t have it.
Within twenty-four hours Hank is running over rooftops, swinging his old aluminum bat for the sweet spot of a guy’s head, playing hide and seek with the NYPD, riding the subway with a dead man at his side, and counting a whole lot of cash on a concrete floor.
All because of two cowboys, two Russian mafia men, and some of the weirdest goons ever assembled in one place. All because of Bud. All because once, in another life, in another world, the only thing Hank wanted was to take third base—without getting caught.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
Except for her name Jacqueline Daniels (and, yes, she's known by her colleagues at the Chicago Police Department and by her friends as "Jack Daniels") there's not an original trope in this competent, fast-paced thriller by newcomer Konrath. A lieutenant investigating a particularly gruesome series of homicides, Daniels is like every other hard-boiled fictional cop obsessed with work, afraid to commit emotionally and overcaffeinated. The other characters also follow formula: her partner is an overweight glutton with a heart of gold; her boss is tough but fair; the federal agents assigned to help her are territorial, superior and ineffectual. And the criminal himself, a serial killer who calls himself the "Gingerbread Man," only differs from others of his ilk in his methodology, not his psychology. He tortures and kills attractive young women, leaving their mutilated bodies in public places. Konrath, who has "performed improvisational comedy" according to his bio, likes to toss off one-liners, and while they're occasionally clever, they lend a jokey tone that jars with the seriousness of the almost gratuitously horrific crimes. Reading like an ill-conceived cross between Carl Hiaasen and Thomas Harris, this clich -ridden first novel should find a wide audience among less discriminating suspense fans.