Whiplash River: A Novel

By Lou Berney

“Like Carl Hiaasen, Berney delights within the cartoonish. Like Elmore Leonard, he can force a plot. What units him aside is how good he inspires love, making the romance…as compelling because the mystery.”
Boston Globe

Lou Berney instantly earned a seat of honor on the secret masters’ desk together with his crackling caper novel, Gutshot Straight—a lightning-fast, fiendishly shrewdpermanent suspenser that screamed for a sequel. And the following it truly is. Former specialist wheel guy Charles “Shake” Bouchon is again, dwelling within the Caribbean paradise of Belize together with his lawless prior a ways at the back of him—until a gunshot tears via his beachside eating place and he’s at the run back. A twisting story packed with lawmen, con males, and  hit males; a gorgeous yet lethal FBI agent; and a murderous thug named child Jesus, Whiplash River remembers the simplest of the off-the-wall crime fiction impresarios—Elmore Leonard, Carl Hiaasen, James W. corridor, Robert Ferrigno, Tim Dorsey—while constructing its personal specific orbit within the noir universe.

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After all he had. “I was once below the impression,” O’Malley stated, “that own calls weren't allowed at the foyer pay mobile. ” Wow, it was once impressive, how a lot Bingham couldn’t stand O’Malley. The obnoxious dick. And he couldn’t stand O’Malley’s underage junior henchman, who O’Malley round like a puppy, tail thumping. He couldn’t stand the opposite doormen, Tate and Grubb, either one of them lazy and dumb. He couldn’t stand any of the cashiers or concession ladies both, Melody and Janella and Theresa and Karlene. Karlene used to be relocating to Hawaii on the finish of August. She’d stored her funds throughout highschool. She used to be so stoked. She used to be so pumped. She was once going to get a role at a lodge and take sessions in dolphin biology on the group collage and discover ways to surf and and and. Karlene! close up for 2 seconds approximately Hawaii! August was once consistently a staffing nightmare. each August, the staff who’d graduated from highschool the former may perhaps left the theater and moved on with their lives. And Bingham? each August, Bingham stayed at the back of and scrambled to fill the agenda. With a brand new crop of little ones who’d been wear earth for the only real function of creating his existence depressing. He begun filling out subsequent week’s agenda. What Bingham despised so much approximately O’Malley, he decided—and he’d given the topic loads of thought—was how conceited O’Malley consistently was once. Like O’Malley had already overwhelmed the sport. Like no flip of the playing cards might be able to shock him. Bingham, at age eighteen, were an identical means. It type of boggled his brain now—all the surprises that existence had up its sleeve. simply wait, you dick. there has been a knock. O’Malley, most likely. To document that the doormen have been performed stocking the concession stand while most likely that they had no longer even began. Bingham walked to the workplace door. He discovered that O’Malley, or his junior henchman, had controlled to opposite the peephole. back. Hilarious. He opened the door. a guy stood there. anything was once fallacious together with his face—his positive aspects have been flattened and smooshed, like they’d been burned, like they’d melted jointly. within the subsequent speedy Bingham learned the fellow had a couple of pantyhose pulled over his head. He had a shotgun in his fingers. in the back of him stood one other guy. That guy wore a rubber mask—Freddy Krueger from Nightmare on Elm highway yet lacking the fedora. Bingham was once shocked how lengthy it were due to the fact he’d felt precise worry. worry that cramped your bowels and ballooned your center and made you are feeling 5 years previous back, your older cousin dunking your head underwater on the YMCA pool as you kicked and thrashed. “Stay quiet,” the 1st guy stated. He put the barrel of his shotgun opposed to Bingham’s chest and nudged him backward into the workplace. The layout on his light yellow T-shirt used to be cracked and faded—a airborne dirt and dust motorbike with flames coming from the exhaust pipe, above the phrases cutt’n’ free! “How many others operating this night? ” Bingham attempted to imagine. He had to sit. The workplace used to be suffocating, bitter with the odor of sweat. His? Theirs? He couldn’t know how the boys had gotten into the theater.

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