”Oh, the shark, babe, has such teeth, dear
And it shows them pearly white
Just a jackknife has old MacHeath, babe
And he keeps it, ah, out of sight
Ya know when that shark bites with his teeth, babe
Scarlet billows start to spread
Fancy gloves, oh, wears old MacHeath, babe
So there's never, never a trace of red
“Now on the sidewalk, huh, huh, whoo sunny morning, un huh
Lies a body just oozin' life, eek
And someone's sneakin' 'round the corner
Could that someone be Mack the Knife?”
--Mack the Knife, Bobby Darin, Songwriters: Kurt Weill / Bertolt Brecht / Marc Blitzstein
”Behold! The Big Easy in all its wicked splendor!
“Frank Guidry paused at the corner of Toulouse to bask in the neon furnace glow. He’d lived in New Orleans, the better part of his thirty-seven years on earth, but the dirty glitter and sizzle of the French Quarter still hit his bloodstream like a drug. Yokels and locals, muggers and hustlers, fire-eaters and magicians. A go-go girl was draped over the wrought-iron rail of a second-floor balcony, one boob sprung free from her sequined negligee and swaying like a metronome to the beat of the jazz trio inside. Bass, drums, piano, tearing through ‘Night and Day.’ But that was New Orleans for you. Even the worst band in the crummiest clip joint in the city could swing, man, swing.”
It was only another minute before he’s entering the Monteleone and heading to the Carousel Bar, and I was hooked. One of my favourite spots on the planet.
”Everyone here looking for an angle to work, a tender spot.”
I really wanted to just keep reading this one straight through, it’s such a mesmerizing, compelling read with just enough mystery to keep you fully in the story, to return to it as soon as possible, but life had other plans for me.
When news of the shooting of President Kennedy begins to spread through the airwaves, Charlotte is at the bank, trying to get them to grant an extension on their mortgage payment for that month. Dreaming of a life without these problems, where she’s married to a responsible, loving husband who is a good father to their two daughters, Rosemary, who is seven, and Joan, who is eight. But dreams won’t change her husband Dooley into any of those things, his only need is for a drink, and then another.
Frank Guidry was trying to hustle the brunette out of his apartment that he’d met the night before, tossing her clothes from the night before to her and counting down for her to get out while she is caught, mesmerized by the news on the television. She tells him, “They shot him.” He asks, “Shot who?” and turns to the TV.
”A sniper had fired from the sixth floor of a building in Dealey Plaza. Kennedy, riding in the backseat of a Lincoln Continental convertible, had been hit. They’d taken him to Parkland Hospital. A priest had administered last rites. At 1:30 P.M., an hour and a half ago, the doctors had pronounced the president dead.”
His head is spinning, and all he can think of as the newscaster talks about where Dealy Plaza was located. But he already knew - between Houston, Elm, and Commerce Streets – where he’d been asked to drop off a sky-blue ’59 Cadillac Eldorado in a parking garage on Commerce a week ago. He knows he’s in trouble, and he knows that Carlos Marcello - the man who provides the “income” that pays for his easy, generous lifestyle - likes to take care of trouble by getting rid of the problem, and right now, Frank’s become the problem.
Frank’s thirty-seven years old, but he already knows he needs a magic wand to disappear, or some incredibly good luck to turn this around, or he won’t live to see his next birthday. Time for him to hit the road.
All it will take for Charlotte to realize she must leave her husband has happened, and so she does, taking their two daughters, leaving him a note. They’re on their way to California.
Meanwhile, Paul Barone is on an assignment, and on the road to take care of a problem for Mr. Marcello.
Across the nation women were burning bras (or so the news was fond of reporting) and women began to refer to themselves as feminists. The Beatles music had invaded, if not themselves, in person – yet, but that was mere months away, but these changes were felt in the music, as well. It was also a time of change for the Civil Rights movement, a time when progress was being made and the air was electric with the possibility of a better way of life, a more fulfilling way of living. Equality. And then the assassination of John F. Kennedy. A country in mourning, but also poised for change.
Against that backdrop, and with the atmosphere of this era casting a spell, leaving you feeling as though you’d just stepped back in time as you follow these lives, and their stories gradually weave together.
Pub Date: 09 Oct 2018
Many thanks for the ARC provided by William Morrow / Harper Collins