For all the talk about them being mavericks, the principal characters of Las Vegas Crime, police detectives Jack Holt and Laura Baxter, sure rely a lot on the resources of their department and the FBI. Together with the help of a computer-wiz colleague named Fletch, a team of FBI agents, their chief and other officers, they spend all 295 pages of this rather simply plotted story rescuing Holt’s teenaged daughter, who along with other girls had been kidnapped by a local drug lord and sex trafficker.
The widowed Baxter, who hails from the UK, had been partnered with the divorced Holt for only a month before they began sleeping together against department regulations. Evidently they desired to be partners in more ways than one.
It’s not clear why or how making Baxter British adds anything to the book, except for the opportunity to pepper the text with words like “bollocks.” In one passage at page 22, presumably intended for the lady readers, Baxter finds herself admiring Holt’s “nice, tight arse” — an observation I found unnecessary … and arsinine.
Curiously by page 175, Baxter is referring to Holt’s “ass” instead of his arse. Who knows, maybe after spending the last 153 pages in Las Vegas she feels more American?
It’s also not clear what the Las Vegas locale adds to the story, since kidnapping and sex trafficking there seem the same as they are everywhere else. But I suppose the story has to take place some place, so why not Las Vegas? It certainly sounds more exciting than if it took place in Poughkeepsie.
Maybe it’s because the city is surrounded by desert, some of the kidnapped girls were buried alive there and their bodies were discovered by vultures flying overhead. But that’s a far cry from what most of us think about when we think about Vegas.
The story smoothly chugs along before derailing in chapter 33. Holt is being held captive by the drug lord who kidnapped his daughter. Baxter, feeling powerless to help him, devises a plan to rescue him even she calls a Hail Mary because it would take a miracle to work.
In the real world her plan would be preposterous, but in crime fiction with a plucky female character like Baxter so common these days, it’s de rigueur.
If you’re wondering whether her plan works then I have a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you. For the rest of us, I’m sorry to say, the predictable story ends with a yawn and no surprises.
According to the author’s profile she claims to have broken down barriers of traditional thrillers, but she certainly hasn’t done it with this book.