Oh, yes. Oklahoma Families, I Know Them Well

I don't think I've every actually read anything by Charles Dickens. I believe I tried to read As I Lay Dying, but couldn't make it very far. No Chaucer, no Austin, and nothing Greek or Roman (well, maybe The Odyssey). All of which makes the fact that I have read two, count 'em, two detective novels by Watergate burglars all the more criminal. Sometime back, I purchased G. Gordon Liddy's novel Out of Control at a garage sale, purely on the speculative notion that one day I might be able to name drop G. Gord and my knowledge of his fiction works. Well, well, little dave3544 makes good. The second read came courtesy the fine folks at Hard Case Crime, who are either desperate for material or have a wicked sense of humor - or both - as they saw fit to reissue E. Howard Hunt's thriller House Dick.

I wish I could tell you which novel is worse. If memory serves, Liddy's was really, very bad. If I am not mistaken, it was written post-Watergate and the novel was clearly an attempt to cash in on the name. Hunt's book was written pre-Watergate, so at least has some credibility. No additionally credibility is earned upon reading the book. It was not good, but it was not so not good as to be good. Well a couple places were, which, I guess is why I am here telling you about it.

The novel was set in Washington, DC and tells the story of hotel detective Pete Novack. It is set I don't know when. I assumed it was the late '50s, when the book was written, but at one point there was a reference to the "the German question" which I took as a reference to the late '30s when one might not know on which side of the German question to fall. Of course, it might be a reference to the important question of Germany joining NATO. I can't say. In a situation sort of like Hammett's Red Harvest, circumstances conspire to prevent the protagonist from getting any sleep, and in it's absence he is forced to rely on his wits and whiskey. All comparisons end there. There are some missing jewels, a dead guy from Indiana, a crooked doctor, and, naturally, a doll.

The passage below is so good that when I read it, I knew I had to share it with you. Page 47, I love you. Hell, it's the reason we're here. A little set-up. Novak had broken up a domestic between the doll and her ex, who was in town looking for those missing rocks. She did not welcome the intrusion, but when he comes back to her room let her know she is too good for the rough stuff, she offers him a drink and lets him in on her scheme to ransom the jewels she has stolen back to their rightful owner.

Here is E. Howard Hunt at his finest:

Novak finished his drink and put down the glass besides the chromed pistol. He stared at it speculatively. The girl got up slowly and came to him. Her hands met behind his neck. "Novak," she murmured. "What's that, Hungarian?"

"Central Europe, anyway. The part that used to change names every two generations. How about Norton? Sounds English, but you don't look it."

Her nose wrinkled. "A booking agent's idea. If I don't look it it's because one grandmother was a full-blooded Osage. The family always called her princess, but you know families. Oklahoma families, anyway."

Her lips were a fraction of an inch away. Novak closed the gap, kissing her bruised lips lightly. Her body clung to his, her hands was doing something with the hair behind his head. Her eyelids fluttered and closed. Her tongue darted into his mouth, searched and withdrew. Underneath his hand the flesh of her back quivered like the flanks of a nervous filly. Finally she drew away and stared at him. "You're all man," she breathed. "As if I didn't know."

"You like Chinese food?"

"Uh huh."

"I know a place on H Street that's open all night."

"And me looking the way I do?"

"We can char cork and go blackface."

Paula giggled.

Just then the telephone shrilled. Gaiety drained from her face and her body tensed. Novak growled, "I'll take it."

Where is goes from there, I'll leave it to you to discover. Maybe we'll do a book club.