“The stench of my own vomit fills my nose.” That’s got to be one of my favorite opening lines I’ve ever read. It’s in Jack Getze’s novel BIG NUMBERS, in which Austin Carr waits to be killed via bluefin tuna, thanks to the bad guy, aka Mr. Blabbermouth.
Rewind to three weeks earlier: Carr – a divorced, down-on-his-luck stockbroker – is so on the short end of the stick, that he’s living in a truck camper. You know, the old type that fits over the truck bed – the kind that reeks of “living the high life.”
Against the owners’ wishes, Carr camps out in a Mexican restaurant’s parking lot when he learns his one big client is on his way out due to cancer. This is when we meet a red-headed femme fatale, aka the rich man’s “wife.” After discovering what the will really says, she wants Carr to help her cash in some bonds before it’s too late. Of course, she’ll use any womanly charms to aid her in that attempt.
If this was all Carr had to deal with, maybe he could survive. However, Carr also has a supervisor just looking for any way to get rid of him and latch onto his clients. Then there is an ex-football player screwed over too many times by bonds gone bad and wants his money.
BIG NUMBERS plays like a dark comedy set in the stock world, with a healthy dose of crime mixed in. Getze needs to prune back a little on the bond talk, since some of those passages made my eyes glaze over.
But on the whole, the comedic value of the situation wins out. There are some great touches in the story, even if some surprises will be evident to any hardcore mystery reader. BIG NUMBERS is a fine diversion in the world of hardboiled fiction, and announces the arrival of an up-and-coming talent. –Bruce Grossman
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So Bruce, you mean you now can’t explain why bond prices and yields movely inversely?
Seriously, thanks for the kind words.