Suzanne Jones is a happy mother of three. And she’s a masked criminal who calls herself Allison Murrieta, who makes her riches by scamming greedy would-be car buyers and knocking over fast-food joints. Like Robin Hood, she enjoys stealing from the rich and giving to the poor … well, after she takes her cut.
This split personality serves as the anti-heroine of L.A. OUTLAWS, T. Jefferson Parker’s latest thriller. And she’s in for the run of her life after she’s witness to a diamond deal gone wrong, leaving 10 dead bodies. She pockets the gems, but an American Indian with a big machete spots her leaving the scene.
It might be the end of Suzanne/Allison right there, but she’s pulled over for speeding by a cop named Hood (irony!), inadvertently saving her hide. Later, as he investigates the scene of the crime, he starts wondering if maybe she saw something, or perhaps if she was involved.
Hood ultimately becomes her protector once more when Machete Man finds where she lives and commits an act or two of murder. She’s forced to ditch her family and flee, donning her mask whenever she needs quick cash. But the Indian seems to keep showing up no matter where she goes, and so does Hood.
Given Parker’s esteemed reputation, I expected big things from L.A. OUTLAWS. For a good while – maybe half – it really delivers, but as its nature grows cyclical rather than forward, it ends up as strongly decent overall. Parker’s descriptions of the various cities of California are evocative – and really, where else could be the playground for a character like Allison? – but his scenic drive suffers when a soldier from Hood’s past surfaces for a distracting subplot.
But what a star he has in Suzanne/Allison. Believing herself to be a descendant of legendary outlaw Joaquin Murrieta, she’s like a female Zorro: fearless and good-hearted, although I have an issue with knowingly putting her children in such a hot spot. She’s a piece of work, alright, and it’s in the scenes of her committing her crimes when L.A. OUTLAWS comes alive; it’s the parts where she plays the stock part of pursued victim when it doesn’t. –Rod Lott
“And the second you get tired is the second that someone lands a fist to your solar plexus or a foot to your head.”
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