L. A. Morse (1945–2023)

Does the world need yet another novel about a lone cynical private eye trying to make it in a corrupt and unforgiving world. The answer is an unqualified yes when the detective is Sam Hunter, who is part Mike Shayne and part Hunter S. Thompson.

While the story has the usual hardboiled private eye motifs such as the corrupt vice cop, the sex-starved secretary, the rundown private eye office, dirty pictures, and jealous wives, what sets this book apart is that Hunter has no filter. He says show more what's on his mind and never seems to turn down a willing dame and there are so many willing that he practically needs a stick to fight them off. When a loud radio in another car in a traffic jam bothers him, Hunter points his gun at the offender. When an uppity receptionist looks down her nose at him, Hunter is as crude as can be. Hunter strikes first in almost every fight and is fond of breaking bones.

This book nails it. It's an early eighties hardboiled story that is so vivid you can feel plastic melting in the Los Angeles heat. Hunter is cynical, crass, overbearing, but knows right from wrong.
Overall, it's a great read. Easy to get into and easy to stay interested in. It's a little bit longer than a classic hardboiled novel would be, but it's from a slightly different mold. In some ways, it is tongue-in-cheek, but in others, it's just over the top excess. show less

In his terrific Sam Hunter private eye series, Morse has re-imagined the classic 1950’s private eye in all his cynical, hardboiled glory and re-planted that private eye in 1980’s smoggy, sleazy Los Angeles, the land of sunshine and golden opportunity. It is unfortunate that Morse only published two novels in this series. There’s enough life in this series to have justified quite a few more novels. Sleaze is the second of the two Sam Hunter novels and it is, in many ways, even better show more than the first one. While Hunter is still the same rough-and-tumble solo private eye here, his over-the-top dialogue and actions feel more natural in this novel.

While much of the underlying plot and the twists are classic 1950’s private eye fodder, Morse has done a great job of bringing it into the 1980’s and a whole new world. Included are the remnants of a 1970’s cult with a bug-eyed charismatic leader, a woman who runs a men’s magazine hidden behind her initials, seedy motels, jaunts into Tijuana, and bodies strewn just about everywhere.
Hunter is a return to the old-time private ops. He isn’t trying to be clever or funny or cute. Rather, he wades right into any battle no matter the odds and slices and dices his opponents until nothing less than an entire MASH unit is going to stitch them back together. A one- man army might describe him properly.

But, what really makes this series is the cynical descriptions the author gives such as the receptionist who seems to have succeeded if her goal was to look like a cheap Vegas hooker or the guy described as a mutant with greenish skin, a pale pink Mohawk cut, black leather overalls, and two-hundred dollar roller skates.

This isn't a cozy little mystery by any means. If you are looking for the country retreat with the clever cocker spaniel digging up clues, look elsewhere. This is a journey into the dirty, sleazy, seedy underbelly of Los Angeles and there are no innocent angels left standing. A great story. A blast to read. show less

Wouldn't you know it? The Old Dick chronicles the legendary adventures of Retired PI Jake Spanner. It is a tongue-planted-firmly- in-cheek hilarious escapade featuring the king of the geriatric private eyes and his stumbling around town as kidnapping, gunfire, arson, and narcotics rear their ugly heads. This book isn't to be taken entirely seriously. There are parts of it that are so funny you'll be rolling in the aisles. Just picture a cantankerous, lecherous, sometimes stoned retiree show more taking on hoods and kidnappers and other tough guys. show less

The introduction to this book spins an improbable little tale of a reclusive author and a long-lost manuscript. The novel proper, if it can be called that, is a pastiche of Christie’s stand-alone suspense/thriller/mystery, And Then There Were None, The idea was good, but it proves to be a bridge much too far for this author. At the end the book turns into meta fiction, and the ending just falls flat. All through the book, in every way imaginable, the author just tries too hard.