The Dead Don't Care

How something first published in 1938 ended up on my kindle is quite possibly the biggest mystery here. But my sunny, hot vacation seemed a perfect time to read a mystery set in sunny, hot Florida, you know, really immersing myself in the mood. Perhaps not the best of ideas; the frequent complaints by the characters (not me), mopping of brows (also not me), and dips in the ocean (definitely me) only reminded me how hot it was in real life (94F, if you were wondering). It was, perhaps, too much. Too much heat, too much time period, too much early noir.

Latimer describes his characters in terms of physical details and clothes, and as per the time, one is supposed to gain insight into their characters.

"The Irishman looked very fine in a show more Burma-colored dinner jacket, black trousers, a white silk shirt with a dark green bow tie, a dark green cummerbund and dark green silk hose."

Women get the added descriptive bonus of fuckability:

"Her figure, small, sharply breasted, slender as a lotus plant, was virginal."

Much is made of the continual drinking habits of Bill Crane, PI, and Doc Williams, his sidekick.

“'How are you going to spend it?'
Crane thought for a moment. 'I think I’ll go on a bender.'
'I’d like to know what you’ve been doing for the last six years.'
'Just warming up.'”

It actually reminded me a great deal of early Robert B. Parker's Spenser series with the meticulous description of clothes and body structure. Very concrete, very visual. The dialogue, however, is completely cavalier, and if you take Crane's words at face value, you'd assume he was the worst detective ever.

"He always preferred to pursue his occupation as a detective in luxurious surroundings among rich, congenial people. One of the troubles with crime was its prevalence among criminals."

It does have moments of dazzling beauty:

The water was luke-cold; the morning sun was warm. Where it was deep there was no surf and the waves came in like great wrinkles in a bedspread, gently lifting them on rounded bulges, then lowering them into hollows."

"They cruised across a crème-de-menthe ocean under a sky so brilliantly blue it hurt their eyes."

Which, yes. The mystery is confusing; they are hired to find out who has been threatening a millionaire playboy whose interests consist of women, fast cars, and gambling. The approach to solving this issue is languid, almost indifferent, and it isn't until another event happens that things really seem to get underway. When someone is killed, the characters--and plot--finally gain focus. Ultimately, it was interesting, and probably would have been much more enjoyable without the casual and frequent -isms. As it was, I'll probably stick with more modern versions, including a needed reread of [b:The Last Good Kiss|523795|The Last Good Kiss (C.W. Sughrue, #1)|James Crumley|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1333578437l/523795._SY75_.jpg|1114323].

Two and half gin and tonics, rounding up because who drinks a half? show less