Review: Backflash


Amtrak was new but the station at Rhinecliff was old, one end of it no longer in use, rusted remains of steel walkways and stairs looming upward against the sky like the ruins of an earlier civilization, which is what they were.  At the still-working end of the platform, a long metal staircase climbed to a high enclosed structure that led above the tracks over to the old station building.  The land here was steep, coming up from the river, leveling for the tracks, then continuing sharply upward.

A dozen people got off the train with Parker, and another two or three got on.  He came down to the concrete last, the only passenger without luggage, and stood on the platform while the rest of them trudged up the stairs and the train jerked forward behind him.  In his dark windbreaker and black chinos and heavy black shoes, he looked like some sort of skilled workman, freelancing, brought in by a contractor to do one specific job.  Which he was.

Encouraged by his at last being able to write in the Stark voice again, Westlake wasted no time in writing another Parker novel, which was published just about exactly a year after Comeback.  Westlake hit upon an odd little gimmick for the first five of the Final Eight–each title was composed of one two-syllable compound word, and each one after Comeback began with the second syllable of the previous title.  He sometimes had to strain a bit to justify the title in terms of the plot, but on the plus side, you always know which book comes next.  Or–do you?

Here’s the thing–I’m finding myself increasingly convinced that in chronological terms, Backflash comes before Comeback.  No question Comeback was completed first, since Westlake started working on it in 1988.  Fact is, dating either book in terms of Parker’s timeline would be enough to give even the redoubtable D. Kingsley Hahn conniption fits.  Not because there’s no evidence of when they take place, but rather because there’s a superfluity of conflicting evidence.

Comeback would seem to be taking place in the late 80’s, right after a series of prominent televangelists got themselves into trouble with their shameless shenanigans.  That tracks with when Westlake first conceived it.  But he conceived Backflash in the mid/late 90’s, and its premise certainly tracks with that as well.

Backflash is taking place in a sort of parallel universe version of New York State, where Riverboat Casino Gambling was 1)a political inevitability and 2)involved the floating Monte Carlos actually going out on river jaunts, instead of just sitting at the dock, accumulating cash from the pockets of people with too much spare time and not enough sense.  Where’s the romance in that, pray tell?  A much less interesting challenge for Parker.

Westlake would have read articles like this 1994 op-ed, from a proponent of riverboat gambling in New York, and it would have gotten his mind moving.  But in fact, there was massive political opposition to this from the get-go, and to this day, the Empire State has no such nautical gaming houses, though gaming it has, in abundance.

Westlake lived to see Yonkers Raceway, just over the Bronx Border, turn into Empire City Casino. (I gambled there myself once, but strictly on the ponies, and I won!–all of five bucks.  How was I to know I was betting on the favorite, he just looked really good in the warm-up lap.  Okay, I suppose there probably were ways I could have checked that.)  There’s casino gambling at the Saratoga racetrack as well, the reasoning being that this way you get the tax revenue from gambling and you keep the racing industry afloat.

One reason given in the book for the eagerness to institute riverboat gambling on the Hudson is the success of Foxwoods Casino Resort in Connecticut.  That actually started on the Pequot reservation as a bingo hall in 1986, and it’s a long complicated litigious story you can read about elsewhere, but nobody in Albany was paying that much attention until about a decade or so later, by which time Foxwoods was the east coast gambling addict’s Disneyland.  Most of New York’s casinos today are likewise on land controlled by local tribes, something Westlake would touch upon in the next Dortmunder novel.

So that should, by all logic, make a shambles of my theory that Backflash came first.  Except for several things I will now annoyingly bring up, since I never admit I’m wrong if I can possibly help it.

See, if we can say that this is a parallel timeline, where the success of a land-based casino somehow means New York had to have water-based casinos (when in fact they decided to go the same way as Connecticut, give the Indians a break for once, and the ponies too, for that matter), then we can just as easily say that Foxwoods graduated from bingo parlor to full-fledged casino in a much shorter span of time, perhaps started up at a much earlier date, and faced fewer legal challenges.  Maybe it’s actually  the early/mid 80’s when all this is happening.  But can I point to any other evidence this is the case? In fact I can, and the corpus is most delectable indeed.

This book marks the return of the poetically named Noelle Kay Braselle, the hippie chick heister from Plunder Squad (who turns out to hail from a much older and more pragmatic subcultural milieu than Haight-Ashbury).  After Noelle and her boyfriend are apprehended in that book, we see the other members of the string watching a news story about the arrests, which mentions that she’s 21 years old.  That information comes from the police, who have been checking her vital statistics (oh behave).  No reason to doubt it.

But in this book, while her exact age is never disclosed, we have it from multiple POV’s that she looks just around 30, give or take.  Could be a bit older, or a bit younger, but essentially ten years have elapsed for Ms. Braselle since last we saw her in Plunder Squad, and she was arrested in June of 1971, according to D. Kingley Hahn’s persuasive arguments.

And furthermore, if this book is happening in the late 90’s, say 1997, the year before its publication, Amtrak is over a quarter century old (having been founded the same year Noelle got busted), and hardly qualifies as ‘new.’  Please note the opening line of that quote up top.  The description of the station tracks nicely with how it would have looked in the early/mid 80’s, but that decaying ironwork Stark refers to would have been removed by the late 90’s–see any sign of it in that photo I nabbed from the Wikipedia article for the Rhinecliff Station?

So what do we have here?  Intentionally mixed signals.  Westlake wants us to not quite be sure when this is all happening–time is well and truly out of joint.  He’s not writing a period piece, because he doesn’t do that, and certainly not when he’s in Stark mode.  But he’s not writing 100% in the present, because it doesn’t suit his purposes here.  He wants this to be the past and the present, simultaneously. In these Stark novels he wrote in the 90’s, time is a river that flows both ways–like the Mahicantuck,  AKA the Hudson.  These people are out of an earlier time, and they bring some of its archaisms with them–they drag us backwards, and the story takes place in some historical nether-realm

The stories of both Comeback and Backflash were inspired by events that occurred around the time they were written.  But neither is strictly rooted in those times (or shows any evidence of the advanced communications technology increasingly prevalent in those times, which would be pretty damned relevant to the stories being told, particularly in the latter instance).

And none of this proves Backflash happened before Comeback, but I still think it did. Partly because it helps fill in that yawning vacuum between Butcher’s Moon and the new books. Partly because of the sums of money involved here, and inflation.  Partly because it has all these familiar faces from the books of the 60’s and 70’s, and sure, maybe they all came through that time warp I was theorizing about the other day, along with Parker.  And maybe they haven’t aged normally because that’s a convention of series fiction, and I’m just obsessing over minutiae, as is my wont.

But then again, maybe the reason we never see them again in the six subsequent novels (when we see the Mackeys over and over) is that they’re still back in the past–in the 80’s (or in prison, or retired, or dead).  Parker never seems to think about any of them again afterwards other than Noelle (in Firebreak).  If he had all these ultracompetent fully reliable pros to call upon, would he really be working with the guys we see him with over the remaining six novels?

Backflash to me is a transitional story, between the old and new eras of Parker–but since it was written after Comeback, and since Westlake would be almost constitutionally incapable of referring to anything he ever wrote as a prequel, it can only be one on a conjectural, damn near subtextual level.

Although, it suddenly occurs to me–Backflash?  Transpose the two syllables in that compound word, and what do you get?  In The Hunter, Parker scornfully remarks  “I hope you people have fun with your words.”  Nobody ever had more fun with them than Donald E. Westlake.  And perversely, when we miss the joke, he may sometimes enjoy it all the more.

Anyway, it’s something we can have fun arguing about in the comments section.  After I do a bit of synopsizing.  If you were betting this would be a multi-part review, you were definitely on the money.  Hands off the table, ladies and gentleman, around and around she goes….

We come in, once more, at the tail-end of a job that has gone less than smoothly for Parker.  He and a few fellow pros have just pulled a job reminiscent of the one he pulled with Mal Resnick in The Hunter.  Some rogue soldiers were selling stolen high-tech weaponry to the highest bidder, in this case terrorists.  Parker’s string wants the weapons to sell and the cash to spend.  They got all of the first, and some of the second, but they weren’t the only ones who knew about the exchange, and the cops who busted up the party are disinclined to view Parker’s little company of freebooters as a freelance counter-terrorism squad.

As Parker flees the scene with a guy named Marshall Howell, who brought him into this operation, their car goes off the road, and rolls down a hill.  Parker is mainly undamaged, but Howell is busted up pretty bad, and trapped in the car.  The pursuing lawmen opted to pursue the truck with the military hardware for now, but somebody will be checking up on them soon.  Parker has to go, and he dislikes loose ends.  Does Howell need to die?

Howell knows he’s going to jail, and he assures Parker he’d never talk to the law.  Parker is conflicted–a fellow professional has certain rights when you’re on a job with him.  All of which come second to Parker’s right to avoid capture or death himself.  Howell talks to him just the right way, joking, congenial, quietly tough.  It’s a close call, but don’t make murder the answer to everything.  He tells Howell he’ll see him in twenty years.  Howell says he’ll be rested.  Parker gets away with 140k.  His remaining partners can sell the weapons for their share.

And that really should be it for a while, since Parker doesn’t like to work too often, and that’s more than enough cash to tide him and Claire over awhile.  He gets back to the house in New Jersey, and Claire, who is happy to see him and the money.  The paper says Howell died from his injuries–Parker knows he wasn’t that badly hurt.  He wouldn’t have died unless somebody leaned on him hard to identify his associates, and obviously he didn’t talk, since the cops haven’t come knocking.  Chalk one up for honor among thieves.  And knowing she came that close to losing her man puts Claire as much in the mood as Parker always is after a job is done.  All brushes with death do for Parker is make him wax existential.

Claire pointed at the newspaper.  “That could have been you.”

“It always could,” he said.  “So far, it isn’t.  I go away, and I come back.”

She looked at him.  “Every time?”

“Except the last time,” he said.

She put her arms around him, touched her lips to the spot where the pulse beat in his throat.  “Later,” she said, “let’s have a fire.”

So afterwards, he goes to stash the money in several empty vacation homes nearby, and comes back to find that somebody claiming to be Howell left a message for him.  The area code is for Albany.  Since he’s pretty sure that’s not where people go when they die, he’s not surprised to find himself talking to someone else–someone who has information about him he doesn’t like just anyone to have.  Somebody named Cathman, who wants to meet with him–he was going to work with Howell on something, and now that Howell is permanently unavailable, he needs somebody in the same line of work.

They meet at the Amtrak station in Rhinecliff.  Parker is once again weighing the option of discretionary murder, but as we’ve seen before (The Jugger, for example), he doesn’t like to close a case that way when he doesn’t have all the information.  How much does this guy know, and what is he really after?  You don’t want to pull the trigger before you know all the potential consequences.  So he’ll talk to the guy.

His name is Hilliard Cathman.  Short, fat, balding. Spent most of his life as a consultant for the state government, now semi-retired, doing freelance consulting.  And increasingly ignored, on a subject he has very strong feelings about, namely state-sanctioned gambling.  Parker is pretty much indifferent to the social effects of gambling, generally agrees people would be better off without it, but since when do people only like what’s good for them?

“My question was, do you gamble?”


“May I ask why not?”

What did this have to do with anything?  But Parker had learned, over the years, that when somebody wants to tell you his story, you have to let him tell it his own way.  Try to push him along, speed it up, you’ll just confuse him and slow him down.

So the question is, why not gamble?  Parker’d never thought about it, he just knew it was pointless and uninteresting.  He said, “Turn myself over to random events?  Why?  The point is to try to control events, and they’ll still get away from you anyway.  Why make things worse?  Jump out a window, see if a mattress truck goes by.  Why?  Only if the room’s on fire.”

Cathman loves this answer, though subsequent events will reveal he’s gambling with much higher stakes than any state-sanctioned casino would allow.

(Sidebar: Regarding Parker’s avowed dislike for gambling, I am tempted to bring up his frequent visits to a casino in San Juan with Claire in The Green Eagle Score, and before that with Crystal in The Handle, though to be sure the latter was strictly to case the joint, and the former just because it got Claire in that mood he likes so much.  But he is in fact playing cards for money with some fellow heisters in Nobody Runs Forever.  I suppose you could say that was just to be social.  Westlake famously loved that kind of socializing, and at least in a private game you only have to beat your fellow players.)

So the upshot is that Cathman wants to be the finger on a riverboat casino heist.  Albany has okayed a four month trial run, with one boat–formerly the Spirit of Biloxi, now the Spirit of the Hudson. They didn’t have to change the name much. They can easily change it back again, if things don’t work out, but Cathman is sure the boat will bring in a lot of money–enough to make it worth Parker’s while. He’s in a position to give Parker all kinds of useful information about that boat.  He says he only wants ten percent of the take.

Ten percent is about what the finger would normally get (if he gets anything), but Parker feels like that’s not nearly enough money to make a guy turn his back on everything he ever was.  He smells something rotten in the air, but he doesn’t know what it is.  As we’ve seen before, when Parker is confused like this, he is compelled to seek answers.

He doesn’t need to work now, and the easiest thing to do would be to just get rid of somebody who already knows too much about him (that he knows the phone number of the house in New Jersey is itself enough reason to kill him).  But first he needs to understand Cathman, his plan, his motives, before he can know what to do about him.  And it is a potentially good score.  He asks Claire if she’ll do some background research on Cathman, which she agrees to happily (she was worried for a moment she’d be dragged into a hit).  And there’s guys he can call, so he calls them.  Might as well get things lined up.

They’re good guys.  Mike Carlow and Dan Wycza.  They meet up with Parker in Denver.  Seems like Parker hasn’t seen either of them since they took out the Tyler mob in Butcher’s Moon  (they definitely haven’t seen each other since then).  Wycza says it’s been a long time when he meets Carlow (care to specify how long, Dan?). Mike totaled another race car, needs a stake to build a new one.  The hulking muscular Dan just wants to take a break from his pro-wrestling career, stop pretending to get beat up by bleached blondes with big hair and capes (yeah, definitely the Ric Flair era, but that doesn’t narrow things down much, does it?).  Dan himself is a blonde, but given his size, I doubt anyone ever brings that nitpick up with him.

Dan is excited at the possibility of robbing the erstwhile Spirit of Biloxi–he lost some money on that tub.  He says he automatically cased it when he was there, just a professional habit.  Security’s fairly tight, lots of guards, metal detector, bag searches.  The three of them bat around ideas on how to take it, and keep running into roadblocks. For example, how do you get the guns aboard?  How do you get the cash off?  How do you get yourself off?  Parker still doesn’t like boats much–to him, a boat is a prison cell in the middle of the water, where you can be seen for miles.

Parker finally hits on an idea that would involve Lou Sternberg, who we met in Plunder Squad.  He’s just the right type to play a surly anti-gambling state politician.  Parker and Dan can play his bodyguards.  The show is shaping up nicely (No way Grofield wouldn’t be in on this if he were available, so something definitely happened there).  Just have to round out the cast a little.  Maybe an ingenue?

And a river rat.  Parker needs somebody who knows the Hudson between Albany and Poughkeepsie, the route the boat takes every night.  Somebody with his own boat, who isn’t too picky about the jobs he takes.  He gets pointed to an ex-con named Hanzen, in his sixties, a born loser, rueful but resigned with regards to his lot in life (too bad for him this isn’t a Dortmunder novel).

He lives in a town that suits him to a T, and as Parker looks around for him, we get a bit of Stark history.  To some extent, all of New York State is Westlake country, and under any name, he’s never on surer footing when he’s describing it to us, in all its many-splendored grandeur, if you want to call it that.

He was in Hudson today, a town along the river of the same name, another twenty miles north and upstream from Rhinecliff, where he’d met Cathman at the railroad station.  The town stretched up a long gradual slope from the river, with long parallel streets lined like stripes up the hill.  At the bottom was a slum where there used to be a port, back in the nineteenth century, when the whalers came this far up the Hudson with their catch to the plants beside the river where the whale oil and blubber and other sellable materials were carved and boiled and beaten out of the cadavers, to be shipped to the rest of America along the Erie Canal and the Great Lakes and the midwest rivers.

The whalers and the whale industry and the commercial uses of the waterways were long gone, but the town was still here.  It had become poor, and still was.  At one point, early in the twentieth century, it was for a while the whorehouse capital of the northeast, and less poor, until a killjoy state government stepped in to make it virtuous and poor again.  Now it was a drug distribution hub, out of New York City via road or railroad, and for the legitimate world it was an antiques center.

(And perhaps Westlake lived long enough to see the beginning of the next chapter, when Hudson was revitalized by an influx of gay people who discovered it while looking for antiques.  I doubt he’d have been surprised, since we’re told in Backflash that “Being poor for so long, Hudson hadn’t seen much modernization, and so, without trying, had become quaint.”  In 2005, Hudson’s more affluent new residents (of all sexualities) successfully opposed the building of a cement factory there that would have employed a lot of poor people.  Still a fairly large prison facility there, though.  And so the long historical parade of ironies continues in Hudson, except on Gay Pride Day, when there’s a much more enjoyable parade.)

Parker finds Hanzen outside a bar called the Lido, the one paragraph description of which makes me wonder yet again why the hell Westlake never won a Pulitzer (read it yourself, if I put all the good stuff in here, the review would be longer than the book and the estate would be on me like a ton of bricks).   Oh right, it’s crime fiction, I forgot. Not to be taken seriously.  Not like an 80’s novel about the Depression set in Albany (not exclusively Westlake country), mainly centered around a guilty good-natured alcoholic bum on the skids (isn’t that David Goodis country?) with a terse compound word title, that does in fact have a lot of crime and violence in it, and maybe I’ll never understand the rules of the Pulitzer game, but Westlake would be glad they gave an Irishman a break.

To me, this section of the book is more about setting the scene than the action, so let me sum the action up briefly–Hanzen takes Parker to his boat, shows him around the river, they talk in guarded terms about the job. Hanzen says he’d be happy to come pick them up after they do whatever they might be doing there which is absolutely none of his business, but he’s not doing any James Bond rescues, let’s understand that right now.  Parker says he never expects any James Bond rescues, which is kind of funny given what happened the last time he robbed a casino, but never mind.  Hanzen is revealed to be a part-time pot-farmer, growing his product in bags of peat moss cunningly concealed at the river’s edge, and only accessible by boat.  He is also revealed to have some rather disreputable associates who ride Harleys,  cultivate beards and beerguts.  They give Parker the fisheye, and Parker has to tell one of them to move his bike if he doesn’t want to get run over. He moves his bike.

I don’t know this particular stretch of the river terribly well, but I know the Hudson intimately (swimming in something certainly qualifies as intimacy), and love her immoderately, but not blindly.  Pete Seeger wasn’t kidding when he called her a dirty stream.  I walk along certain desolate sections of her with my dog sometimes, stretches of urban shoreline still waiting for the Parks Department to ‘improve’ them, and you just never know what’s going to crop up.  Jury-rigged docks nailed together out of found wood, the corpse of a ten foot sturgeon killed by a boat propeller, flotsam and jetsam from passing ships, all manner of wildlife (not all of it human), and while I personally have never found a dead body, I know people who have.  It’s not uncommon.  At all.  (Oh, and a humpback whale swam under the George Washington Bridge the other day, but I missed it.)

Claire’s research has resolved one mystery about Cathman–his roots are in New England, and a lot of his ancestors were ministers and such.  The old Puritan strain.  That’s why he’s got a bee in  his bonnet about gambling.  There are a lot of very good logical arguments he can employ against it, but Parker knows when it comes to people, emotions are what motivate, not logic.  Emotions and money, and money is winning out where the gambling issue is concerned.  Not enough people in New York with uptight clergymen in their family trees.

Cathman’s consulting business is a polite pretense at continued relevance; he’s getting very little work–just paying his loyal longtime secretary and renting his nicely appointed office with a view of the capital building probably eats up all he makes and more.  Another relic of the past, hanging on for dear life in a tenuous present (you do meet a lot of them in Richard Stark novels).

Stark knows what Cathman’s office looks like because Parker goes there, uninvited, and Cathman isn’t happy about this, but when you entice a wolf with fresh meat, don’t be surprised when he shows up at your door.  Parker wants to goad Cathman, test him, see if he can get at the truth about his motives–but he also needs some information–wants to get the name of a New York politician, not too well-known, who is short, stout, and surly.  Somebody who answers to the same general description as Lou Sternberg.  Cathman has a brief attack of conscience here–he doesn’t want anyone hurt (and yet he is instigating an armed robbery of a crowded pleasure boat).  But he coughs up the name.  Morton Kotkind, an assemblyman from Brooklyn.

Parker meets up with Wycza and Carlow again, this time at a restaurant just above Yonkers, with a nice view of the New Jersey Palisades.  He’s using the Edward Lynch name again.  We don’t find out what names Dan and Mike are using, but under any name, they’re up for a good score.  Lou Sternberg is in, that makes four.  Parker says they need a fifth–a woman.  First time in the series he’s set out to recruit a female heister, but this isn’t your usual smash and grab operation.  They need somebody to play a specific role.  She has to be pretty, appealing, but also she has to be of slight build–somebody who can do Mimi from La Boheme to perfection.  Somebody who looks frail–but isn’t.

It’s actually Mike who brings up Noelle Braselle–he worked a job once with her and her old boyfriend, Tommy Carpenter.  Parker didn’t think of her because he thought she was still working with Tommy, and that would make it a six-way split–hey, things are getting liberated here! Brenda Mackey didn’t get her own share of the take in the last book, and she worked harder than anyone.  Well, I guess that’s because she wasn’t actually there for the heist, just before and after, or maybe there’s some heister rule that married couples are a package deal, but free love is more expensive.  Maybe we don’t need to talk about whether armed robbery is an equal opportunity employer.  (The next cabinet sure won’t be.)

Mike knows something Parker doesn’t–Noelle and Tommy split up.  After they got picked up by the state troopers in Plunder Squad, Tommy got seriously spooked, gave up the racket for good, split to the Caribbean–scared straight.  This actually tracks pretty well with what we saw of Tommy in that book–Tommy mocked those two troopers they had to put on ice during the job, and one of them quietly promised him that they’d have him singing a different tune when they got him, and they did.  He had lots of nerve, but the thing about people with nerve is that they’re nervous.  Once they break, they stay broken.  He never wants to see another State Trooper again in his life.

Noelle has something better than nerve–she’s got class.  Dan isn’t sure if he knows her, and Mike says if he’d ever once met her, he’d remember.  Parker remembers her very well–the one that didn’t crack when the law got her–very sexy, very good at role-playing, very cool under pressure–she’d be perfect.  They have their ingenue.  The play is cast.  Time to get it on the road, work out the kinks (such a pity Grofield wasn’t in on this one).

The job is real to him now–he has the scent of the prey in his nostrils.  There’s definitely something screwy about Cathman, but he can deal with that when it comes (he’s already pretty much assuming he’ll have to kill the guy).  This isn’t about sizing up a potential threat anymore, and it’s clearly not just about the money, since he’s got plenty for now.  It’s about the hunt.  The one thing Parker can’t live without.  And just to prove that it’s fated to happen, this is the very moment their quarry chooses to make its entrance to the happy hunting ground.

Wycza said, “I smell my money.”

They looked at him, and he was gazing out the window, and when they turned that way the ship was just sliding into view from the left.  On the gleaming blue-gray water, among the few sailboats, against the dark gray drapery of the Palisades, it looked like any small cruise ship, white and sparkly, a big oval wedding cake, except in the wrong setting.  It should be in the Caribbean, with Tommy Carpenter, not steaming up the Hudson River beside gray stone cliffs, north out of New York City.

“I can’t read the name,” Carlow said.  “You suppose they changed it already?  Spirit of the Hudson?”

“They changed that name,” Wycza assured him, “half an hour out of Biloxi.”

Parker looked at the ship, out in the center channel.  A big shiny white empty box, going upriver to be filled with money.  For the first time, he was absolutely sure they were going to do it.  Seeing it out there, big and slow and unaware, he knew it belonged to him.  He could almost walk over to it, on the water.

Well, sure.  All it takes to walk on water is faith.  But just to be on the safe side, they’re going to need that river rat and his boat.  And of course there’s going to be a few unforeseen complications, people butting in where they aren’t wanted, amateurs screwing the pooch, and Parker will have to improvise a blue streak when his perfect plan breaks down.  I mentioned this is a Richard Stark novel, right?

Now all I have to do now is deal with the remaining three parts of the book in Part 2, but it worked okay last time.  I sort of assumed this book was longer than Comeback, but in fact I have Mysterious Press editions of both novels (paperback for Backflash), and both come to exactly 292 pages.  But this one is very different, much more detail packed into every page, because it’s set in a very real world that Westlake knows, and loves, and laments.  All at the same time. Whether that time is the early 80’s or the late 90’s.  Or both.  On the river that flows both ways, all things are possible.



Filed under Donald Westlake novels, Parker Novels, Richard Stark, Uncategorized

37 responses to “Review: Backflash

  1. One interesting aspect of these final books (or rather, the first five books of the final eight) is that aside from the daisy-chaining of the titles, I don’t think there’s much (if anything) that establishes their chronological sequence in relation to one another. Unless I’m forgetting something, I think they’re stand-alone stories with nary a hint of serialization (except when they call back to the original 16). This is, of course, a departure from the earlier novels, which constantly reference the events of the previous installments. (Well, there’s the argument that The Sour Lemon Score is out of sequence, but there’s always an outlier with Parker.) So, you make a compelling case, but for awhile there, I was leaning the other way. In my alternate universe, Amtrak arrived later and, like the other characters in this series, Noelle ages more slowly than we do. Stark’s descriptions of the casino boat’s uniforms, decor, and staff all suggest the ’90s (to me), lacking the specific tacky decadence I associate with the ’80s. On the other hand (and there’s always an other hand with Parker), that title. Backflash. You’re on to something there, I think. I mean, what does it even mean in relation to the plot? That’s a straight-up clue, that is.

    • Yeah, and just like in the mystery stories, I didn’t even notice the most important clue at first. I’ve been looking at that title for years now, and it never once occurred to me. I mean, it’s not even an anagram. Dupin was right. We always miss what’s hiding in plain sight.

      My feeling is that Westlake did his research on riverboat casinos, very possibly in person. I think he did enjoy that scene in small doses, he certainly wrote a fair bit about it. And since he did that in the late 90’s, that part of it looks and feels like the late 90’s. For all we know, there was a real Spirit of Biloxi, or something very like it, only as I said, the real casino boats mainly didn’t go out on the river. That’s just complicating matters unnecessarily. Also, it gets a lot colder on the Hudson, but I guess that would keep people inside gambling.

      I’m not sure if the town of Hudson he’s describing would look more like the 80’s or 90’s–maybe touches of both, and maybe touches of still earlier eras as well. Dewey shut down the whorehouses in the 1950’s, crippling what was left of the town’s economy, and as the book says, not much has changed since then. Westlake did not make that up, this town had a very vivid and often sordid history.

      I think it would have been a lot more gentrified than it’s described as being by the late 90’s. Hanzen makes a comment about how they don’t want to go down to where the old docks were, because it’s all black people in that part of town. That isn’t the exact phrasing he uses, of course. No, not that one. The j-word. I remember it well, from The Grapes of Wrath, and one of Louis Armstrong’s recordings of Just A Gigolo. But I’ve never seen anyone use it in real life–or even on the internet. Even on those sites the Pepe punks hang out on.

      But point is, I don’t think he went to Hudson while he was writing this book–he had memories of it stored up, and he did some background research, and he created his own Hudson, just like Chester Himes created his own Harlem. They both might get some fine details wrong, they both might be remembering things that don’t exist anymore, but the point is to paint a picture that tells the truth, even if it fudges the facts. Man, I really dig alliteration, don’t I?

      I’m glad you brought up the matter of the first five of the Final Eight being more independent of each other, though there is a clear reference to the events of Comeback in Breakout (now that I’ve mentioned it, you’ll remember what it is). I think this is mainly due to Westlake knowing they’d be published a year or more apart, in hardcover. But also he really needs to keep it vague about how much time is passing here.

      The First Sixteen took place almost in real time, at least if you go by when he wrote them. All we know for sure about these is that they take place well after the events of Butcher’s Moon and sometime before 9/11, even though Breakout was published in 2002. That’s the one Westlake took a break from writing, because he got Lyme Disease, so he would have started working on it before the planes hit, or else so shortly afterwards, it was too soon to process it.

      • I remember when he got sick, though I don’t think I ever knew it was Lyme Disease. I vaguely recall him having trouble with his vision. I remember thinking after reading Road to Ruin that he must be very much in decline, and we’ll get to that one soon enough. But it turns out the old boy still had a few tricks up his sleeve, as it turned out. And we’ll get to those too.

      • He wrote about the Lyme Disease, because it was relevant to Breakout–he just barely got Parker out of prison before he became unable to work for a while, and somehow that mattered to him–if he died, he’d at least know Parker was out there in the wind.

        There were probably earlier health issues, and obviously there were later ones. Westlake’s overall health is something we don’t know much about, but we know now he was a sickly infant who nearly died, and that kind of thing tends to reverberate across a human lifetime, not usually in good ways.

        I don’t think he was an invalid or anything–he couldn’t have lived the way he did if he was. But maybe a little bit like Bobby Darin–fighting like hell to do all he could, live every moment, sing every song, because he wasn’t sure how many moments he had left. Thankfully he had a lot more time than Darin did, and more than his father as well, but he probably had a good inkling that great longevity wasn’t in the cards for him.

  2. Something new that starts to emerge in this novel is an authorial voice with a POV that isn’t necessarily the character’s POV. “It was called the Lido, but it shouldn’t have been.” Is that Parker’s thought? I don’t think so. Parker could give a damn what the bar is called. Or how about this, as Parker looks around Cathman’s office and sees “a large framed reproduction of Ben Shahn’s Sacco and Vanzetti poster. So Cathman was not a man to give up a cause just because it was dead.” We’re in Parker’s head, but is that Parker’s observation? Seems more like Stark (actually, more like Westlake) peeking through. And then there’s the passage about farmers mistrusting cities when it came time to choose a state capital, which reads like something that Burke Devore might muse upon between murders.

    These all feel new to me, authorial reveries not necessarily found in the earlier novels. Which is not to say they feel off-brand, just that they’re new threads in the tapestry.

    • I can’t agree that’s new. Read the opening quote in my review of The Mourner. Stark always had his own voice, his own perspective. He’s the interpreter–he can’t fully understand Parker, but he wants to–that doesn’t mean he shares Parker’s feelings about everything. To him, the look on the face of that little statue–the strange fate of Sherenden–things relating to culture, to history, to politics, to human psychology–they matter to him, in ways they never could to Parker. Parker only tries to understand other people for reasons of potential profit, or potential risk. Stark wants to understand people for the sake of understanding people.

      It’s hard to be sure, sometimes, whether it’s Parker or Stark, but when it’s something like that Sacco & Vanzetti poster, safest bet is that it’s Stark, hitching a ride inside Parker’s head. When he’s telling these stories to us, he can only see what Parker and the other POV characters see, but that doesn’t mean he’s never seen anything else. He’s read books, he’s gone to museums, he’s attended concerts. He’s a cultured man, or ghost, or whatever.

      And he’s interested in Parker, perhaps, because Parker functions so well without all of the things Stark thinks are of great importance. He compares Parker to the people Parker meets, and he usually ends up preferring Parker. But maybe not always. To Parker, that griefstricken little statue is just a hunk of marble to be sold off for money. To Stark, as to Menlo, it’s great art, because it tells the truth about life. And he intends to do the same. Vividly, and economically.

      • You have a point, of course, but The Mourner quote still feels different to me. Yes, that’s clearly not Parker reveling in the details of the statue, but the remarks in Backflash about The Lido and S&V feel more pointed, more caustic. They’re wisecracks, for heaven’s sake. There have been wisecracks before, but usually with a much darker edge and not so removed from Parker’s POV (“Now you’re the message”).

        • Oh I agree there are some tonal changes, but more evolutionary than revolutionary. The Mourner also has that little aside about how a certain type of man will remain on the straight and narrow ‘so long as the plunger is small,’ a phrase I really love. Stark was always a sarcastic SOB, but yeah, that wisecrack in this one is a bit different.

          You’re definitely seeing something that’s there, but is that remark really so removed from Parker’s POV? Parker wants to know who this guy is–he’s interested because it could rebound back on him in some way he didn’t like. This guy is into lost causes, and that makes you do crazy things. Sacco & Vanzetti, and stopping legalized gambling. There was no way to save Sacco & Vanzetti because people wanted blood, and they were swarthy foreign terrorists (oh man, nothing changes).

          And he’s got to know, down inside, after so many years around state politics, there’s no way to stop something that has that much money behind it. We didn’t get riverboat gambling on the Hudson, but gaming we have in abundance, and so do many other states. Not much in New England (just Connecticut and Maine, I think, the outliers), so Westlake got that right.

          Parker might or might not know anything about Sacco and Vanzetti (it happened before he was born). It’s unlikely he’d have read about it. But then again, he’s interested in what the law does to those who break it (and they did, guilty of that specific charge or not). Parker is himself something of an instinctive anarchist, but he would think it made no sense to organize for the purpose of saying let’s stop organizing.

          So I agree it’s different, it sticks out, and it’s supposed to–but to me they’re pretty much on the same page here, and Stark is just fleshing out what Parker is thinking on a less conscious level.

          • Fair enough, and just to play devil’s advocate against my own argument, there’s this line from “The Seventh”: “What with her breasts pushing outward and her hand pulling downward, Bach didn’t look much like his old self at all.”

            • Oh man, I forgot that one. And that is most definitely Stark. Even when Parker isn’t thinking about sex, he still is. 😉

              • It’s fitting that we’re bringing up The Mourner, because Cathman seems to me to be a variation on Menlo, a fairly unimportant, unassuming government man with “a reputation you could hang your overcoat on.” But Westlake always found to go at a similar idea from a different angle, to find a new twist. While Menlo cheerfully let a big payday trump party loyalty, Cathman’s loyalty to the cause trumps all rational thought.

              • Great observation, and they even resemble each other a bit physically–but I have to say, I greatly prefer Menlo. Parker did too–he reminisces about him almost fondly in the next book. One of the very few instances in the Final Eight where Parker is seen to be thinking about someone from his past who is not currently part of his present. Of course, that’s partly because Menlo left him a bullet wound as a memento. Well, it’s cooler than a tattoo.

  3. Wycza picked up his menu, but then looked out at the river and said, “What we need’s somebody that can walk on water.”
    Carlow grunted. “They don’t play on our team,” he said. Wycza shrugged. “If the price is right,” he said, and studied the menu.

    I love how the line you quoted calls back to this exchange, which Parker stayed out of (banter’s not really his thing).

    • Yeah, again Stark invokes the gospels in a way that is not quite blasphemous, but nearly. Did it before in The Score and Butcher’s Moon (the number of heisters in the string). If Grofield is the Odysseus of crime, Parker is the Messiah.

  4. You had to remind me of Bierce:

    A Married Woman, whose lover was about to reform by running away, procured a pistol and shot him dead.
    “Why did you do that, Madam?” inquired a Policeman, sauntering by.
    “Because,” replied the Married Woman, “he was a wicked man, and had purchased a ticket to Chicago.”
    “My sister,” said an adjacent Man of God, solemnly, “you cannot stop the wicked from going to Chicago by killing them.”

  5. Once again, Parker is full of one-liners. “He wasn’t really much if a reader anyway” is an interesting one. Claire would have no idea what he’s talking about; he says it to amuse himself.

    • Parker is more of a talker in some books than others–he’s positively verbose in The Hunter, which is of course the first book, and the character hasn’t fully gelled yet. He gives speeches in some books–not long ones (except in The Black Ice Score), but a speech, whether its exhortation to action or merely a trenchant observation on human nature, is surely more out of character for him than a witty one-liner. When you get right down to it, everybody does things that are out of character sometimes. You wouldn’t even know what your character was if you never strayed outside of it.

      I think we have to assume he’s always going to be a bit more human with Claire, because she’s more important to him than anything else. Even though she’s mainly absent from most of the Final Eight (taking a somewhat more prominent position in two parts of the Final Trilogy), she’s always there to some extent. Except when he’s thinking about maybe screwing Tina in Comeback. Which only goes to show, regardless of species, guys are guys.

      • We also get told that Parker laughs his characteristic barking laugh. (With Claire, of course.) Have we ever heard that before?

        • I don’t remember it ever being described that way before–Parker does laugh, though not often. He laughed at the end of The Seventh. He laughed a few times in The Rare Coin Score, in response to things Claire said. Her beauty was impressive, but he’s been with beautiful women before. She was the one who made him laugh, and that’s what hooked him. So there, Christopher Hitchens. A sense of humor can be an evolutionary advantage in both genders.

          I never imagined his laugh as a bark, but the fact that it’s described that way makes me think Westlake is more and more gravitating to the notion of Parker as a beast of prey, something that will become explicit at last in the penultimate book.

  6. When Breakout was released, I theorized (correctly, as it turns out, but not for the reasons I thought) that there would be exactly three more Parker novels, titled Outlaw, Lawman, and Manhunt. That would bring the series full-circle, with the “hunt” in Manhunt looping back to “The Hunter.” Oddly enough, I could make an argument for each of those titles working for the final three — though it’s hard to beat “Ask the Parrot” and hard NOT to beat “Dirty Money.”

    • Those titles would have been pretty cool, though maybe a bit too on the nose–and even though you can’t copyright a title, there’d be too many other books and films and TV series with the same monikers.

      But then again, he finished (as matters arranged themselves) with Dirty Money, which was already the English release title of Un Flic, a noir thriller from Jean-Pierre Melville. And I’m sure he knew that. But I’m still not sure why he chose it. Maybe my least favorite title for any of the books. Maybe it wasn’t even his idea, who knows. Well, somebody must.

      You got the titles wrong, but you were highly prescient in all other regards regarding that final trilogy, or triptych. Of which my favorite is the center panel.

  7. Posted my review on this one. I would think Backflash counts among the favorites of many Parker fans. So many nice touches, so many interweaving stories. You gotta love Susan sniffing at the Good Squad (Parker and Dan Wycza) but then when the guys shift from body guards to heisters, things turn, big time. Great bits: the reporter, Ray the cop, the overlap in capers, Noelle, river rat, bikers, to note several.

    • I’ve never had a clear notion of which books among the Final Eight are fan favorites, but I’d agree this ought to be one. Not least because it gets the band back together to some extent.

      And as I made clear in my review, I think that’s because this is self-consciously a flashback to the First Sixteen, and takes place years before the events of Comeback. Westlake never did prequels, under any name, so he didn’t want to make that explicit. He was curious to see if he could make characters from the series other than Parker and Claire work in the new era he was writing in (Brenda and Ed appeared so late in the First Sixteen, he may have figured they were a good transitional team). But he was not simply trying to recreate the feel of the earlier books. Even in moving backward, he was endeavoring to forge ahead, and I think in this case he succeeds.

  8. Yes, I agree about this taking place not decades after the events in Plunder Squad – one reason: Noelle is still thinking of Tommy. Likewise with MC, DW & LS – they are basically the same.

    • Time is somewhat fluid here. And that’s not unusual in a long-running series where the characters don’t visibly age that much (Claire looks every bit as good in a bikini in Flashfire as ever she did, though you only have to google pics of Elizabeth Hurley to know that’s far from biologically impossible). I just think there’s a bit more thought put into it. The past and the future can meet in the present. A river that runs several ways at once–like the Hudson.

  9. Further reflections on your “he was endeavoring to forge ahead, and I think in this case he succeeds.” I could be off here but, for me, the feeling of this novel was one of depth, that is, pathos, especially for characters like Hanzen, Susan Cahill, even fuck-up Ray. Also, I had the feeling (I admit, only a feeling; I’m not in a position to do an in-depth analysis) that the plot and Westlake’s use of time (rewinds, etc) are more developed here.

    Among my favorite lines in the novel: “For answer, she hunkered back and drew her legs up under her. Seated in the van doorway, cross-legged, slumped forward, she looked like an untrustworthy oracle.” I can clearly envision what Westlake is conveying here – not only an oracle but an untrustworthy oracle. I bet James Patterson and many other lesser writers would never come up with that simile! So much packed into so few words.

  10. Westlake never did prequels. —– Makes sense. Prequels can be tricky. My favorite example: Vladimir Sorokin, one of Russia’s star current day novelists wrote Ice, almost universally judged a modern classic. VS went back and wrote the prequel Bro – most fans and critics didn’t like it at all, even going so far as to recommend readers skip Bro. I think they’re wrong but that’s just me.

    • I don’t know if he avoided them because he thought they never worked–he was just not fond of period pieces in general. Almost everything he wrote is set roughly in the same time period it was written in. Only major exception I can think of is Gangway!, but he co-wrote that with Brian Garfield. This dislike of period fiction is probably why that’s the only story in the very lucrative western genre he is known to have written. He loved history, but never wrote a historical novel. Westlake is all about the now, and Stark takes that even further, so this is a very interesting detour from a well-worn path–but again–not acknowledged as such. Not openly. To my knowledge, I’m the only reviewer who has ever brought it up.

      • Glenn, this is very very belated indeed, but I was just reading back through the comments here (I like to remind myself what my peeps tell me), and I have in fact read Sorokin’s entire Ice Trilogy now, along with several later works, all translated by my late neighbor Jamey Gambrell, who died of cancer in 2020, not long after I was fortunate enough to meet her and her daughter, who probably still mourns her. But sadly, before I had read Sorokin, so I never got to discuss him with her. My homage to her, let’s say. I had completely forgotten you’d brought him up here.

        On the whole, I prefer Bro to Ice, and would never read just Ice, that makes no sense, the story isn’t finished, and you need to know how any of these people even got this way.

        It was confusing, though, since I bought all three on Kindle in a package, and they put Bro first, since it’s chronologically set earlier, and hey, this is what I was talking about with Comeback and Backflash! Kind of. (Sorokin preferred this ordering). Also an issue with Octavia Butler’s Patternist series, which begins in the far future on another planet, skips back to the 1970’s to show us how the Patternists evolved, then further back to the 19th to explain further, then forward a bit to explain where the Clayarks came from, and there’s another book on an alien world she hated (said it was too Star Trek) so she said nobody could publish it again until copyright lapsed, making copies really expensive now. But I digress.

        But yeah, prequels can come in for a lot of hate, since they mess with what you thought you knew. Hate from me, quite often, though more with movies/TV. (I don’t have to be consistent.) Hit me in the chest with an ice hammer, I’ll still say Bro is better than Ice, but in some ways I like 23,000 best, since I really got to dislike those hammer folks, and their lust to murder Mother Gaia (or as I sometimes call her, Ursula, after LeGuin), and I can’t really say anymore about that without spoiling the ending. You know what I’m talking about. Sorokin really is a Christian, isn’t he? It can take some pretty odd forms. Well, Jesus’ was probably the oddest.

        My interpretation of the book, that I hope to somehow share with Sorokin, is that the book is about Nihilism. Which he does not like. But still sometimes identifies with. Because who doesn’t? We all have bad days. Try not to let it sour you too much on Life. Is, I think, the moral of the piece.

        • Glenn Russell

          Wow! Thanks. You’ve made my rainy day. I’m with you – I LOVED Bro and 23,000. Since you’ve read all 3 novels, I think you might enjoy my Ice Trilogy review. By my modest judgement, a work that will over the years rise to classic status:

          • Yeah, you’ve summed up the mixture of fascination and confusion (and at times, revulsion, a common symptom of Sorokin readers) I felt reading these books. But at the end, I thought (perhaps mistakenly) I understood his meaning. You just have to read all the way through to get it. And perhaps be Russian. (Irish can be almost as good. Or bad. Whichever).

            Sorokin is hugely popular in Russia, even though he’s currently in exile, by his own choice, for his own good. His books fly off the shelves. To the extent books and shelves still exist.

            I don’t think he sees the Ice People as evil. His morality is not that simplistic. But–well, you didn’t spoil the ending, so I won’t either.

            Life may be a mistake, but it’s a damned convincing one. That’s how I’d sum it up.

  11. Glenn Russell

    Agreed – Ice Trilogy doesn’t have any easy answers. I’ll have to give it a good reread. Meanwhile, I have his Telluria on my 2023 TBR list.

    • My favorite to date is Day of the Oprichnik. I could have done without the image it ends with, but so could Putin’s lackeys, who might have been secretly enjoying it up to that point (I think Sorokin did that on purpose). The Blizzard is also fascinating, a science fiction fairy tale, and maybe a good one for people who want an easier entry point to Sorokin. So far, I’ve only read the Gambrell translations.

      I’m not reading the one about people eating shit. Metaphors can be taken too far, man.

  12. Glenn Russell

    Great! I’ll send you a copy of my review in January.

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