January is Gold Medal Books Month at the PorPor Books Blog
Book Review: 'The Hoods Come Calling' by Nick Quarry
'The Hoods Come Calling' (160 pp.) was published by Fawcett in 1958, as Gold Medal Books No. 747. It's one of a number of Gold Medal crime novels, featuring private eye Jake Barrow, authored by Marvin H. Albert under his pen name 'Nick Quarry.'
Albert (1924 - 1996) published over 100 nonfiction and fiction works, the latter in a variety of genres.
'Hoods' is set in New York city in the late 1950s. After a two-year absence, Jake Barrow has returned to the place where he grew up. Barrow is hoping to start his own private-eye business. To do this, he needs the $1,600 that his estranged wife Carla presumably has been safekeeing in their joint bank account.
Getting the money won't be easy. Jake and Carla have a troubled history. Carla is quite a looker, but also has a problem with staying faithful, one of the reasons Jake felt compelled to leave the city in the first place.
At a party hosted by Eddie Jerango, a childhood friend and now a mover in the city's underworld, Jake meets a swell dame named Sandy Adams. Jake also learns that Carla now is the squeeze of Buddy Jerango, Eddie's brother. Hot-headed and intemperate, Jake creates a public scene with Carla and Buddy, a scene that ends badly for Jake.
When, soon after, Carla is murdered, Jake finds himself the lead suspect. With just days to find the murderer and clear his name, a desperate Jake prowls the summertime streets and hood haunts of the city, looking for clues to the identity of the perpetrator. Luckily Sandy Adams is willing to help him out; she's got beauty and brains, and seems to show up in the right place at the right time. Maybe Sandy is too good to be true...........?
'Hoods' is one of those rarer Gold Medal titles that, for most of its length, delivers a well-told, and well-plotted, hardboiled crime story. Author Quarry / Albert has the style down pat:
It was a cheap hotel, down near Times Square. A small room and bath with a view of an open airshaft for two-and-a-half a day. The first dirty streaks of dawn were creeping into the night sky as I let myself into the room and locked the door.
I didn't turn on the light. I went straight to the bureau and opened the top drawer. The flat pint of rye was still there, under my shirts. I carried it into the bathroom, got a tumbler and poured the rye into it. The neck of the pint kept clinking against the glass as I poured.
I gulped it all down without taking the glass from my teeth. When I poured again, my hands were no longer shaking. I carried the bottle and the filled glass into the other room and sat on the edge of the bed. I sat there till I'd finished the bottle. My brain was rocking like a rowboat in a squall.
'Hoods' is standard-issue private-eye fiction from the postwar era; when it comes to hand-hand combat, Jake takes on all comers and, while he may suffer some superficial damage, always manages to get the best of his adversaries. Helping to sooth his injuries and tribulations is the fact that Barrow regularly meets comely young women who, for some reason, can't help wanting to sleep with him.
Where the novel falters is in its final chapters, where all sorts of loopholes and contrivances lead to the discovery of Whodunit and their fate. It's a flaw not unusual in many private eye tales but, given the higher quality of the initial chapters in the book, it seemed as more of a letdown to me.
I'm willing to investigate other entries in the Jake Barrow franchise, but I'm hoping their conclusions are more convincing that what I read in 'Hoods.'
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