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A chance visit to “the sad side of a small town” leads Reacher on a quest to track down a criminal enterprise preying on wounded veterans, a scam that saddens our hero and makes him very, very angry. Jack Reacher (“Bigfoot,” to those awed by his 6-foot-5-inch, 250-pound bulk) is right where we want him in Lee Child’s new novel, THE MIDNIGHT LINE (Delacorte, $28.99): on an endless ribbon of highway, hitching rides and serving as “human amphetamine” for tired truckers. That’s pretty ugly - and a new one on us. (“Sometimes I think I can still smell the puke.”) In TWO KINDS OF TRUTH (Little, Brown, $29), Bosch goes undercover as an elderly oxycodone abuser to take down a gang of international racketeers who are moving prescription drugs in and out of the country by enslaving aged addicts desperate to feed their habits. White doesn’t begin to cover the complexity of these diverse relationships.Įver since Harry Bosch was forced into retirement from the Los Angeles Police Department, Michael Connelly’s tough-as-old-boots hero has been taking on cold cases for the San Fernando force, working from a makeshift office in the old drunk tank of the county jail. As the son of a Baptist minister, Boggs is a member of the black aristocracy, a beneficiary of “preacher money and a preacher house, even a preacher car.” Black vs. But as Thomas Mullen lets it be known in LIGHTNING MEN (37Ink/Atria, $26), Lucius Boggs and Tommy Smith are also valuable assets in neighborhoods where white residents are literally up in arms over the black families buying homes on their blocks. With racial barriers slowly dropping in the 1950s, token black cops are badly needed on the Atlanta police force. Even Skellig, the levelheaded owner of the cab service, hears the voices of men he’s killed in battle (“troubletroubletroublebadtrouble”) while he’s driving.
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The plot of Hart Hanson’s first novel is ragged, but his furiously funny storytelling voice is full of moral indignation on behalf of unstable war vets like Ripple, the dispatcher who lost both legs in Afghanistan and now draws violent cartoons all the livelong day, and Tinkertoy, a mechanical genius with a scary case of post-traumatic stress paranoia.
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Meet the great guys who work at Oasis Limo Services in THE DRIVER (Dutton, $26). Phillips’s resourceful heroine gives new meaning to the term “tiger mom.”
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Gin Phillips taps that primal fear in FIERCE KINGDOM (Viking, $25), a heart-thumping thriller about a mother who finds herself and her 4-year-old son running for their lives among cages of unhappy wildlife after two crack marksmen start hunting down zoo visitors like animals. Of all the places where you really do not want to meet a couple of nut cases with rifles, a zoo full of “wild things in boxes” ranks high. Their methods are extremely thoughtful and inventive they just aren’t entirely lawful. They pull off the biggest heroin bust in memory, put down an all-out gang war and handle quotidian misdeeds like regular gentlemen.
But just because they’re no-good crooks doesn’t mean these roughnecks can’t police their turf. The crooked New York cops in Don Winslow’s excellent police procedural, THE FORCE (Morrow/HarperCollins, $27.99), have minds in the gutter and share a vocabulary as ripe as rotten fruit. alerts Harry Hole, Nesbo’s gloomy Norwegian detective, that this repulsive killer is having fun with Harry, tempting him to come out and play. The good citizens of “melancholic, reserved, efficient” Oslo are paralyzed with fear and loathing, but the murderer’s bizarre M.O.
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Here comes Bad Santa with a sack of the year’s best crime and mystery thrillers, full of psychos and sickos for the naughty kids.įirst to crawl out of the bag is Jo Nesbo’s monstrous villain in THE THIRST (Knopf, $26.95), a serial killer who stalks his victims on Tinder, rips out their throats with dentures made of metal spikes and drinks their blood. Ho, ho, ho! Let Jolly Santa hand out his boring, politically correct presents to all the good boys and girls.
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