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Executive Times |
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2005 Book Reviews |
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Melancholy
Baby by Robert B. Parker, Jr. |
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Rating: ••• (Recommended) |
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Click on
title or picture to buy from amazon.com |
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Kin Robert Parker offers Melancholy
Baby to readers as the fourth and latest installment in his Sunny Randall
series. When a college student hires Sunny to explore her doubts about
whether her parents are related to her, Sunny’s own
troubled life comes bubbling to the surface. As fans would expect, Parker
tells a fine story in Melancholy
Baby, and Sunny grapples with her life as she tries to help her client. Here’s an excerpt, all of Chapter 28,
pp. 120-124: I wanted Spike to meet
Sarah for future reference. So after I dropped him off at his car, he
followed me back to my loft. I used my key to enter downstairs. But the loft
door was bolted and I had to knock. There were quiet footsteps and then silence
while Leonard checked us through the peephole. “Who’s with you,” Leonard
said from inside. “My friend Spike, it’s
okay.” “What’s my name?” Leonard
said. “Leonard.” The bolt slid back, and
the door opened. “Clever,” I said to
Leonard. “If Spike were the enemy, I could have let you know by saying your
name was Arthur or something.” Leonard nodded. “You all set now?” he said. Rosie rushed down the length of the
loft, and I crouched to say hello. “Yes,” I said. “Thank you, Leonard.”
“Thank Tony,” Leonard said, and left. Spike looked after him. “What a fine-looking man,” Spike said. Rosie did a couple spins and wagged her
tail rapidly and made a little squeak. Sarah sat on the couch, smoking. She
was staring at Spike. “Fine,” Spike said. I stood. Spike bent over and scooped up
Rosie and gave her a series of rapid kisses on the nose. “Everything okay, Sarah?” I said. “Yeah. It’s okay. That guy Leonard
doesn’t talk much.” “Might be a good thing,” I said. “This
is Spike.” “He’s the one I’m supposed to call if
you’re not here.” “Who you gonna
call?” Spike said, and put out his hand. Sarah took it languidly. “Girl,” Spike said, “you have a
handshake like a noodle.” Sarah shrugged. “We found the men who beat you up,” I
said. “What happened?” “We spoke to them firmly,” I said. “And
they agreed not to bother you again.” “You spoke to them?” “Yes,” I said. “The tough guy? The one with the
tattoos?” “Yes. His name is Sal Brunelli.” “What did he do?” “He bounced,” Spike said. “What?” I smiled. “Spike picked him up and
banged him on his car.” “You picked him up?” “I did,” Spike said. “Actually, I’ve
picked up quite a few men in my life.” I smiled. Sarah stared at Spike. It
might have been awe. “What would you have done?” Sarah said
to me. “Without Spike?” “Yes. I mean, you’re a woman.’ “Hear me shout,” I said. “I had a gun.” “Would you have shot them?” “As needed,” I said. Sarah was silent. Spike
and Rosie had settled on the couch beside her. Rosie was on her back, and
Spike was rubbing her stomach. Sarah watched this for a moment, and then
looked back at me. “How can you do this?”
she said. “This?” I said. “Be a detective and face
bad guys and stuff. . . and you need a man to protect you.” “Good heavens,” Spike said to Rosie. “A
feminist conundrum.” There was coffee left. I poured some. “It’s good to know your limitations,” I
said. “I weigh one hundred twenty-six pounds. Sal Brunelli,
tattoos and all, weighs. . . what, Spike? You picked him up?” “A hundred ninety-two and a half,”
Spike said. “That’s a significant disparity,” I said to Sarah, “but a common
one. Most men are bigger and stronger than I am. So I need an equalizer.” I put my coffee down and got my purse
and opened it and took out the short-barreled .38 I carried. “This is one,” I said. Sarah stared at the gun. I put the gun
back and walked over to Spike and touched his shoulder. “And this is another. One reason I
sometimes prefer Spike is that his, ah, equalizing capacity can be modulated.
The gun tends to be pretty black-and-white.” “You brought Spike with you so you
wouldn’t have to shoot them?” “Think of it this way,” Spike said. “I
wasn’t there to protect her from them. I was there to protect them from her.” “Did you have a gun, too?” “Yes,” Spike said. “Most people I meet
are not bigger and stronger than I am. But they might have an equalizer,
too.” Sarah was drinking her coffee black and
was lighting one cigarette from the butt of the other. “Did they have guns?” she said. “The lawyer-y guy, Lewis Karp—who was,
by the way, a lawyer, nice call.” “He had one.” “Yes.” Spike reached into his coat
pocket and held it up. “It’s small,” she said. “Big enough,” I said. Sarah was silent for a time. Tears
began to well. “People with guns,” she said. “I have
people with guns in my life, and people beating me up, and all I’m trying to
do is find out who I am.” “I think you can go back to school,” I
said. “I’ll drive you there, and I’ll talk with campus security. No one will
bother you.” “For how long?” “Long enough for me to find out who you
are.” “You believe me? That those people aren’t my parents?” “I believe that
something is quite wrong in your family,” I said. As readers have come to expect, Parker’s
dialogue moves the plot along, and there’s little extraneous narration to
distract us. Melancholy
Baby provides enjoyment and reveals just a bit more about the interesting
Sunny Randall. Steve Hopkins,
March 23, 2005 |
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ã 2005 Hopkins and Company, LLC The recommendation rating for
this book appeared in the April 2005
issue of Executive Times URL for this review: http://www.hopkinsandcompany.com/Books/Melancholy
Baby.htm For Reprint Permission,
Contact: Hopkins & Company, LLC • E-mail: books@hopkinsandcompany.com |
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