Links: Author's Brant Series Page / Show Official Info /

Inspector Brant, the seediest, meanest, and possible most effective detective in South London is back; but after getting shot in a bar, he's out of action for a bit. Not long enough for either the criminal element or many of his fellow cops, but long enough for his squad to fend for themselves as they deal with various bits of unfinished business come to haunt them. The seventh book in the series finds the crew way beyond burnout, and adds a new face to the bunch: Wallace, of US Homeland Security, here to help the Brits learn how to identify and deal with terrorists. Unfortunately, he fits right into the outside the rulebook thinking that Brant specializes in.

Inspector Brant's only hero was Ed McBain, and he's read them all, except the final one written before McBain died. Some things are better left alone. Brant would be one of those things. As the author puts it, "If you had dealings with Brant, you needed a great sense of humor or a sawn-off." So, if you've got unfinished business with the Met's least lovable detective that you can't laugh off, you'd better be sure you've got enough firepower and guts, for the job.

In a way, it's a pity the gunman who walked into the bar Brant was drinking in didn't know that. As it was, he was only packing a Browning automatic...and though it might put a good sized hole in the inspector, and that wouldn't be nearly enough, for that which doesn't kill us only makes us meaner.

Down at the station, or throughout London's criminal element, nobody much is surprised that someone decided to kill the bastard, just that it took so long.

Brant doesn't have any friends on the force or off it, it's pretty safe to assume, though a flock of hookers do show up at the hospital to see him. On the other hand, Chief Inspector Roberts, the gay and flash Inspector Porter Nash, and (thanks to Brant's getting her the exam answers) the newly minted Sergeant Falls, all owe him, one way or another, and are about as close to being mates as he'll get. And for all the grief he'd give you, they know "there's no better guy to have in your corner."

Interestingly enough, there probably isn't a better crew than that bunch to have in yours.

What follows is an ensemble police procedural of the hard bitten and corrupt force variety. Brant gets things done in direct and usually shady fashion, and he rubs off on the people around him, dragging them down into the same cesspool that he lives in. Unfortunately for some, like Sgt. Falls, a beautiful black woman who had great career prospects before she ran afoul of drugs and drinking, not everyone has Brant's ability to swim in shit. While his advice on how to handle shit assignments (plant evidence on a likely suspect and get on to the next job) may be expeditious, it's not really career building.

This is the seventh Brant novel, set in Southeast London's grittier environs, and there's if you haven't read the others, you've got a lot of catching up to do. Catching up is pretty much the theme in this outing of the most corrupt precinct you're likely to ever stumble into, as the cast of characters who've survived the series thus far find out. Brant himself is being hunted by one of the many he's hurt in the name of finding justice, but he's not alone. Sgt. Elizabeth Falls is finding "love" letters from the Vixen "The Vixen - the most sensuous, crazy, female serial-killer ever" whom she put away a few books back, but not until after getting a bit too close to the killer. PC McDonald, whose career Brant had pretty much put into the toilet finds vindication in vigilantism, though it may not be his best career move either. Then there's Porter Nash, who's been left without Brant to hang out with for most of the book. Unfortunately, the gay and mostly upright inspector finds himself tagging along with someone just at bad, Wallace, the Homeland Security resident sent from the US to help them identify terrorists. Wallace is his own brand of bad news, and evidentially "identifying" terrorists requires his own brand of indelible marker…

If Chandler's prose was telegraphic, Bruen must be using smoke signals.

Which is fine by us. There's a lot of information packed in smoke signals. Like the ones curling up from the tip of cigarette poised between red nails in a seedy bar…but I'm getting off the subject.

You can either pick up Brant's trail here or back at the beginning, and you won't be disappointed, unless you insist on your heroes being pure. That's the one thing Brant and his crew will never manage. On the other hand, as this installment attests, what goes around comes around. That, you can count on.

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