I had low expectations for this lurid Elmore Leonard tale and managed to be disappointed. Published in 1974, 52 Pickup bumps along as the middle-aged owner of a small manufacturing company in Detroit named Harry Mitchell-which sounds like a '70s man's name or one that would appear somewhere in an adult theater--duels with three crooks who attempt to blackmail him, first over Harry's affair with a seedy model old enough to be his daughter, and when that fails, her murder. This novel hasn't aged well.
Harry, instead of buying a motorcycle or taking up the bongos, worked through his midlife crisis by engaging in a three-month affair with a barely legal model/ stripper/ whatever named Cini he met at a bar. Harry went as far as renting an apartment for her, taking her to the Bahamas and supposed maybe he was in love. Later, he tries to convince his lawyer that it wasn't about sex and he isn't a bad guy, honest, but the lack of self-awareness is extraordinary considering Harry has designed a third of his shop's inventory. Okay. Smart men can be stupid too.
The affair turns out to be unfortunate for both Harry and Cini when three men show up at the apartment to play an 8MM film documenting Harry's extracurricular activities. They demand $105,000. As with a lot of Elmore Leonard novels, the crooks are the highlight. The ringleader, Alan Raimy, manages an adult theater. Alan is a disgraced CPA with a nose for embezzlement, weed, kitschy home décor and underage girls. In the habit of calling men "sport," he's the kind of smarmy SOB you want to punch in the nose. Bobby Shy is a gunman who loves to pull a trigger and take on cowboy scores like robbing tourist buses. The third man is a schlep named Leo Franks, who runs the "modeling agency" that Cini works for.
Elmore Leonard has never written a book with less than stellar dialogue. He throws the reader immediately in to whatever is cooking in the scene, and this fast-paced read is no exception.
The barrel shifted past Alan to ten o'clock, Bobby squeezed the trigger and shattered the globe of a mood lamp hanging from the wall.
"You could be shooting into the next room, for Christ sake!" Alan said. "What if you hit somebody?"
Bobby sprung open the cylinder of the .38 and began reloading it, taking the cartridges from his coat pocket. "I'm going to hit somebody, you don't say what the man offer us. Last call," he said, snapping the revolver closed and putting it squarely on Alan. "How much?"
"You know as well as I do," Alan said, "Fifty-two thousand."
Bobby Shy smiled. "Don't you feel better now?"
"Look," Alan said, "how was I going to tell you if I can't find you?"
"Tell me now, I'm listening."
"All right, the man made us an offer. Fifty-two thousand, all he can afford to pay."
"You believe it?"
"I looked at his books," Alan said. "Yes, I believe him. The way he's got his dough tied up he can't touch most of it. He offers fifty-two. All right, let's take it while he still believes it'll save his ass, But--here's what we're talking about--what do we need Leo for?"
"I don't see we ever needed him."
"Leo spotted the guy. He did that much. But now he's nervous, Christ, you don't know what he's going to do next."
"So me and you," Bobby said, "we split the fifty-two."
Alan nodded. "Twenty-six grand a piece."
"And we go together to pick it up."
"And we go together to hit the guy, whether we do it then or later."
"All this time," Bobby Shy said, "what's Leo doing, watching?"
"Leo's dead. I don't see any other way."
Bobby Shy thought about it. "Yeah, he could find out, couldn't he?"
"We can't take a chance."
"Man's too shaky, ain't he?"
"Do it with the guy's gun," Alan said. "How does that grab you?"
"Tell Leo we want to use it on the man."
"Right. He hands it to you."
"I guess," Bobby Shy said, "seeing he's a friend of yours, you want me to do it."
"Not so much he's a friend," Alan said, "as you're the pro." He grinned at Bobby Shy. "Don't tell me how you're going to do it. Let me read it in the paper and be surprised."
I wish I'd been able to read 52 Pickup in the '70s. In addition to the fact that Harry can't stop referring to Bobby Shy as the "colored" guy, his affair with Cini takes effort to place in historical context as well. Extramarital options for professional married men were once limited to secretaries or strippers and Cini's typing skills are never disclosed. Nothing about her is, really, as she exists off-page as a prop who is unceremoniously shot in a snuff film when Harry balks at paying up. His wife of twenty-two years, Barbara, is an empty nester with a bottom half that men can't seem to stop commenting on. Gross.
The film version of 52 Pickup was critically praised in 1986 for the performances of John Glover as Alan Raimy and Clarence Williams III as Bobby Shy. If these two showed up to scam me, I'd throw myself out a tall window and be done with it. Ten years was enough time to realize how one-dimensional Barbara Mitchell was on the page and Ann-Margret was given much more to do with her in the movie. Relocated to L.A., it lacks the gunmetal gray weather of Detroit as well as the auto industry setting, which sets the novel apart from those on the coasts, but it's really not enough for me to recommend the book.