[9/10]
He’d been born black, athletic, pansexual, half-crazy, good-looking, loyal, irrational, fun-loving, smart, eager, terrified and broke.
Would even death end his “distress”?
Bobby Mencken is about to take his last walk from his cell on Death Row in the Huntsville prison, Texas. The state has found him guilty of murder most foul and is hell bent on administering him a lethal injection despite the case being build mostly on circumstantial evidence. But Bobby is not one to go meekly into the long goodbye! He’ll take some of his abusers down with him.
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Reading the opening chapter of this, my first crime novel from Jim Nisbet, is like a swift kick to the gut: fast and mean and uncompromisingly brutal. None of the whimsical and long-winded paranormal atmosphere from an earlier foray into “The Green Mile” by Steven King, even as the two stories share a clear condemnation of death penalty.
Nisbet is not fooling around, and the next chapters, describing in detail the procedure for killing a man with a cocktail of deadly chemicals while the ‘honest’ citizens and the press watch with avid eyes from behind the safety of a picture window, keeps the reader on the edge of his seat and guessing where this story is going, when the main actor is just about to expire?
But why risk his life, as Royce was clearly doing, for a dead man he’d never known? To justify a squandered career, a medical practice so decrepit that he’d take on the odious millstone of being medical practitioner to several thousand miserable, desperate men in the Huntsville prison? [...] because he couldn’t control his own drinking or his wife’s excessive and compulsive expenditures?
Franklin Royce is the prison’s attending physician, tasked with administering the lethal injection to Mencken. Impressed by the inmate’s fortitude and fighting spirit, Royce sets out to find out the truth about Bobby Mencken’s crime and about the reason he took the blame for a crime he claims he didn’t commit. All Royce has to go on is the name of a woman that is Mencken’s last word in this sorry world.
After so many years he wondered if life held anything more profound than monthly payments, overdrafts at the bank, unfair speeding tickets, a credit card scissored in two on a silver tray in a very nice restaurant, a life whose pecuniary rhythms sailed from troughs of embarrassment to peaks of anxiety and back again with no respite.
After a couple of chapters setting out the case of the new lead character, describing his own dead end suburban lifestyle and justifying the radical change of heart Franklin experienced by the side of the dying Mencken, the story moves to a decrepit Dallas suburb where apparently the only woman to have visited Mencken in prison currently lives.
“They didn’t even run a paraffin test on him, to see if he’d fired the goddamn gun. Hell, the goddamn test was invented in Mexico, by a Mexican cop. If the Mexicans can invent the goddamn test, you’d think these cracker Dallas cops could use it. But no. Hell, no. They had their desperate Negro junkie and the murder weapon.”
Franklin Royce has his first impressions about the innocence of Mencken strengthened very soon after meeting a woman that for me is the essence of the ‘femme fatale’ template of the noir genre: oozing sex-appeal and mystery, volatile and vulnerable, deadly attractive for the beaten down doctor. Franklin willingly steps into her spider’s web, even as he realizes he is out of his depth in this rundown tenement of drug dealers and house breakers.
Nisbet continues to impress me with the way he shifts focus on the story, while remaining faithful to the opening gambit of finding out the story behind Bobby Mencken’s execution. His prose is pared down to a bare minimum, but Nesbit somehow makes every word, every scene count, and even has space for introspection and for some lyrical turns of phrase. He is so deft at creating mood, at cranking up the tension and at keeping the reader unsettled that you don’t realize you’ve been gobbling up the story in basically one sitting.
For what it’s worth, and based only on this first read, I believe Jim Nisbet is one of the best authors who absorbed the essence of the classic writers of noir like Jim Thompson, David Goodis or Horace McCoy and brought it up to speed for a more contemporary setting. The plight of the black community, economically pushed into the gutter and racially targeted by the police is a subject that has become even more painfully relevant today than it was at the time of publication [1987].
The finale, which I am not going to spoil for you, reminded me in particular of McCoy, and about the impossibility of evading one’s fate, something already announced by Bobby Mencken with his remarks on life as a game of poker.
Which is the bigger waste? a man born with a chance who blows it, or a man born with no chance who fights it? They’re both losers in the end, aren’t they?
Needless to say, I am now determined to read more from Nisbet, to confirm the good impression left by “Lethal Injection”