THE SEVENTH by Donald Westlake, 144 pages
Its a Parker hard crime thriller and the most implausible read I recall. If it wasn't so well written and interesting I'd score it ONE STAR.
Get this. Parker leaves his naked honey in their bed, smoking a cigarette, to go to the store for more smokes and beer. They've been fucking non-stop for 3 days. He's away maybe 15 minutes; her cigarette is still smoldering when Parker returns and discovers her dead body. Someone pushed a sword thru her body.
Parker hadda kick the door down to get in the apartment, and the door had 3 locks still attached. All the windows were shut and locked. The cops show up about 2 minutes after Parker returns. Parker kicks their asses and locks them in a closet.
It gets worse. Later, Parker pays a visit to the Homicide detective to make a deal. Lemme help with the investigation and I wont kill your family. The detective says, OK.
So far there's no evidence anyone guessed this story has anything to do with John Dortmunder, Westlake's series about a criminal who lives in a world such as Parker just experienced in this tale. Its a gag, folks, like Paul Bunyon or Pilots biography.
He's as surprising as a silent fart and stings like clap.