Dammit, I can’t really remember this novel at all. So what I will say is North Dakota is really green this time of year. No, that’s not right either. If there are excess words to be found in the English language, you probably won’t find them within the confines of BABY MOLL. This novel punched me in the gut, and then it kept on swinging even after I had already hit the ground. But that’s what I love about Hard Case Crime novels. Those beautiful bastards rip out your insides, and then staple them to your forehead.
The dialogue is clean and sharp; the characters have discovered more than a few problems; the action has a brutish quality; and there’s a clear distinction between the good guys and the bad guys (and no it’s not the white hats). The women often remind me of pin-up models, and I can devour a Hard Case Crime novel in approximately two hours and fifty-nine minutes. If life gets better than this, then I’d like to see it, because that probably means there’s a pot of gold with my name on it, or a mob boss ready to shove a hand grenade up my keister. These days, one can never really tell.