Amazon.com Review
Jack Flippo has what might be called an anti-Midas touch: everything he puts his hands on turns to crap. Jack used to be an assistant district attorney in Dallas, but he screwed up so badly (as chronicled in three funny, creepy books--
Big Town,
Dreamboat, and
96 Tears) that he's been forced to earn his living working as a downscale private detective. At the start of this fourth adventure, Jack is temporarily back in the legal profession--working for a decidedly boring law firm. We know it's only a matter of time though before he'll be back on the meaner streets of Dallas, digging up dirt for a weird assortment of clients.
This time, the action involves the grubby cottage industries that have sprung up in the decades following the JFK assassination. There's the Conspiracy Institute, which "took up a small corner of a forgotten brick eight-story near the Greyhound Station"; and the Grassy Knoll Experience, a tour of the area in a 1963 Lincoln convertible limo driven by an increasingly desperate ex-cop named Eddie Nickles. Jack is thrust into this world after hearing about a legendary 30-second piece of movie film that supposedly shows there was a second gunman. His mission is to prove the existence of the film. He is helped by his supremely strange, artist ladyfriend Lola. They struggle with several stumbling but definitely dangerous villains along the way. And, as usual, journalist Doug Swanson manages to shine a light on the seedy parts of Dallas that are rarely written about. --Dick Adler
From Publishers Weekly
In the small but distinct subgenre of the private eye as likable loser, Swanson's Jack Flippo looms large. The first three books in the series (Big Town, Dreamboat and 96 Tears) won awards and attention; this latest entry isn't up to snuff. The former Dallas assistant district attorney and PI is once again holding down a straight job in a respectable law firm, but he quickly messes up and so returns to working as a snoop, for a seedy collection of clients trying to trace a piece of film that may prove there was a second shooter in the JFK assassination. In a moment of self-revelation, Jack muses that "he knew himself well enough to see he was a guy who had found out plenty and never knew what to do with it. Made money but couldn't save it, got jobs but couldn't hold them.... had pulled stupid, almost suicidal stunts for sex, while driving away every woman, including two wives, who loved him." The trouble is that this time Jack is the only interesting character in a book peopled with types too familiar from other mysteries: a ritual pair of dumb thugs who are dangerous mostly to themselves; a dying master criminal who breathes attached to an oxygen bottle; a crooked ex-cop who turns nasty. Even Jack's weird artist girlfriend, Lola, seems to have wandered in from Elmore Leonard's pages. The liveliest moments come when Jack plunges into the touristy cesspool spawned by JFK-assassination-mania (a tour in a 1963 Lincoln called the Grassy Knoll Experience, for example). But even these highlights, and Swanson's vaunted talent for capturing the seamy underbelly of Dallas, aren't enough to satisfy the discriminating fan. (July)
Copyright 1999 Reed Business Information, Inc.