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The Last Kind Words Hardcover – June 12, 2012
Purchase options and add-ons
- Print length336 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherBantam
- Publication dateJune 12, 2012
- Dimensions6.39 x 1.23 x 9.56 inches
- ISBN-100553592483
- ISBN-13978-0553592481
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Advance praise for The Last Kind Words
“Perfect crime fiction . . . a convincing world, a cast of compelling characters, and above all a great story.”—Lee Child, New York Times bestselling author of 61 Hours
“For the first time since The Godfather, a family of criminals has stolen my heart. This is a brilliant mix of love and violence, charm and corruption. I loved it.”—Nancy Pickard, bestselling author of The Scent of Rain and Lightning
“You don’t choose your family. And the Rand clan, a family of thieves, is bad to the bone. But it’s a testimony to Tom Piccirilli’s stellar writing that you still care about each and every one of them. The Last Kind Words is at once a dark and brooding page-turner and a heartfelt tale about the ties that bind.”—Lisa Unger, New York Times bestselling author of Darkness, My Old Friend
“Piccirilli straddles genres with the boldness of the best writers today, blending suspense and crime fiction into tight, brutal masterpieces.”—James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author of The Devil Colony
“Tom Piccirilli’s sense of relationships and the haunting power of family lifts his writing beyond others in the genre. The Last Kind Words is a swift-moving and hard-hitting novel.”—Michael Koryta, Edgar Award–nominated author of The Ridge
“A stunning story that ranges far afield at times but never truly leaves home, a place where shadows grow in every corner . . . superbly told, with prose that doesn’t mess about or flinch from evil.”—Daniel Woodrell, PEN USA award–winning author of Winter’s Bone
“There’s more life in The Last Kind Words (and more heartache, action, and deliverance) than in any other novel I’ve read in the past couple of years.”—Steve Hamilton, Edgar Award–winning author of The Lock Artist
“You’re in for a treat. Tom Piccirilli is one of the most exciting authors around. He writes vivid action that is gripping and smart, with characters you believe in and care about.”—David Morrell, New York Times bestselling author of First Blood
“Mystic River set the bar for classic literary mystery, and The Last Kind Words is a novel on the same superb playing field. Compassionate, fascinating, and with an adrenaline narrative that is as gripping as it is moving, this book is pure alchemy.”—Ken Bruen, Shamus and Macavity Award–winning author of The Guards and Headstone
“Piccirilli’s family of heartbroken thieves, bound by love, secrets, and family codes, kept me turning the pages until the very end. It pained me to put this book down at night. Tom Piccirilli is the leader of a new pack of writers combining the best elements of crime, mystery, and literary fiction in a way that would make Chandler proud. I loved this book, and can’t wait for the sequel.”—Sara Gran, author of Clare DeWitt and the City of the Dead
“Tom Piccirilli’s The Last Kind Words is a story born of the dark legacies of family violence and loss. With vivid prose and palpable urgency, it succeeds utterly as a crime tale. At the same time, it reminds us that crimes can emanate from both the darkest and lightest of places, and renders the heart of a damaged family with clear-eyed yet fervent beauty.”—Megan Abbott, author of The End of Everything
“Piccirilli has created a world so real you can smell the mildew. After writing crime and horror for presses well known and obscure, he deserves a breakout novel and this just might be it.” —Booklist (starred review)
“A searing examination of the ties that bind brother to brother…a soulful, shivery edge to this tale of an unhappy family that’s assuredly unhappy in its own special way.”
—Kirkus
“[A] sharp slice of contemporary noir….Piccirilli’s mastery of the hard-boiled idiom is pitch perfect, particularly in the repartee between his characters, while the picture he paints of the criminal corruption conjoining the innocent and guilty in a small Long Island community is as persuasive as it is seamy. Readers who like a bleak streak in their crime fiction will enjoy this well-wrought novel.” —Publishers Weekly
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
I’d come five years and two thousand miles to stand in the rain while they prepared my brother for his own murder.
He had less than two weeks to go before they strapped him down and injected poison into his heart. I knew Collie would be divided about it, the way he was divided about everything. A part of him would look forward to stepping off the big ledge. He’d been looking over it his whole life in one way or another.
A different part of him would be full of rage and self-pity and fear. I had no doubt that when the time came he’d be a passive prisoner right up to the moment they tried to buckle him down. Then he’d explode into violence. He was going to hurt whoever was near him, whether it was a priest or the warden or a guard. They’d have to club him down while he laughed. The priest, if he was still capable, would have to raise his voice in prayer to cover my brother’s curses.
I was twenty minutes late for my appointment at the prison. The screw at the gate didn’t want to let me in because he’d already marked me as a no-show. I didn’t argue. I didn’t want to be there. He saw that I wanted to split and it was enough to compel him to let me stay.
At the prison door, another screw gave me the disgusted once-over. I told him my name, but the sound of it didn’t feel right anymore.
“Terry Rand.”
The fake ID I’d been living under the past half decade had become a safe harbor, a slim chance to better myself even though I hadn’t done much yet. I resented being forced to return to the person I’d once been.
The screw made me repeat my name. I did. It was like ice on my tongue. Then he made me repeat it again. I caught on.
“Terrier Rand.”
Expressionless, he led me off to a small side room where I was frisked and politely asked if I would voluntarily succumb to a strip search. I asked what would happen if I said no. He said I wouldn’t be allowed to proceed. It was a good enough reason to turn around. I owed my brother nothing. I could return out west and get back to a life I was still trying to believe in and make real.
Even as I decided to leave I was shrugging out of my jacket and kicking off my shoes. I got naked and held my arms up while the screw ran his hands through my hair and checked between my ass cheeks and under my scrotum.
He stared at the dog tattoo that took up the left side of my chest, covering three bad scars. One was from when Collie had stabbed me with the bayonet of a tin Revolutionary War toy soldier when I was seven. I got a deep muscle infection that the doctor had to go digging after, leaving the area a rutted, puckered purple.
Another was from when I was twelve and my father sent me up the drainpipe to a house that was supposedly empty. A seventy-five-year-old lady picked up a Tiffany-style lamp and swatted me three stories down into a hibiscus tree. A rib snapped and pierced the flesh. My old man got me into the car and pulled the bone shard through by hand as the sirens closed in and he drove up on sidewalks to escape. The scar was mottled red and thick as a finger.
The last one I didn’t think about. I had made an art of not thinking about it.
The screw took pride in his professional indifference, courteous yet dismissive. But the tattoo caught his attention.
“Your family, you’re some serious dog lovers, eh?”
I didn’t answer. One last time he checked through my clothes for any contraband. He tossed them back to me and I got dressed.
I was taken to an empty visiting room. I sat in a chair and waited for them to bring Collie in. It didn’t matter that there was a wall of reinforced glass between us. I wasn’t going to pass him a shiv and we weren’t going to shake hands or hug out twenty years of tension. The only time we’d ever touched was when we were trying to beat the hell out of each other. I’d been thinking hard about the reasons for that on the ride back east. How could it be that I had such resentment and animosity for him, and he for me, and yet when he called I came running?
They led him in, draped in chains. He could shuffle along only a few inches at a time, his hands cuffed to a thick leather belt at his waist, his feet separated by a narrow chain, bracelets snapped to his ankles. It took ten minutes to unlock him. The screws retreated and Collie twirled his chair around and sat backward, like always.
Like most mad-dog convicts, prison agreed with him. He was a lot more fit than he’d ever been on the outside. The huge beer belly had been trimmed back to practically nothing, his arms thick and muscular and covered in twisted black veins. There was a new gleam in his eye that I couldn’t evaluate.
He had old scars from drunken brawls and new ones from the joint that gave him a sense of character he’d never exhibited before. Like me, he’d gone gray prematurely. He had a short but well-coiffed mane of silver with a few threads of black running through it. I noticed he’d also had a manicure and a facial. He glowed a healthy pink. He’d been moisturized and exfoliated and closely shaved. The nancies on C-Block could open up a salon in East Hampton and make a mint off Long Island’s wealthy blue-haired biddies.
I expected that with his execution only two weeks off, and with five years gone and all the uneasy blood still between us, we would need to pause and gather our thoughts before we spoke. I imagined we would stare at each other, making our usual judgments and taking each other’s measure. We’d then bypass trivial concerns to speak of extreme matters, whatever they might be. With a strange reservation, a kind of childlike hesitation, I lifted the phone and cleared my throat.
Collie moved with the restrained energy of a predator, slid forward in his seat, did a little rap-a-tap on the glass. He grasped the phone and first thing let loose with a snorted, easy laugh. He looked all around until he finally settled on my eyes.
He usually spoke with a quick, jazzy bop tempo, sometimes muttering out of the corner of his mouth or under his breath as if to an audience situated around him. This time he was focused. He nodded once, more to himself than me, and said, “Listen, Ma hates me, and that’s all right, but you, you’re the one who broke her heart. You—”
I hung up the phone, stood, and walked away.
I was nearly to the door when Collie’s pounding on the glass made me stop. It got the screws looking in on us. I kept my back to my brother. My scalp crawled and I was covered in sweat. I wondered if what he’d said was true. It was the best trick he had, getting me to constantly question myself. Even when I knew he was setting me up I couldn’t keep from falling into the trap. I wondered if my mother’s heart really had broken when I’d left. I thought of my younger sister, Dale, still waiting for me to read her romantic vampire fantasy novels. My father on the porch with no one to sit with. My gramp losing his memories, fighting to retain them, now that there was nobody to stroll around the lake with and discuss the best way to trick out burglar alarms.
Collie kept on shouting and banging. I took another step. I reached for the handle. Maybe if I’d made my fortune out west I would have found it easier to leave him there yelling. Maybe if I’d gotten married. Maybe if I’d raised a child.
But none of that had happened. I took a breath, turned, and sat again. I lifted the phone.
“Jesus, you’re still sensitive,” he said. “I only meant that you need to stop thinking about yourself and go see the family—”
“I’m not going to see the family. Why did you call me here, Collie?”
He let out a quiet laugh. He pointed through the huge glass window off to the side of us, which opened on an area full of long tables. His gaze was almost wistful. “You know, we were supposed to be able to talk over there. In that room, face-to-face. On this phone, talking to you like this, it’s not the way I wanted it to be.”
“How did you want it to be?”
He grinned and shrugged, and the thousand questions that had once burned inside me reignited. I knew he wouldn’t answer them. My brother clung to his secrets, great and small. He’d been interviewed dozens of times for newspaper articles and magazines and books, and while he gave intimate, awful details, he never explained himself. It drove the courts, the media, and the public crazy even now.
And me too. Words bobbed in my throat but never made it out. The timeworn campaigns and disputes between us had finally receded. I no longer cared about the insults, the torn pages, the girls he stole from me, or the way he’d run off on short cons gone bad, leaving me to take beatings from the marks. It had taken a lot of spilled blood to make me forgive him, if in fact I had. If not, it would only matter another few days.
On the long night of his rampage, my brother went so far down into the underneath that he didn’t come back up until after he’d murdered eight people. A vacationing family of five shot to death in a mobile home, a gas-station attendant knifed in a men’s room, an old lady beaten to death outside a convenience store, a young woman strangled in a park.
None of them had been robbed. He hadn’t taken anything, hadn’t even cleaned out the register at the gas station.
It wasn’t our way. It had never been our way. I thought of my grandfather Shepherd again. One of my earliest memories was of him telling us all around a Thanksgiving dinner, You’re born thieves, it’s your nature, handed down to me, handed down from me. This is our way. He’d been getting ready to cut into a turkey Collie had boosted from the King...
Product details
- Publisher : Bantam; 0 edition (June 12, 2012)
- Language : English
- Hardcover : 336 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0553592483
- ISBN-13 : 978-0553592481
- Item Weight : 1.25 pounds
- Dimensions : 6.39 x 1.23 x 9.56 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #4,384,374 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #23,886 in Psychological Fiction (Books)
- #35,432 in Psychological Thrillers (Books)
- #112,694 in Suspense Thrillers
- Customer Reviews:
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About the author

Tom Piccirilli is the author of more than twenty-five novels including A CHOIR OF ILL CHILDREN, SHADOW SEASON, THE COLD SPOT, and THE LAST KIND WORDS. He's a four-time winner of the Stoker Award, two-time winner of the International Thriller Award, and has been nominated for the World Fantasy Award, and twice for the Edgar Award. Marilyn Stasio of The New York Tims Book Review called THE LAST KIND WORDS, “A caustic thriller...the characters have strong voices and bristle with funny quirks.” New York Times bestselling thriller writer Lee Child said of Tom’s work, “Perfect crime fiction...a convincing world, a cast of compelling characters, and above all a great story” And Publishers Weekly extols, "Piccirilli’s mastery of the hard-boiled idiom is pitch perfect, particularly in the repartee between his characters, while the picture he paints of the criminal corruption conjoining the innocent and guilty in a small Long Island community is as persuasive as it is seamy. Readers who like a bleak streak in their crime fiction will enjoy this well-wrought novel.” Keir Graff of Booklist wrote, “There's more life in Piccirilli's THE LAST KIND WORDS (and more heartache, action, and deliverance) than any other novel I've read in the past couple of years." And Kirkus states, "Consigning most of the violence to the past allows Piccirilli (The Fever Kill, 2007, etc.) to dial down the gore while imparting a soulful, shivery edge to this tale of an unhappy family that’s assuredly unhappy in its own special way.”
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The first novel in the "Rand" series is The Last Kind Words. It's written with such precision and beauty that the words almost take your breath away. This is a particular skill that an author learns over a period of time as he learns his craft with the written word. Not everyone makes it, but Tom Piccirilli is now at the top of his craft and is certainly a master of the crime noir novel.
The storyline is this novel revolves around Terrier (Terry) Rand who left his family and girlfriend behind for five long years, leaving no address to find him at and not carrying if he ever saw them again. But, of course, Terry does yearn for his family and the woman he still loves. All it takes is a telephone call from his sister, Dale, explaining that his brother, Collie, who's on Death Row, needs to see him one last time before he dies.
Terry drives across country in a mad rush to get home and to find out what Collie wants to see him about, surprised that his brother went on a killing spree and murdered several innocent people, including an elderly lady and a child. It makes Terry want to throw up. Once Terry reaches the home of his parents, he quickly discovers that little has changed with his family, who come from generations of profession thieves, and yet everything has changed, if you look more closely with a skilled eye.
His mom seems to be barely holding the family together. His dad, Pinsch, who disliked stealing, has stopped casing places late at night. Terry's sister, Dale, has gotten older, smarter, and more beautiful, and is also dating a young punk who thinks he's Butch Cassidy. Terry's grandfather, Shep, is losing his mind to old age, but every once in a while, the real Shep appears when most needed. His father's brothers, Grey and Mal, are still the best at cheating when it comes to playing cards. The only thing is that Mal has taken a local mob boss for forty thousand dollars, and the guy wants his money back or else.
On top of everything, when Terry finally has a sit down with his brother, Collie, he discovers that his sibling actually admits to killing everyone he's charged for, except a young girl. Collie claims he didn't kill her and that the real murderer is still out there, performing his handiwork on unsuspecting females. Collie wants Terry to find the serial killer and put him down.
And, to add the dessert to the main feast, Terry's former best friend, Chub, has now married the woman (Kimmie) he left behind after she had a miscarriage. This might even be the hardest thing Terry has to deal with because he still loves Kimmie and knows he doesn't deserve to be around her.
Yep, Terry is back home, and he doesn't know what to believe, or whom to trust, or what in the hell to do. It all looks like one big, damn mess, and it isn't long before he starts thinking about getting out of Dodge again. The only thing that stops him from leaving is his sense that blood always wins out in the end, and, of course, his love for Kimmie.
Tom Piccirilli, who started out writing horror fiction back in the nineties, made his first major mark on the crime noir genre with the publication of The Cold Spot, which was quickly followed by The Coldest Mile. Though I was a big fan of horror fiction, I'd never read any of Tom's novels before The Cold Spot. It's strange that I first became a fan of his through crime noir fiction, rather than horror. In reading The Cold Spot and The Coldest Mile, I became not only an instant fan, but an avid fan as well. Tom's writing reminded me of a superior, grittier Mickey Spillane with a little bit of John D. MacDonald thrown into the mix and stirred around. I guess you could say it was kind of in your face. The author's own unique style of writing and his original storylines made me search out his previous novels and to buy his newer ones as they eventually came out.
With the publication of The Last Kind World, I was superstitious about even opening the book, afraid that Tom wouldn't recover from his illness. When he finally got better, his second novel in the series, The Last Whisper in the Dark, came out, and I knew it okay to start reading his fiction again...that Tom was here for the duration.
I have to say that the first few pages of The Last Kind Word blew me away with their sheer elegance and profound sense of crime noir fiction. After having read thousands of novels over the last fifty years, I instantly recognized a master craftsman at work within these pages. I even read some of the words out loud, delighting in the feel of them and how they rolled off my tongue.
As I got deeper into the novel, I began to identify with not only Terry Rand, but also with many of the other characters in his family. Tom Piccirilli has a certain magic with how he creates different and unique characters within his stories, making them come alive with their inner strengths and outward weaknesses. These are everyday people who just happen to live on the wrong side of the law. Otherwise, they could easily be your next-door neighbor.
Tom never disappoints as he leads you on a journey of inner discovery because the people in his stories are simply reflections of our own true selves. We learn to take a harder look at our own anger and follies, trying to find that person inside that we can be proud of. Sometimes the main characters in Tom's books have to do bad things to keep worse things from happening. Life is never easy. You have to take it by the horns and twist its head, until it's forced into submission, or you're beaten down by it.
Terry Rand is no different from you or me as he seeks to discover the truth about his brother, Collie, and to do the right thing in the end, even though it nearly destroys him.
Life's lessons are what great writing is about. You certainly can't go wrong with a novel by Tom Piccirilli, and you might just learn something about yourself in the process.
Just to let you know, the tale of Terry Rand continues in The Last Whisper in the Dark when the husband of the woman he loves, disappears with a hard-hitting crew of killers after him. Terry has to bring Chub back for Kimmie and her daughter, no matter the cost to himself and those around him.
Great reading and highly recommend!
The Last Kind Words tends to stay with you long after you've turned the last page. There's a haunting lyricism in the words because Piccirilli touches a lot of nerves in the book. The book is about murder, about a spree killer, about losing loved ones to dementia, secrets, and not knowing how to stay connected - but it's ALL about family.
The Rand family isn't like anything you've ever seen before in some respects. Then again, they're like every family you've ever known. I don't know why the dog name motif came up (the main character is Terrier Rand, his brother is Collie, and his sister is Dale - from Airedale. Imagine carrying that around as a kindergartner) but it works for the most part.
All of the family members are thieves, and if you know career criminals, that tends to be true as well. Piccirilli displays a lot of knowledge about thieves and thieving, about cards and card mechanics, so there's an education on just about every page for the reader interested in reading beyond what the story offers.
The setup offers an interesting premise because our main character has been absent from the family for five years and returns only because his older brother has been convicted of spree killing and is about to be put to death by lethal injection. Terry can't stay away and soon finds himself involved in the murders far more than he wants to be. Especially when Collie tells him that he didn't kill one of the victims.
Although the story seems to be very small and localized, there are enough players that you might want to take out a pen and paper to keep up with everyone. Getting through the permutations of the plot takes some real focus, and Piccirilli provides enough mystery and deception to keep you guessing throughout most of the book. There are also a number of side trips through other family problems that are interesting but also demand attention.
The book is an enjoyable read, full of depth and pathos, but it certainly isn't light fare. I was left on a down note to a degree, because although Terry learns a lot about his family and himself, those discoveries aren't pleasant. They're tough and vicious, which is what the author intends.
I'm going to wait a couple weeks on the new book, The Last Whisper In The Dark, to regroup before diving back into the Rand family and Terry's twisted life. However, I am going to read that book. I have to see what happens next.
Top reviews from other countries
Tight dialogue and interesting word pictures. Ending seemed too contrived for my taste
At the end,there is a preview for his next novel (same characters) due out shortly.








