This Desperate City is very proud to welcome Derrick Horodyski to the family. Derrick comes to us from the clutches of the great folks over at Into the Gutter/FFO, where he penned too many reviews to count. He has been gracious enough to adopt the TDC style of reviews which include a slightly deeper dive into character and motivations, and we could not be happier with this first glimpse into the new partnership. We are looking forward to great things in the future as TDC steps into its second incarnation. Welcome Derrick, and now onto the good stuff!
by Daniel Vlasaty
Review by Derrick Horodyski
Despite his best intentions to stay clear of the life that has given him nothing but heartbreak, jail time, and lost opportunities, Ugly is sucked back into the dark grime of the criminal underbelly when his drug addicted brother is accused of ripping off a local drug dealer with big connections. With one foot in the life he desires and one in the life he can’t seem to escape, Ugly is on the verge of being pulled apart.
Ugly/Eric: Known as Ugly in his more reckless days, he now wants to be known by Eric, the name he was given when his life had the possibility of happiness. Ugly’s past shadow casts a pall over every aspect of his current existence.
“A legacy is something that follows you around like a fucking shadow. Especially in Rogers Park. Because people on these streets like to talk and gossip like schoolyard bitches”
Joe: Ugly’s younger brother who has chosen his drug addiction over his safety by deciding to rob the local drug dealer of 100G worth of product. He is the albatross which keeps Ugly anchored to the old life he desperately wants to rid himself of.
“People (are) looking for Joe but right now he’s a ghost…They out for some motherfucking blood.”
Acevado: A local drug dealer who has made his bones to rise to the top of the local syndicate. He shares an upbringing with Ugly, so he can use their shared past to play to Ugly’s sensibility to help him find Joe, the drugs, and/or the money which was stolen from him.
“Acevado’s a little guy. But he could always scrap with the best of them. Dude was a brawler back in the day. Looks different now….He’s cleaned up nice. Got more of a sophisticated and mature thing going on than I remember from the last time I saw him, years ago”
Nicky: Ugly’s old running mate from his past. Nicky accepts Ugly for who he wants to become, but questions his ability to leave “the life” behind. Nicky provides Ugly with an ally in a world where an ally can be as powerful as a gun.
“Like everyone else he’s offered me all the work I could ever need, but we’re tight enough for him to respect my decision to stay away without any kind of hostility or distance between us.”
Ugly is trying his hardest to leave his past behind. He has recently gotten out of yet another extended stay in prison and this time, he wants to make changes in his life to ensure he stays out. He has his eye on working a 40+ hour a week job, starting an honest life with his girlfriend, Kelley, and leaving his street reputation behind. But he is finding out his past has claws which refuse to let him go so easily.
“But what Kelley doesn’t understand in all this is that it’s easy enough to want to do better. Actually getting there is a whole other thing”
Ugly’s hope for a peaceful exit to the hard life is seemingly dashed when he discovers his younger brother, Joe, has made a major mistake. Joe has ripped off Acevado, a local drug dealer who has ties to very powerful men who won’t let this crime go without deadly retribution. Acevado insists Ugly either locates Joe and the stolen goods, or he may just as well have done the crime himself and is now on the hook for it. Realizing Joe is a walking dead man without his help, Ugly must decide between sacrificing his dreams or sacrificing his brother.
In a moral clash between staying loyal to his family and staying loyal to himself, his dreams, and his new responsibilities, Ugly sets out to find Joe, the stolen stash, and answers to questions he doesn’t know if he can ever answer. Can a man live down his past, or is the past something that defines your present and your future?
“You can’t leave the past in the past if it’s constantly thrown in your face every time anyone talks to you”.
Told in the fast pace of a single night, Ugly has to not just find answers to his current problems, but also to problems which have haunted him over the course of his life
Vlasaty writes like a noir master. He captures the essence of a character who starts at rock bottom and seems to have little chance of raising himself any higher. His setting is bleak and characters are flawed and damaged. Stay Ugly unfolds at a perfect pace, adding layers of plot and characters with every page.
What sets this book above a lot of books I have recently read, is the authenticity to Vlasaty’s voice. His prose is on point and packs a hell of a punch. Like a renowned artist, he paints the heartbreak of the human condition, each brush stroke revealing a new dimension and different details which draw in the eye and the heart. The true measure of his genius is when the reader takes a step back and can fully appreciate the scope of the world he has created.
This is yet another Vlasaty masterpiece. His body of work is very respectable and all noir lovers should get acquainted with his body of work. His books continue to show his evolution as an author to watch and savor. His masterpiece memoir Amphetamine Psychosis is still the yardstick for every book I will ever read. If this is your first taste of Vlasaty, I envy you because you are about to be exposed to a true literary treasure. This book is highly recommended.
By Tom Pitts
Pot is on the verge of becoming legal, but the shady grower business is tighter than ever on the Hill in Humboldt. When dirty cash goes missing, an explosion ignites between a wronged biker gang, a young couple on the run, one old lady grittier than a mouth full of sand, and her long lost friend Vic, the man who knows where the bodies are buried because he’s the one who put them there.
Vic – Everyone’s got that one friend, the guy you call who won’t ask questions because he knows the answers won’t be legal. Vic’s life on the street, his years on the run, have hardened his hide into a shell of unforgiving fortitude.
“I been around these people. They don’t play games, and neither do I.” Vic looked directly at Piper. “I am a very serious man.”
Barbara Bertram – At once both a suburban homebody and a force of nature, Barbara spent the first half of her life stumbling through the unforgiving drug addiction, and the second as a devoted mother to an ungrateful boy. But her past serves her well, as she becomes an willing prisoner in her son’s ill-thought machinations.
Barbara came into the room at full speed, tackling the man who held the child. She ignored the SFPD uniform the man wore and took him down from the midsection.
Jerry & Piper – Jerry spent his childhood under the overprotective care of his mother, but never absorbed her ruthless life lessons. Piper is the surrogate daughter of a gangland leader. The pair of lovers hatch a scheme that leads to a pile of bodies, missing cash, and one hell of a ride.
Jerry reached in his pocket, shook out a Marlboro, stuck it in his mouth, and lit it. He blew smoke in the kid’s face.
"That ain’t cool.”
Humboldt County & The Hill – While illegal pot is nearly gone, on The Hill, the old way still rules: force, guns, and attitude. Stealing water is a mortal sin, and the different growers still preside over their fiefdoms like medieval kings.
The fireroad led nowhere, the path covered with thorny raspberry bramble and blocked with a fallen tree. Vic killed the motor and listened to the approaching car … He lifted the Glock 19 from the seat beside him and racked one into the chamber.
It only took a few minutes to make it around the long city block, and when they got to the spot Vlad thought he’d seen the Crown Vic, there was only an empty parking spot.
“See?” Dimitri said. “No cops. Only us gangsters.”
My last foray into Tom Pitts' dark imagination took us through the last vestige of San Francisco’s hard underbelly in Hustle. He’s written quite a bit since then, and his newest book 101 puts on display both how far he's come, and also, how much more there still is to see with this author.
There is no doubt; Pitts’ ability to create colorful, if briefly alive, characters helps him accelerate his plot to breakneck pacing. We quickly get imaginative visuals of minor players that give empathy and depth regardless of their time on the page, be it Mr. Clean the bald and giant pot grower in love with a junkie, or Ripper, the loyal farm hand with double the guts filling out his thick belly. Pitts' Humboldt County is filled with these folks, most of which are just meat for this grinder of a noir tale.
Nestled here, either lost in the brambles of Northern California, or blasting through a biker’s hideout, we find, as we always do, this author’s strengths. Never dipping below a sprint, the sleek, straightforward plot gets out of Pitts' way so he can throw us through the ringer. What this allows too, is for his readers not to question otherwise puzzling gaps (How did Barbara, a weakened, late fifties mom wrestle a baseball bat away from her assailant off-screen?). Since it’s in service of forward momentum, we not only don’t question it, we relish in the damage she’s able to commit with her attitude and weapon.
Most interesting, and for my tastes welcomed, is Barbara’s role as prisoner, murderer, and otherwise bad-ass. Pitts sets us up with a typical hardboiled story: a biker gang is missing cash, a punk couple on the run, a mother kidnapped and in peril, the hard-nosed male protagonist that will save everyone’s hides. But as we run through his imagination, the kids become more useless, and the biker gang less capable, and finally, we find out the kicker, how our older mom is actually the truest, and meanest of them all. I applauded this turn in the book, and reveled in the blood she wrought, both in the climax, and in her long ago past.
My regard for Pitts' storytelling is only inhibited by, what I’ll call, less than diligent self-editing. The same author writes this concise polished line:
“Jer-ree.” She said it like she was considering its fit, whether he should keep on using it or upgrade to another name.
Also creates this somewhat flat explanative paragraph:
He knew bureaucracy demanded as much, but he couldn’t help but believe these ideas boxed in their thinking. Where it was the criminal’s job to think as far outside the box as possible, law enforcement had trained themselves to sit squarely and comfortably inside said box.
Pitts is creative, smart, and gritty as hell. His characters tell us this throughout his many stories, especially this one. For his next work, I hope he slims down his writing as much as his plotlines. Let the action roll, we already understand these mean men and women by their actions; we need less of their inner dialogue. In his next novel, I’m confident Pitts goes from good to great, and that he’ll trust himself as much as we already trust him.
101 is nasty little ride, and one that reads as quickly as the action firing between its covers. We recommend it.
*** Full Disclosure, This Desperate City was sent a reviewers copy of this book. However, we do not post reviews of books we do not enjoy ***
By Earl Javorsky
After the apparent suicide of his sister, a misanthrope tries once more to care about his life and the people within it. But the answers he seeks may be locked behind a woman enthralled by a mysterious self help group and a reporter who just can’t leave well enough alone.
Jeff Fenner – Be it drugs, women, or just another bad night out, Jeff can’t seem to find his way to adulthood. Even the death of his sister Marilyn doesn’t shake him loose from his self-destructive trajectory. It’s not until he meets a reporter investigating a spate of suicides that he realizes there’s likely something more to life than himself.
“Jesus,” Jeff said as he walked down the hall with Ron. “What just happened?”
“How about grace?” Ron said.
“I don’t know what that means.”
Holly Barnes – Happiness is illusive, but does it exist at all? Holly swims in these thoughts, of desperation, of self importance, long enough to realize she needs to look beyond. She finds some measure of comfort in a new self help group SOL, Saving Our Lives, and one of their mystifying leaders. But with the peace of mind also comes something else, apprehension.
“You scared me, what happened?”
“It felt like I was falling again,” Holly said. The icy feeling inside was subsiding. “Halcion – that’s not a very common drug, is it?”
Art – Confident and relaxed, Art has a way with people. He wants them to feel comfortable, tranquil, like their best selves. Trust is important in his job, and the more people, especially women, who confide in him, the more he can help change their lives forever.
“Holly, the Tonys of this world have their radar set to your frequency. Yours just happens to be set to theirs. Until you change your frequency, there will always be another Tony.”
Ron Pool – It’s easy to become disaffected. The reporter business isn’t kind, grinding you up and all that. But Ron doesn’t lose sight of his profession’s importance either. So when the bodies start stacking up like driftwood, the filaments of criminality string together in his mind and the old reporter begins calling in some favors.
“He grinned back but wondered if maybe his hunch was wrong, that LA was a big city and that it contained, among other things, a lot of attractive women, some of them troubled, some of them fatally so.”
“She was very uncomfortable – She felt exposed, as though her life had been shown to be transparent and trite. She had experienced a distinct sensation of falling as he spoke, but anger provided the solid branch that she needed to steady herself, to come back to her own.”
Trust Me is a study in duplicity. Earl Javorsky, who hit the scene hard with his first novel, Down Solo, comes back with an LA noir laced tale here that, I’ll admit, I had to read twice to really appreciate. Deception, it’s something Javorsky’s characters practice on every page, but, perhaps unsurprisingly, so does his prose, layered thick with subtle foreshadowing elements that are easy to miss but wonderfully wrought when discovered.
It’s why Holly, the misguided but poised co-main character, is so sympathetic. Self-Help groups bear a dubious distinction within our hyper oversensitive culture and Holly shares these prejudices, even as Art, her creepy yet endearing sponsor pulls her deeper into the group’s inner circle.
Why this book works, and perhaps what strung me through to that crucial second reading, is the juxtaposition between Jeff and Holly. Despite her insecurities or her abusive boyfriend, Holly exudes aloofness and confidence, never truly convinced anything is as it seems, even when she is at her lowest. Jeff however, can’t seem to parlay a lifetime’s worth of street smarts into even one good payout. The story hinges here, and it’s important because without this balancing act, Javorsky’s tale comes dangerously close to cliché, losing its footing, plummeting as it were. It is here the author reaches out and grabs us to save his story.
While victimization of women as a theme is also, again, dangerous treading in a genre replete with volumes of similar plot drivers, Javorsky deftly maneuvers his characters around the board, conscious of toeing too close to the edge, and pulling back when he needs to. A less artful author could have botched this job, luckily for us, he does not.
As the story rolls to a close, the final scenes are at once predictable yet somehow measured in their relevance to the characters. Getting there is the interesting part but the resolution, steeped in moment to moment unrevealed mystery, is the joy. If you take the plunge on Trust Me, don’t be afraid to jump off the ledge.
J. J. Sinisi
The New Deal
By Jonathan Case
Amidst the social strata of 1930s New York, a black maid and a poor white bellhop challenge contemporary norms and their own better judgment as they consider a heist that may very well change both their lives forever.
Frank O’Malley – Being in debt ain’t so bad when you have opportunities to make it back. Whether it’s selling apples with his uncle on a street corner, or snatching the occasional unguarded cigarette case, Frank knows a thing or two about making a buck. Theresa tries to keep him honest, but he tries just as hard to bring her around to his side.
“A lot of rich people are born takers, but every now and then you meet one who knows how to share it around. That’s how I’d wanna be.”
Theresa Harris – Starring in Orson Welles' Harlem production of Macbeth, the subtext of Theresa’s ability not only to act, but to lie, is one of the most compelling elements of The New Deal. She immediately gains the trust of the reader, and then begins to subvert that trust throughout the book.
“My mama said I was a natural-born liar.”
Nina Booth – A Gatsby femme if there ever was one, is there more to Nina than her than her dreadful parties, or is she just a woman living out the last of her wealth?
“If you gossip, make sure it’s in front of a rich man.”
Jack Helmer – Though there are a lot of disaffected wealthy characters in this story, few of them so succinctly epitomize their collective detachment better than Jack. Blind to his boorishness, deaf to his overbearing words, he’s not sure what the next thing is, but he’s quite sure he’s already late for it.
“It looks just like it did. After twenty or thirty thousand miles and the sweat and the filth and the grubbing around – It’s just the same.”
“Theresa, save me, tell me something interesting.”
“Nina, don’t torment the poor girl anymore.”
“I’m sorry, are you a poor girl?”
“They’re all poor. New York Negros pay twice the rent of whites. Roosevelt’s only making it worse on them.”
“I adore FDR, do you know he has an elevator just for his car?”
The Waldorf-Astoria, Park Avenue’s most prestigious, and at times at times in its history infamous, grand hotel is the sprawling backdrop for Jonathan Case’s multi-layered period graphic novel The New Deal. Case’s work has recently appeared in more mainstream avenues such as Batman ‘66 and Before Tomorrowland. He goes the creator exclusive route here with Dark Horse and does not disappoint. Already known for his nods to old film and Hollywood and an art style that somehow blends simplicity with sophistication, The New Deal deftly touches on social issues, light-hearted comedy, and a dash of pulp, all within a very manageable 100 pages.
The Harlem Renaissance entered its prime during the mid-thirties, and African American people, like Case’s main character Theresa Harris, for the first time found themselves empowered within their own communities to be creative and inspirational. Frank O’Malley, the bellhop whom Theresa shares the stage with for most of this book, also empowers himself, though by decidedly more dubious means. Indebted to a low level crime boss, Frank gleefully, and at times amusingly, negotiates his way about the rich and famous people he’s servicing all the while looking for his next score.
That opportunity manifests in Nina Booth, a Fitzgeraldian socialite staying at the Waldorf and suffering the incorrigible plight of the wealthy, bad company.
Theresa and Nina form a friendship wherein the older and more socially capable Nina mentors Theresa, and through her support, Case slyly scratches away the Waldorf’s pretty veneer and gives his readers a look at the racist underpinnings of depression era New York.
But it is in Frank and Theresa’s relationship this book find something different and ultimately makes even the somewhat twist of an ending just an amusing sideshow to a wonderfully wrought picture of real world New York. Frank is gleefully unaware of just how taboo his friendship with a black woman is, and it is in that innocence Case finds the humor, the love, in this book. What Case does so well is to not impose modern standards of political correctness or highlight social justices, but he also doesn’t dwell on the issues of racism or class division. Like the hotel itself, they just simply exist in The New Deal, as they did for his characters in this time period, a stark backdrop behind a lighthearted romp of a story, and somehow Case is able to pull it all together.
None of this works without the art, and Case’s ability to blend period realism and unmatched character expressions are perhaps the main joy of talents. Depression period stories, in comics and film, rarely spend time with non-depression subject matter. The New Deal revels in it and this unique perspective is just one of a dozen reasons this book delights.
J. J. Sinisi
CLICK HERE FOR COMIC
It’s been a very long time in coming, but I’m very happy to FINALLY release the third installment of my webcomic crime shorts Streelight Stories.
For this installment I have called on the artistic talents of newcomer Xavier Bermeo (find him on twitter @Xavierbermeo) and man did he not disappoint. One of the trickier aspects of creating the art for this genre is the strict 9x9 grid This Desperate City crime comics are written in. Reminiscent of silver age comic books, part of the reason these stories adhere to this format are to help produce a more noir, older feel to the tales. Selfishly, it also presents a larger canvas for storytelling on fewer pages.
Xavier did a wonderful job of sticking to these restrictions and still creating a unique and ultimately gritty interpretation of the writing.
As for the story, the Force of Mortality is a concept I ran into some time ago and wrote a short story about. The concept is striking, this idea that once you reach seven years old, the chances of you dying increase by 9% every year. Frightening, but ultimately astonishing that we all live as long as we do despite this revelation. I could never get that short story to work the way I wanted it to, and that was because it was waiting to be turned into a comic strip all along.
One quick note on formatting, Weebly, the website I use, automatically shrinks the images when I upload them. I am in the processes of working with them to adjust this, but the comic may be slightly difficult to read here. The story is also posted on the Desperate City Facebook page so feel free to read it there as well: www.facebook.com/thisdesperatecity/
Below I have also posted the final script to the comic, you’ll notice nuanced differences between this and the final pages, a product of dialogue spacing and also tweaks after seeing the final product.
I’m proud of this one guys, so please enjoy and a huge thanks to Xavier for his contributions as well!
Get it in gear,
TDC Street Light Stories #3:
Story By J. J. Sinisi & Art By: Xavier Bermeo
Panel 1: Close up of tense knuckles gripping steering wheel.
NARRATION: Sal Dobkin’s mind tallied calculations. A forty-three year old man was about 324 times more likely to die than the average seven year old.
Panel 2: Pull back a little. Looking over his shoulder, out at the windshield and the wipers swiping the rain. But the rain doesn’t exactly look like rain. Instead, they are numbers, raining in buckets.
NARRATION: The Force of Mortality.
Panel 3: Pull all the way out of the car. It eases down a suburban street, raining numbers.
NARRATION: His daughter Clara, a career woman in the field of risk management, had enumerated its precepts to him months ago.
NARRATION: Since the accident he couldn’t stop ruminating on it. It consumed him.
Panel 4: The car stops in front of a big attractive suburban house. The rain slims to little ones and zeroes, falling from the sky and fading before the ground.
NARRATION: He’d dream in the cold morning about his wife Sandra, sheathed in numbers. She was thirty seven when she passed. That wasn’t fair. His father appeared too, glasses a tilted figure eight atop his nose, a ninety year old man at his death, defying the odds.
Panel 5: Low shot from behind, out of his back pocket we see a hammer hanging to the side. Beyond that is the mail box in the background, a faded 44 on the post.
NARRATION: His dad’s number was probably even higher, given his time in the service.
Panel 6: Dark shot of Sal walking up the walkway of the house. The house is large in front of him, he is nearly a silhouette. All around him, the numbers fall like rain.
Panel 7: Sal’s feet, he walks up a little step in front of the door.
Panel 8 (and 9 combined): Glen Anderson opens the door. He’s a perfectly average middle age white guy. Receding hairline, thin but not fit, wrinkled but not old. The back of Sal’s head is visible, curly gray hair. He’s wearing a collared shirt, as is Glen. They are two normal men on a normal night.
SAL: You’re forty three right?
GLEN: What are you doing here, Sal?
SAL: Just answer the question.
GLEN: I don’t have to talk to you. You’re not even allowed to be here. That’s what the court said
Panel 1: Glen’s older wife Linda, her hair teased to an anachronistic up-do, peers over his darkened shoulder from inside the house.
LINDA: Is that him? Who is it Glen?
GLEN: It’s no one honey.
Panel 2: Close up of Glen’s feet, now facing Sal’s feet, similar perspective from before.
GLEN: What are you doing here, Sal?
SAL: We need to talk.
GLEN: No we don’t, that’s what the court is for. You’re not allowed to be here.
Panel 3: Pull back again. Looking from over the hood of Sal’s car. They are small. The rain slows.
GLEN: Sal, go home. I don’t want to call the police.
SAL: The police? Who’s the criminal here?
Panel 4: Close up of Glen, just a touch of Sal’s shoulder in the foreground. Glen looks incredulous and slightly annoyed.
GLEN: It’s called a restraining order for a reason. It’s better for everyone if we don’t have a repeat of last time.
Panel 5 & 6: Double wide panel. Flashback. A cop is holding an enraged Sal back. He’s lunging and punching Glen in the face. Glen is recoiling, blood flying from a cracked lip.
NARRATION: Last time, at the courthouse, Sal lost his composure.
NARRATION: Last time, he hadn’t thought through all of the possible outcomes. A good accountant always looks at all the numbers before making a decision.
Panel 7: Sal points a finger into Glen’s chest, a fire brewing behind stormy eyes.
SAL: One in ten thousand. You took away 9,999 other possible outcomes from her when you ran that red light.
Panel 8: Glen smacks away Sal’s hand. He’s heating up as well. The rain is just a patter, incidental numbers bending around their argument.
GLEN: You don’t think I live with that every day, you angry old fuck? You don’t think every night I go to bed I can’t feel the force of the car hitting her?
Panel 9: Very dark panel, we see nearly nothing of Sal’s face. Just enough to understand the storm has hit, this is his last bit of quiet before the explosion.
SAL: She was seven, Glen.
Panel 1 & 2: A pretty little girl riding her bike, her hair in a neat ponytail, streamers from the sides of her handle bars. Blurry but looming behind her is Glen’s SUV, the GMC logo is close enough to make us wince.
NARRATION: At seven years old, she should’ve been further from death than at any other point in her entire life.
NARRATION: Every year after birth, a person’s chance of survival increased before peaking at seven and then sliding by 9% each year after.
Panel 3: Black panel.
SAL (off panel): Jesus Christ!
NARRATION: But at seven, she should’ve been the safest she’d ever be. That’s what the damnable numbers promised.
Panel 4: Sal, looking down, eyes dark, the hammer raising in his hand.
SAL: I was a CPA for forty years, Anderson, you know that? Forty years. Numbers define me.
Panel 5: Close up of Glen’s petrified eyes.
GLEN: Honey! Call 911!
Panel 6: Silhouette of Sal brining the hammer down over his Glen’s head. Glen’s arms come up to block it, but it still connects. The rainy numbers have returned, silhouetted as well, little ones and zeroes accenting the panels.
SAL: How about 324? How about 10,000?
Panel 7: Over Sal’s arm, raised with the hammer about to bring it down over Glen’s head, Linda, Glen’s wife, stands pointing her shotgun at Sal, and therefore at us. We’re all staring down the barrel.
NARRATION: But Sal had overlooked the one thing a CPA never forgot, complete all of the calculations.
Panel 8: The blast hitting Sal in the chest, his blood and the explosion of force is all numbers, shooting in every direction.
NARRATION: If Anderson’s number was 324, then Sal’s sixty-seven years put his at 540.
NARRATION: He should have known better.
Panel 9: Sal’s body, his chest caved in with sliding numbers, slumped over Glen’s body, bleeding from the head.
NARRATION: He should’ve known the numbers would never let him get away alive.
Blog Author Bios:
J. J. Sinisi started TDC and is a professional out of New York but spends what little free time he has strolling dark alleyways creating and reviewing crime fiction. His work has appeared at Spelk Fiction, Yellow Mama, Spinetingler Mag, Near to the Knuckle, Dead Guns Press, All Due Respect, Thuglit, Shotgun Honey, The Flash Fiction Offensive and others.