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Retired Boston cop Eddie Perlmutter returns in Steven Forman's Boca Daze. Since moving to Boca Raton, Florida, Eddie’s busted Russian counterfeiters, solved at least two murders, thwarted neo-Nazi harassment, and gained justice for a number of those who couldn’t do it for themselves. This “Boca Knight” knows no fear—except perhaps when he’s facing the intimate challenge of sex as a sexagenarian. But Eddie may have met his match when he tries to shut down a string of illegal pill mills and finds himself a ...
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Retired Boston cop Eddie Perlmutter returns in Steven Forman's Boca Daze. Since moving to Boca Raton, Florida, Eddie’s busted Russian counterfeiters, solved at least two murders, thwarted neo-Nazi harassment, and gained justice for a number of those who couldn’t do it for themselves. This “Boca Knight” knows no fear—except perhaps when he’s facing the intimate challenge of sex as a sexagenarian. But Eddie may have met his match when he tries to shut down a string of illegal pill mills and finds himself a financial scammer as big as Bernie Madoff.
Armed with his unfailing wit, his Boston-bred fighting skills, and his courage in the face of danger that would make any sensible retiree head for the comfort of his condo, Eddie’s walking on gimpy knees straight into the most dangerous game of his never-dull life.
“This novel is long on clever dialogue and character development. Mystery readers of all stripes will like what they find here.” —Booklist on Boca Mournings
“Boca Mournings is a riotous, ribald look into the wacky world of South Florida. Not since Hiaasen has anyone captured the pothole-marred, driving-impaired, and geriatric-dominated zaniness as well as the new master of the comic crime novel Steve Forman.” —Jon Land, bestselling author of The Seven Sins
“Mystery fans who like their operatives macho with an offbeat sense of humor will certainly enjoy this book and look forward to the next in the series.” —Library Journal on Boca Knights
BOCA KNIGHTS AND OTHER SUPERHEROES MID-JANUARY 2006
Some people say I'm a senior-citizen superhero. I'm not. Superheroes have special powers. I have special needs. Superman has X-ray vision. I'm nearsighted. Batman has a Batmobile. I have a Mini Cooper. Spider-Man spins large webs. I have an enlarged prostate. I was Boston's most decorated and demoted policeman in my prime and the best marksman on the force. Now, I'm just a sixty-one-year-old ex-Boston cop trying to adapt to life's changes. I retired to Boca Raton three years ago, and after solving local crimes and rescuing two damsels in distress, I became a private detective. A young newspaper reporter looking for a story dubbed me the Boca Knight, and the name stuck. I'm a little guy, barely five foot six, 165 pounds. But I'm fearless and that makes me bigger.
I had just sat down at the counter at Kugel's Boca Deli and ordered a cup of coffee when an old man tapped my shoulderand asked if I was the Boca Knight. I nodded. "Eddie Perlmutter," I said, and held out my hand.
"Herb Brown." His hand felt like old iron. "I'm a big fan of yours."
"I'm a big fan of the US Marines," I said, pointing to the SEMPER FI insignia on his cap. "You live in Boca, Herb?"
"I retired here thirteen years ago."
"Enjoying your retirement?"
"Not really," he said. "My wife died five years ago."
"My wife died over twenty years ago."
We retreated to our coffee cups, both of us thinking of lost love.
"When were you in the Marines?" I asked.
"World War Two."
"Did you see action?"
"Yeah, in the Pacific," he said. "Tarawa."
"I never heard of it."
"I wish I hadn't," Brown said.
"Two thousand Marines killed in three days," he told me.
"How many Japanese?"
"Who cares? I know I didn't kill any. I never got off the beach."
"I got shot in the ass."
I didn't know what to say ... but I knew what not to say.
"Aren't you going to ask me if I was retreating?" Brown asked irritably.
"No, but it sounds like someone did ... and you're still pissed."
"Wouldn't you be?"
"Damn right," I said.
"You would have made a good marine." Herb Brown patted my shoulder.
"I was never in the service."
"You were a street soldier."
"The streets could be a war zone sometimes," I agreed.
"They're worse now with the illegal immigrants."
"I don't talk about religion or politics."
"Me neither," he said. "But I don't like that black senator from Illinois. How would you like having a liberal black man from Kenya as president someday?"
"How do you feel about having a conservative white man from Texas as president today?"
The old soldier smiled. "Good point."
"Hey, Eddie," a familiar voice called. Steve Coleman, a friend from Boston, came up behind me and rubbed my shoulders like a trainer rubs a fighter. "How's my favorite superhero?"
"I'll ask him when I see him," I said. "Say hello to Herb Brown."
They shook hands.
Steve glanced at his watch and ordered a coffee to go.
"What's the hurry?" I asked.
"Investment club meeting in fifteen minutes."
"Has your club ever made money?"
"Never," he admitted. "But that's changing tonight."
"Do you plan to rob a bank?"
"Better," Steve said. "B.I.G. Investments has agreed to take our money."
I stopped in mid sip. "You're making money because someone is taking your money?"
"Not just someone. B. I. Grover."
"I never heard of him."
"Everybody's heard of him," Steve insisted.
"I never heard of him either," Herb Brown said.
"He's been making more money than anyone in the investment business for thirty years. He never loses," Steve bragged.
"Everyone loses," Herb Brown said.
Steve smiled indulgently.
"What's his rate of return?" Brown asked.
"Twelve to twenty percent."
"That's unbelievable," Brown replied.
"Yes, it is," Steve agreed.
"Then why do you believe it?" I asked.
Steve patted my shoulder. "Grover is a genius, Eddie. His clients are big-time businessmen, charities, and celebrities. His fund has been closed for years."
"Why is it suddenly open?" I asked.
"It's not sudden. It took us two years to get in. We got lucky."
"Or unlucky," Brown said. "How much did you invest?"
"Twenty guys at two hundred and fifty grand. That's his minimum." Steve glanced at his watch again. "Gotta go, money never sleeps."
Steve was barely out the door when Brown said, "And a fool and his money are soon parted."
"You think he's being foolish?" I asked.
"No one beats the competition all the time. Something isn't kosher."
"A lot of smart investors think he can."
"Who says they're smart?"
"Are you an investor?" I asked Herb.
"Yeah. I've had my money with a rock-solid company named Lehman Brothers for years."
I nodded but the name meant nothing to me.
"Is Steve a good friend of yours?" Herb asked.
"He's my best friend's brother-in-law," I said, referring to Togo Amato from the North End of Boston. Togo had been thebest man at my wedding forty years ago and one of my wife's pallbearers twenty years ago. "I'd say we're pretty good friends. Why?"
"You're a licensed private investigator in Florida, right?"
"Over a year," I confirmed.
"Maybe you should do your friend a favor and investigate B. I. Grover."
"Why would I want to do that?"
"If something sounds too good to be true it usually is."
"It's none of my business," I said. "Besides, it's too late."
"It's never too late to help an old friend," my new friend said.
Copyright © 2012 by Steven M. Forman
Posted September 13, 2013
Posted August 19, 2012
Posted August 17, 2012
This was the worst book in this series by far. It was just too far
fetched, and the "hero" of the book is just way too
egotistical and obnoxious for my taste. And by the way, does the
author even realize that none of the recordings obtained from Eddie's
eavesdropping gadgets would be admissible in a court of law? Save your
Posted May 31, 2012
Eddie Perlmutter, a 61-year-old p.i. in Boca Raton, FL, is still a crusader who cannot, it seems, help himself: He has to save whatever otherwise lost causes present themselves, from homeless people living on the streets, beaches or wherever else, to the endangered sea turtles with nests on the shores. A former Boston cop who, as he says, was that city’s “most decorated and demoted policeman in my prime and best marksman on the force,” he retired to Boca three years ago. Widowed for many years, he is now living with his gorgeous [and much younger] Haitian-born girlfriend [whose own claim to fame includes cutting a man’s head off with a machete before leaving Haiti], still working with Louie Dewey, computer genius extraordinaire. Eddie having been dubbed the Boca Knight, and attained not a small bit of celebrity, by a young newspaper reporter, following an anti-Nazi rally in Palm Beach, among other things, he runs the Boca Knights Detective Agency, with Louie’s invaluable assistance.
Louie is only one of many other quirky characters with equally quirky names, e.g., “Three Bag Bailey,” a homeless woman, and Liam Michael “Mad Mick” Murphy, a journalist from Key West. Although brutal and violent in many spots, the book is filled with humor, as were the two earlier entries in this series. He is obviously very fond of his adopted State. Eddie mentions in one instance that “over a thousand endangered species live in South Florida. The Early Bird is not one of them, and in another, when about to drive after sustaining a serious head injury, and asked if he is fit to drive, he responds “I’m in better condition than most drivers in Boca.”
Always a crusader and “a sucker for a good cause,” Eddie promises to look into an attack on a homeless man dubbed “Weary Willie” [after the sad-faced clown of many years ago] - - apparently the homeless problem in Florida just as bad as, if not worse than, any other part of the country - - and uncovers several other criminal activities along the way, including political corruption, and erstwhile pain clinics, really “pill mills,” apparently another blight in Florida, with millions of pills sold annually in strip malls and office parks by non-medical corporations. But the worst crime uncovered is one reminiscent of the Bernie Madoff affair [with the latter even making a cameo appearance].
Don’t let the fact that Eddie is on speaking terms with a particular body part be off-putting; it’s really just another aspect of this very funny book with a wonderful protagonist who has a tendency toward random philosophical musings. It is a terrific and fast read, and I look forward to the next book in the series. Parenthetically, I loved the tip of the hat to the Mystery Bookstore in Pineapple Grove as well.
Posted May 3, 2012
No text was provided for this review.
Posted March 18, 2012
No text was provided for this review.