L. A. Timesby Stuart Woods
Stuart Woods, bestselling author of Palindrome, New York Dead, and Santa Fe Rules, has written a mesmerizing new thriller about Hollywood and the mob. Vinnie Callabrese toils in the mean world of a Mafia hood, violently enforcing his loan-shark boss's debt collections, but he lives in the world of the movies, one where he can tie a bow tie like Cary Grant and speak… See more details below
Stuart Woods, bestselling author of Palindrome, New York Dead, and Santa Fe Rules, has written a mesmerizing new thriller about Hollywood and the mob. Vinnie Callabrese toils in the mean world of a Mafia hood, violently enforcing his loan-shark boss's debt collections, but he lives in the world of the movies, one where he can tie a bow tie like Cary Grant and speak with the voice of Tyrone Power. Vinnie is smart, too, and he finds a way to turn his dream world into reality. Arriving on the West Coast with a new identity and some ill-gotten gains, Vinnie discovers that his sociopathic nature is just the ticket for handling the intrigues of tinseltown. He employs his old techniques of deceit, coercion, sexual conquest - even murder - to carve out a place at the top of the film industry. But Vinnie's old neighborhood friends have excellent memories and a long reach, and soon his fast-track career is facing derailment - or even worse, a new driver at the controls. Stuart Woods delivers a stunning story of greed, triumph, and deception, propelling L.A. Times at breakneck speed from its first page to its harrowing climax.
- HarperCollins Publishers
- Publication date:
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- Product dimensions:
- 4.18(w) x 6.75(h) x 1.00(d)
Read an Excerpt
Vinnie Callabrese stood on the southeast corner of Second Avenue and St. Marks Place in New York City and watched the candy store across the street. The fat man was due any minute.
Vinnie felt neither guilt nor anxiety about what he was going to do. In fact, the only emotion he felt at that moment was impatience, because he could see the marquee of the St. Mark's Theater 80 in the next block, and he knew that Touch of Evil started in eight minutes. Vinnie didn't like to be late for a movie.
Vinnie's nose was Roman, his hair and beard thick and black, his eyes dark. He knew how to concentrate those eyes on another man and induce fear. Vinnie wasn't the heaviest muscle who worked for Benedetto, but he stood six-two and weighed a tightly packed one hundred and ninety pounds.
The fat man weighed more than three hundred pounds, but he was soft to the bone. Vinnie wasn't worried, except about the time.
With six minutes left before the movie, the fat man double-parked his Cadillac Sedan De Ville at the opposite corner, struggled out of the big car, and waddled into the candy store. Vinnie gave him long enough to reach his office, then crossed the street. The place was empty, except for the old man who made the egg creams and sold the cigarettes. Vinnie closed the door, worked the latch, and flipped the OPEN sign around. He looked at the old man and gave him a little smile. "You're closed," he said, "for five minutes."
The old man nodded resignedly and picked up the Daily News.
Vinnie strode past the magazine racks, his leather heels echoing off the cracked marble floor,and put his hand on the doorknob of the back room. He opened it very gently and peeked into the little office. The fat man sat, his gut resting on the battered desk. With one hand he was flipping quickly through a stack of small bills, and the fingers of his other hand flew over a calculator in a blur. Vinnie was momentarily transfixed. He had never seen anything quite like it, the fat man was a virtuoso on the calculator.
The man looked up and stopped calculating. "Who the fuck are you?" he asked.
Vinnie stepped into the office and dosed the door behind him. "I'm a friend of the guy who loaned you five thousand dollars nine weeks ago," he said. His accent was heavy -- New York and Little Italy.
The fat man managed a sour grin. "And you've just come to make a polite call, huh?"
Vinnie shook his head slowly. "No. The polite guy was here last week, and the week before that, and the month before that."
"So you're the muscle, huh?" the fat man said, grinning more widely and leaning back in his chair. His right hand remained on the edge of the desk. It was a long reach over his gut, and it didn't look natural. "You ever heard of the law, guinea? You ever heard that what your friend does is against the law? That he has no legal claim on me, not even a piece of paper?"
"You gave my friend your word," Vinnie said slowly. "That was good enough for him. Now you've disappointed him." The fat man's fingers curled over the top of the desk drawer and yanked it open, but Vinnie moved faster. He caught the fat man by the wrist, then turned and drove an elbow into his face. The fat man grunted and made a gurgling sound but didn't let go of the desk drawer. Without a pause, Vinnie lifted a foot and kicked the drawer shut. A cracking sound was heard in the room.
The fat man screamed. He snatched his hand from Vinnie's grasp and held it close to his bleeding face. "You broke my fingers!" he whimpered. He wouldn't be doing any calculating for a while.
Vinnie bent over, grabbed a leg of the chair in which the fat man sat, and yanked. The fat man fell backwards into a quivering heap. Vinnie opened the desk drawer and found a short-barrelled .32 revolver. He lifted his shirttail and tucked it into his belt. "This is a dangerous weapon," he said. "You shouldn't have it; you'll end up hurting yourself." Vinnie reached for the stack of bills on the desk and started counting. The fat man watched with an expression of pain that had nothing to do with his bleeding face or his broken fingers. Vinnie stopped counting. "Five hundred," he said, sticking the wad into his pocket and returning a few ones to the desktop. "My friend will apply this to the interest on your loan. On Friday, he'll want all the back interest. A week from Friday, he'll want the five grand."
"I can't raise five thousand by then," the fat man whined.
"Sell the Cadillac," Vinnie suggested.
"I can't; it's got a loan on it."
"Maybe my friend will take the Cadillac in payment," Vinnie said. "I'll ask him. You could go on making the payments."
"Are you nuts? That car is new -- it cost me thirty-five thousand."
"Just a suggestion," Vinnie said. "It would be cheaper just to come up with the five grand."
"I can't," the fat man whimpered. "I just can't do it."
"I'II tell my friend you promised," Vinnie said. He left the office and closed the door behind him.
Vinnie was in his seat, eating buttered popcorn, in time to raptly watch Orson Welles's incredibly long, one-take opening shot of Charlton Heston and Janet Leigh crossing the border into Mexico. He'd seen it at least a dozen times, and it never failed to amaze him. So much happening all at once, and yet the...L.A. Times. Copyright © by Stuart Woods. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
Meet the Author
Stuart Woods is the author of more than forty novels, including the New York Times bestselling Stone Barrington and Holly Barker series. An avid sailor and pilot, he lives in New York City, Florida, and Maine.
- Key West, Florida; Mt. Desert, Maine; New York, New York
- Date of Birth:
- January 9, 1938
- Place of Birth:
- Manchester, Georgia
- B.A., University of Georgia, 1959
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I've read more Stuart Woods novels than I'd care to admit. L.A. Times isn't a Stone Barrington book; I DON'T like the Stone Barrington series because I really don't like the "Stone Barrington" character... self-serving, somehow sexist, and perpetually presented in a conceited light--once you've stopped and untangled it all. That said, the protagonist in L.A. Times is all these things but in an ever so subtly more sinister way. The plot of this book slowly simmers to a boil as you find yourself more and more deeply immersed into the socipath's mind. Perhaps I was just expecting something else from this author basing an assumption on my previous experience with him (Dead in the Water, Swimming to Catalina) but the plot's acrobatics culminate into a genuinely dark and supremely executed conclusion. This is a book you'll think about for weeks long after you've finished it.
I was rooting for the hero/villain in this thoroughly engaging story. It appears Woods has been a good writer from early 1990's as well.
Haven't read much of his stuff recently - but he never dissapoints!!!
It looks like most Of the reviews that were posted when I added this to my wish list a few months back have been removed and replaced with more facorable ones. Much of the criticism was regarding stagnant characters andrecycled plot. I have read thebulk of this series and know this to be somewhat true. However, paet of the appeal or risk of reading a series isthat they do, by their very nature, fall into a formula type pattern. Having said that, this book and the rest ofthe series can be judged as decent summer reading and nothing more glamorous than that. Those of you offended by Barringtons' arrogance need look no further than Woods' post script to figure howthat came about.