- Attention: Just got word that this book has been revised and updated and expanded... I already had that book as well so since I'm a fan of Blackie... I'll be reading it and will update this review... ASAP... GB Kiss Me Evil is the new title so if you want to go ahead and get it...make sure it is the latest!
Noir fiction is a literary genre closely related to hardboiled genre with a distinction that the protagonist is not a detective, but instead either a victim, a suspect, or a perpetrator. Other common characteristics include the self-destructive qualities of the protagonist. ...
~
Yet, Trina’s recent behavior gave me the mind-set, the fortitude, the fucking balls, to resist this most transparent, yet powerful, ploy. Fuck being a mark, I was through. Of course, having the insatiable Roxi waiting in the wings had a lot to do with my new-found resilience. It felt good when I shook my head, said, “Uh-uh. I’ll pass.”
~
Sad as I felt; and I did want to reach out, console Roxi, the singer, womanhood in general, there was another, stronger, reaction. I wanted to lash out, crush and maim, kill the motherfuckers responsible for that kind of pain and agony. What did that make me? Some dipshit with a Lancelot complex? Or, was I just another violence prone psycho? Or, and most disturbing to me, was I, as Trash had said, simply a mark. A stone sucker for a sob story.
~
“You fucking pussy. You got nothing left. You used to be down, Nicky. Had a set of balls on you man . . . Now? Shit. You’re worse than a mark, Nicky. You’re nothing. I don’t even know you.”
~~~
Open Wound
By Blackie Noir
So why did I start with the definition of Noir? Well, I've been somewhat unclear when I've read earlier novels by Blackie Noir. More Neo-Noir? So Blackie, I have to say that, with this novel, you've made it perfectly clear! And have created a true Noir novel, as defined by the experts, in my opinion. Wow! Whew! And Lots More of those emotional reactions!!!
Take for instance, the main character. Does he fit the definition? You bet! He's a victim and definitely self-destructive...
I liked him a lot...
But probably not for why you think... I thought it was a perfect individual to star in this noir novel... But I also saw that he was indeed a mark... But he knew it, I think, and really didn't want to change.
The ending was perfect for me and I'll tell you why if you've read it and don't understand it...
“You know Nick, Katrina . . . ?
Well, you really are a lucky man.”
“Right. Wasn’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.”
He pointed at me. “Don’t. That kind of talk makes you sound like a ‘fool’s luck’ recipient.”
“Fool’s luck?”
“Yes, such as a fellow who has it all; wonderful wife, excellent health, respect of his peers, yet is too ignorant to appreciate his good fortune.”
“Tell me something, Ike. This good fortune of mine, does it extend to the condition of my eye?” Smiling, he said,
“As a matter of fact it does.”
~~~
Nick has a multi-million dollar contract on the table, waiting for him to sign, when he's told that he will need to have surgery on his eye and he'll never be able to box again... After the anger, curses, and options are considered, he recognizes he has no choice...
The surprising thing is that he's more afraid to tell his wife, than to accept his future life...
Whether it was lust or love, Nick accepted his wife as she was--greedy. So he automatically feared that he would lose her when he was no longer making big money...
Which was true..
Her response was to tell him to go ahead with the fight and possibly lose his eye, and then afterwards have the surgery... Needless to say that even though he had been prepared, he was still crushed...
And let's face it, it was clear she had married him for his money... Now she was giving him an ultimatum. Fight or flight, for her!
At times like this, he had to get out and get some air... Trash had been a friend for many year and kept his bike in his shop...
But when he arrived, there was somebody else who was working...And Nick liked what he saw! So did Roxi...
Still smiling, she reached out, touched my swollen cock, began to gently knead it through my jeans. Talk about a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi. The jade heat of her eyes was reducing me to roadkill. The firm even pressure of her fingers turning back the clock to the fevered released of a twelve-year-old boy at the hand of his first girlfriend.
Trash's voice brought the time-machine to a screeching halt.
"Roxi! What the fuck are you doing?"
The girl broke eye contact, dropped her hand, stood up. I took a few steps back, began breathing again.
Trash grinned, "Fuck is that all about?"
Roxi grinned back, "Making me a new friend."
"Oh. That how you do it? 'hi my name is Roxi. How bout I such your dick, get acquainted?' That the proper etiquette?
"I wasn't sucking his dick." She looked at me, winked. "Yet."
"Yeah, well, I ain't paying you to suck his dick, shine his shoes, or whatever else you were doing down there. Besides, you're way late. Nick here is taken."
Roxi stepped over to me, touched my nipple with her fingertip. I stepped back, she followed, wrapped both of her hands around my bicep. Squeezing, she said, "Taken? Maybe before me. Now? Looks ripe and read."
Trash lit up, laughed, blowing smoke at us, "Shit. Give it a rest. Rox.
Whether it was lust or love, Nick accepted his wife as she was--greedy. So he automatically feared that he would lose her when he was no longer making big money...
Which was true..
Her response was to tell him to go ahead with the fight and possibly lose his eye, and then afterwards have the surgery... Needless to say that even though he had been prepared, he was still crushed...
And let's face it, it was clear she had married him for his money... Now she was giving him an ultimatum. Fight or flight, for her!
At times like this, he had to get out and get some air... Trash had been a friend for many year and kept his bike in his shop...
But when he arrived, there was somebody else who was working...And Nick liked what he saw! So did Roxi...
Still smiling, she reached out, touched my swollen cock, began to gently knead it through my jeans. Talk about a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi. The jade heat of her eyes was reducing me to roadkill. The firm even pressure of her fingers turning back the clock to the fevered released of a twelve-year-old boy at the hand of his first girlfriend.
Trash's voice brought the time-machine to a screeching halt.
"Roxi! What the fuck are you doing?"
The girl broke eye contact, dropped her hand, stood up. I took a few steps back, began breathing again.
Trash grinned, "Fuck is that all about?"
Roxi grinned back, "Making me a new friend."
"Oh. That how you do it? 'hi my name is Roxi. How bout I such your dick, get acquainted?' That the proper etiquette?
"I wasn't sucking his dick." She looked at me, winked. "Yet."
"Yeah, well, I ain't paying you to suck his dick, shine his shoes, or whatever else you were doing down there. Besides, you're way late. Nick here is taken."
Roxi stepped over to me, touched my nipple with her fingertip. I stepped back, she followed, wrapped both of her hands around my bicep. Squeezing, she said, "Taken? Maybe before me. Now? Looks ripe and read."
Trash lit up, laughed, blowing smoke at us, "Shit. Give it a rest. Rox.
~~~
Roxi made it quite clear that she thought she could pull Nick away from his present lover. She was right. Thing was that she was different from his wife. She'd invited him to dinner, made at her home and Nick began to see what it would be like to be with somebody as a partner rather than a wallet...
Too bad that she had already made a deal that was sure to screw Nick over... But when they kept seeing each other, she confessed to Nick...
It seemed clear to me that money was not a big deal with Nick, except as it represented how much effort, work and pain had been involved in his getting it. But as things moved forward, he began to realize that none of his supposed close friends were able to be trusted--when his money was part of the equation!
Lots of sex, violence, and action in this novel, so if you don't want to read similar to what is here, please don't buy it... Some of the twists were given to readers, others were nasty to contemplate for Nick as well as we who are reading!
It seemed to me that Nick might have been an easy mark, but when it came down to how the individuals involved were treating him, in return, then he could become the aggressor. It also seemed sad to me, that, as a boxer, violence was more a part of the lives of others than the one who was fighting and winning to earn his money...
For me, the novel was true to the genre... while the main character was...true to himself. An Excellent blend by the author! Enjoy...if you dare...
GABixlerReviews
It seemed clear to me that money was not a big deal with Nick, except as it represented how much effort, work and pain had been involved in his getting it. But as things moved forward, he began to realize that none of his supposed close friends were able to be trusted--when his money was part of the equation!
Lots of sex, violence, and action in this novel, so if you don't want to read similar to what is here, please don't buy it... Some of the twists were given to readers, others were nasty to contemplate for Nick as well as we who are reading!
It seemed to me that Nick might have been an easy mark, but when it came down to how the individuals involved were treating him, in return, then he could become the aggressor. It also seemed sad to me, that, as a boxer, violence was more a part of the lives of others than the one who was fighting and winning to earn his money...
For me, the novel was true to the genre... while the main character was...true to himself. An Excellent blend by the author! Enjoy...if you dare...
GABixlerReviews
Decades ago Raymond Chandler taught me the only French word I know . . . 'noir.'
Ever since, I've been jonesing for dark, hard-boiled, pulp style, crime fiction. From the genre's original innovators: Chandler, Hammett , Cain . . . to today's neo-noir stalwarts: J. L. Burke, Connelly, Pelecanos, Leonard, Teran, Lehane, et al.
Call me voracious. I devoured their work. Inhaled the dark smoke permeated ambiance where it all played out.
I read, and continue to read, them all.
It was while reading the newcomers, the young turks, that I decided . . . reading was no longer enough. I had my own tales to tell. Characters that kept nagging at me, urging me, beseeching me, demanding that I bring them to the page. Those who have met them through my work know . . . these are not gentle folk. Their petitions aren't meant to be taken lightly. So, in an attempt to appease those raucous demons, I sat down in 2000 and began my first novel . . . "Freeway Pigeons."
I completed "Freeway Pigeons" in 2001. That was the opening of a mysterious and magical door. Just what was behind that door? Lady, or tiger? Funny, I'm still not certain. Still, I wouldn't change things. I'd cross that threshold again in a heartbeat . . . undaunted. And why not, I've been blessed with a cornucopia of encouragement.
Who encouraged me?
Every writer, genius or plodder . . . visionary or hack, who ever made me laugh or cry, rage or sigh, become more aware or escape the doldrums. Every scribe, word-weaver or poet who had my heart trying to bang its way out of my chest or sing with the angels.
All of them. Man or woman, fresh or ancient, who moved me emotionally. Entertained and educated me. Kept long and sometimes lonely vigils with me. Gave me the unmitigated joy of a good read. THEY encouraged me . . . every last one.
I owe them.
I believe the best way I can repay that debt is through you, you the readers.
If I can deliver the joy, the escape, the spiritual catharsis of the coveted 'good read' to you, then at least a part of my debt has been paid.
* * *
Standard bio stuff: Started life on the cold coast (N.Y.C.) wended my way west to the land of sunshine, surf, and strange (L.A.).
Interests: Books. Books! Books!! Books!!! BOOKS !!!!!
Other interests: Music (as played / sung by others). Movies. Physical activities (running, free-weights, hiking). BIKES! (Harleys & old-Triumphs).
Bottom line: Family. (what it's all about)
*
Ever since, I've been jonesing for dark, hard-boiled, pulp style, crime fiction. From the genre's original innovators: Chandler, Hammett , Cain . . . to today's neo-noir stalwarts: J. L. Burke, Connelly, Pelecanos, Leonard, Teran, Lehane, et al.
Call me voracious. I devoured their work. Inhaled the dark smoke permeated ambiance where it all played out.
I read, and continue to read, them all.
It was while reading the newcomers, the young turks, that I decided . . . reading was no longer enough. I had my own tales to tell. Characters that kept nagging at me, urging me, beseeching me, demanding that I bring them to the page. Those who have met them through my work know . . . these are not gentle folk. Their petitions aren't meant to be taken lightly. So, in an attempt to appease those raucous demons, I sat down in 2000 and began my first novel . . . "Freeway Pigeons."
I completed "Freeway Pigeons" in 2001. That was the opening of a mysterious and magical door. Just what was behind that door? Lady, or tiger? Funny, I'm still not certain. Still, I wouldn't change things. I'd cross that threshold again in a heartbeat . . . undaunted. And why not, I've been blessed with a cornucopia of encouragement.
Who encouraged me?
Every writer, genius or plodder . . . visionary or hack, who ever made me laugh or cry, rage or sigh, become more aware or escape the doldrums. Every scribe, word-weaver or poet who had my heart trying to bang its way out of my chest or sing with the angels.
All of them. Man or woman, fresh or ancient, who moved me emotionally. Entertained and educated me. Kept long and sometimes lonely vigils with me. Gave me the unmitigated joy of a good read. THEY encouraged me . . . every last one.
I owe them.
I believe the best way I can repay that debt is through you, you the readers.
If I can deliver the joy, the escape, the spiritual catharsis of the coveted 'good read' to you, then at least a part of my debt has been paid.
* * *
Standard bio stuff: Started life on the cold coast (N.Y.C.) wended my way west to the land of sunshine, surf, and strange (L.A.).
Interests: Books. Books! Books!! Books!!! BOOKS !!!!!
Other interests: Music (as played / sung by others). Movies. Physical activities (running, free-weights, hiking). BIKES! (Harleys & old-Triumphs).
Bottom line: Family. (what it's all about)
*
Just an update . . . OPEN WOUND is no longer available on Amazon. It has been revised, re-edited, and re-published under the new title, KISS ME, EVIL. If anything, the new version is darker and more powerful than ever. KISS ME, EVIL is now available at Amazon's Kindle store.
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