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Cliff Bartells had been a lieutenant in the Florence City, Florida police department, but he refused to “play ball” with the criminal syndicates, to condone police brutality, or to tolerate cops on the take. He blew the whistle on a trumped-up case, got busted to foot-patrolman (“the only cop on foot in the whole city”), and resigned, forever tagged as “a square cop – a Christer who couldn’t be made”. Now 33, he is employed by the Security Theft and Accident Insurance Co. Inc. as an “adjuster”, essentially a middleman between the company and the thieves, who negotiates the return of the stolen merchandise for a ransom, and a personal fee. He has had some successes, but this job seems to be going sour also – too much drinking, too much wise-guying, less and less honesty. Bartells is beginning to think of it as just another cupcake.
Then Miss Elizabeth Stegman, 59, of Boston, is found murdered in her North Florence Beach apartment, and all her jewels are missing, which have been insured by Bartell’s company for $750,000. It has all the markings of a professional job: the crime occurred between 10 PM and 2 AM, there were no prints left at the scene, and there were no signs of forced entry. The apartment was accessible via a private stairwell, there were noisy parties elsewhere in the building, and the safe had obviously been opened by using the combination. But, why was she killed? Bartells is much more interested in the theft because the company has authorized him to buy back the jewels for $300,000, for which he would receive a bonus of $50,000. (Remember, these are 1952 dollars!!) Unfortunately, the murder has complicated matters; since the tourist trade might be affected, neither the cops, the mob, nor anyone else wants a deal to be made with the thieves – they want a conviction.
This story is not really about the theft, the money, or even the murder. The detection, such as there is, is all secondary; it’s really about brass cupcakes, which everyone seems to want. Bartells wants his fifty grand; the company wants the jewels back; the Franklins want some easy money; Furness Trunbull wants the heiress and her money; Tony Lavery wants a solution that is “good for business”; Johnny Alfreyda wants a middleman’s percentage; and most of the cops want whatever they can get. Even the FBI, even the local brass – they all want their cupcakes. So, Bartells sets up a brass cupcake of his own, both giving and taking away.
This was MacDonald’s first novel, published for paperback in 1950, and
it shows. While it is not a bad novel, certainly not a stinker, unfortunately
it’s not a very good one either. It definitely is hard-boiled, written
in the first-person narrative; it has rough and tough guys, bad cops, brutality,
graft, small-town mentalities, vicious beatings, fights, gunplay, and killings.
There is a great deal of violence, although only gratuitous in one instance.
It is fairly obvious that it was written when it was – men call women “kitten”,
men call other men “baby”, there are references to Charles Atlas, a resto-bar
is called the “Kit-Kat”, characters are named “Melody Chance” and “Languid
Tony Lavery”. Unfortunately, the writing is not very good hard-boiled writing.
Some of it is simply typical of the genre and the time, but not outstanding
at all: “First base can be made. You can get to second with a hook slide.
But no matter how hard you try to round third, you get tagged out with
enough vigour to cross your eyes.” But a great deal of it is trite,
like comparing a woman to a combination lock, and wondering what it would
take to “unlock” her. Stereotypical passages abound, as in the response
by Melody while being driven in a car at high speed.
Most of it is unoriginal and simply bad. There are too many quaint
similes; there is a close-to-sex scene that is described so preposterously
as to be laughable; and there is a plethora of bad lines like the following:
“Like a needle stuck on an old cracked record, she said ‘No-no-no-no-no…’
But every vital and muscular ounce of her was saying yes in tines that
were twice as loud.”
Previously, MacDonald had exhibited some difficulty in ending his short stories. This is an expanded short story, and the ending certainly works well, but it lacks the suspense, the tension of a sustained build-up. There are no real surprises; the ending is apt and predictable, if a little far-fetched. It could have been much better. For instance, there is an actual ransom exchange between Bartells and the thieves, who are caught by the police. Given the relative complexity of the exchange procedure, it would have been acceptable had they been caught while fleeing the area, but being nabbed in the spot is highly doubtful. (There is a unique method of “marking the bills” – at least, one of which I have never previously come across.)
Basically, this is a fairly good plot, and the interest of the reader is sustained throughout. There is a sub-plot involving Kathy that is very trite and contrived; although brought to a conclusion, it is meaningless filler. Given that the novel is an expanded short story, I am not really surprised. More importantly, there is only one fully developed character in the novel (Bartells); almost all the rest are window dressing, or, as in the case of Furny, insufficiently developed.
There are also some flaws in the plot. The first concerns the actual amount of the ransom: was it $400,000 or $300,000? This should have been corrected with some decent editing. There is a far-fetched codicil to the will of the deceased that has an impact on the story, but is not credible, even in 1950. The other flaw is much more serious; since an explanation requires that I reveal the identity of the murderer, only click HERE after reading the novel.
Thankfully, there are some good reasons to read this novel. The first is the character of Cliff Bartells. He could have made an excellent series character, and it is surprising that MacDonald got it right the very first time. Bartells is a sympathetic character who is also very easy to “root for”. Although hard, he is intelligent, self-critical, sufficiently deep, and more of an anti-hero than hero. He is also very realistic – unlike too many hard-boiled protagonists, he does not immediately and miraculously bounce back after being severely beaten. Bartells is also selectively moral: he’ll set up a patsy to be killed, he’ll seduce a vulnerable woman for information, but he’ll also rat on a 17-year old girl having an illegal drink with her friends.
He is also more than just an ex-cop; “I was a he-maid in a tourist court
in Florence City. I bet I changed forty beds in a day. You learn a lot
about humanity changing their bed linen…” At this point in his career,
MacDonald was a long, long way from creating Travis McGee, but one can
readily see the origins, however crudely, of McGee in Bartells:
A man is either a man or a boy. But a woman can be a twist, a broad,
a bim, a skirt, a dish, a piece, or half a hundred other names, many of
them savage, most of them earthy. It is interesting from a philological
point of view.
Another reason for any MacDonald fan to read the book is that, in this
very first novel, he clearly establishes his trademark of preaching/teaching/ranting
to his readership, and some of it is exquisite:
…I invented a new race of men. There would be a little trapdoor over
the right ear. On [guilty] mornings after, the people could open the little
doors, take out their souls and scrub them clean under the shower. It would
be handy. A world full of smiling faces and shining souls…
There are a number of memorable quotes; they seldom fit into the context
of the storyline as well as they do in the McGee stories, but, then again,
McGee won’t exist for another 14 years!
Ultimately, what saves this novel is MacDonald’s incredible sense of
scene. He portrays Florida as no one else did in 1950, and although some
of his novels will switch to Mexico, he establishes his other major tradition
that writers like Carl Hiaasen would be able to emulate. Even though ecology
does not play a significant part in this story, he manages to capture the
disintegration of post-war Florida in a clear and evocative manner, yet
simply and vividly:
[The ‘Coral Strand’] was even devoid of neon, an oversight in Florida
amounting to heresy.
Also,
The public beach was what you would expect of public beaches. A couple
of hundred square inches of one’s unclad beloved is charming. But when
the human hide comes in measurements of square acres, 99 percent of it
far from attractive, it is a bit overwhelming.
I am obviously of two minds about this novel. If you can find a copy, get it and read it – to see how MacDonald started, how he laid the foundation for future successes, and to see just how far he progressed.
One last note to the reader: beware of blurbs on the covers of old paperback
novels. The adage of “not being able to judge a book by its cover” did
not come into usage without reason. Most publishers’ blurbs have titillation
as the primary object, and very often these blurbs have little to do with
the story. My edition of “The Brass Cupcake” has the following on the front
cover:
With a girl like Letty, a guy never knew whether he was getting the
brass cupcake, the gold ring, the wooden nickel, or the lead slug…until
it was too late.
This in NOT a quote from the novel, and it has nothing whatsoever to
do with a brass cupcake. Although the quote is apropos of Letty, she is
a very minor character, and it certainly promises something that does not
exist (except for that slug…).
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