One-Shot Harry

Informationen zum Autor Gary Phillips Klappentext "Los Angeles, 1963: African American Korean War veteran Harry Ingram earns a living as a news photographer and occasional process server: chasing police radio calls and dodging baseball bats. With racial tensions running high on the eve of Martin Luther King's Freedom Rally, Ingram risks ending up one of the victims at every crime scene he photographs. When Ingram hears a call over the police scanner to the scene of a deadly automobile accident, he recognizes the vehicle described as belonging to his good friend and old army buddy, the white jazz trumpeter Ben Kingslow, with whom he'd only just reconnected. The LAPD declares the car crash an accident, but when Ingram develops his photos there are signs of foul play. Ingram feels no choice but to play detective, even if it means putting his own life on the line. Armed with his wits, his camera, and occasionally his Colt .45, Harry Ingram plunges head-first into the seamier underbelly of LA society, tangling with racists, leftists, blackmailers, gangsters, zealots and lovers, all in the hope of finding something resembling justice for a friend"-- Leseprobe CHAPTER ONE Fifteen. Josh Nakano placed his domino tile on the table with the others. The raspy voice of comedian Redd Foxx, known for his blue material, issued from an LP spinning on the record player. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, here we are again for the great racing of the T-bone stakes. An audience tittered in the background of the live recording. The album was titled The New Race Track. Don't stop writing yet, scorekeeper. Peter Strummer Edwards smiled, slapping down a tile. Ten. He was a tall, dark-skinned man with large hands, several of his knuckles misshaped like a seasoned boxer's. James Shoals Pettigrew marked the points on a lined yellow notepad, then put down his own domino. The hardware store owner didn't score. Using one hand, Harry Ingram picked up his facedown tiles, turning them toward his face, studying them. Between two fingers of his other hand, a cheap cigar smoldered. If you blink three times, they still ain't gonna change, Pettigrew joked. Got it, Captain Hook. Ingram put down his choice, hoping this time to block Nakano from scoring again. Thanks for nothing, Nakano said, playing after Ingram. He was a medium-built man with thick black hair going gray at the sides. He wore glasses and a colorful Hawaiian shirt over casual slacks. He favored loud sport shirts when not relegated to suit and tie, as befitted a funeral director. Always at your service, good sir. When the LP ended, Ingram got up from the card table and went over to his record player, which was set below several built-in bookshelves. Among the books on the shelves were two police scanners and an AM/FM transistor radio. Ingram put the record back in its sleeve, the photographic image on the front a smiling young woman in modified jockey gear straddling a hobby horse. Put on the radio, would you, Harry? Edwards said, yawning and stretching. Can't have Redd making me too excited before I go to bed alone. Pettigrew wiggled his fingers. Alone, you say? Everyone chuckled. Ingram slotted the Foxx album alphabetically among other comedic, jazz and blues albums he kept in wooden produce crates stacked in a corner. He turned the radio on, adjusting the antenna and turning the dial to bring the station in clearer. . . . and the hunt goes on for the bank robber dubbed the Morning Bandit. But now, my dear listeners, the DJ continued, we here at KGFJ urge all right-thinking Angelenos to come out and hear what Martin Luther King has to say when he arrives in town less than three weeks from today. As many of us know, his message isn't just for the South, but for what goes on here in the sup...

Auteur

Gary Phillips

Texte du rabat

"Los Angeles, 1963: African American Korean War veteran Harry Ingram earns a living as a news photographer and occasional process server: chasing police radio calls and dodging baseball bats. With racial tensions running high on the eve of Martin Luther King's Freedom Rally, Ingram risks ending up one of the victims at every crime scene he photographs. When Ingram hears a call over the police scanner to the scene of a deadly automobile accident, he recognizes the vehicle described as belonging to his good friend and old army buddy, the white jazz trumpeter Ben Kingslow, with whom he'd only just reconnected. The LAPD declares the car crash an accident, but when Ingram develops his photos there are signs of foul play. Ingram feels no choice but to play detective, even if it means putting his own life on the line. Armed with his wits, his camera, and occasionally his Colt .45, Harry Ingram plunges head-first into the seamier underbelly of LA society, tangling with racists, leftists, blackmailers, gangsters, zealots and lovers, all in the hope of finding something resembling justice for a friend"--

Résumé
Race and civil rights in 1963 Los Angeles provide a powerful backdrop in Gary Phillips’s riveting mystery about an African American crime scene photographer seeking justice for a friend—perfect for fans of Walter Mosley, James Ellroy, and George Pelecanos.

LOS ANGELES, 1963: African American Korean War veteran Harry Ingram earns a living as a news photographer and occasional process server: chasing police radio calls and dodging baseball bats. With racial tensions running high on the eve of Martin Luther King’s Freedom Rally, Ingram risks becoming a victim at every crime scene he photographs.

When Ingram hears about a deadly automobile accident on his police scanner, he recognizes the vehicle described as belonging to his good friend and old army buddy, a white jazz trumpeter. The LAPD declares the car crash an accident, but when Ingram develops his photos, he sees signs of foul play. Ingram feels compelled to play detective, even if it means putting his own life on the line. Armed with his wits, his camera, and occasionally his Colt .45, “One-Shot” Harry plunges headfirst into the seamy underbelly of LA society, tangling with racists, leftists, gangsters, zealots, and lovers, all in the hope of finding something resembling justice for a friend.

Master storyteller and crime fiction legend Gary Phillips has filled the pages of One-Shot Harry with fascinating historical cameos, wise-cracks, tenderness, and an edge-of-your-seat thrill ride of a plot with consequences far beyond one dead body.

Échantillon de lecture
CHAPTER ONE

“Fifteen.” Josh Nakano placed his domino tile on the table with the others.
     The raspy voice of comedian Redd Foxx, known for his blue material, issued from an LP spinning on the record player. “Yes, ladies and gentlemen, here we are again for the great racing of the T-bone stakes.” An audience tittered in the background of the live recording. The album was titled The New Race Track.
     “Don’t stop writing yet, scorekeeper.” Peter “Strummer” Edwards smiled, slapping down a tile. “Ten.” He was a tall, dark-skinned man with large hands, several of his knuckles misshaped like a seasoned boxer’s.
     James “Shoals” Pettigrew marked the points on a lined yellow notepad, then put down his own domino. The hardware store owner didn’t score.
     Using one hand, Harry Ingram picked up his facedown tiles, turning them toward his face, studying them. Between two fingers of his other hand, a cheap cigar smoldered.
     “If you blink three times, they still ain’t gonna change,” Pettigrew joked.
     “Got it, Captain Hook.” Ingram put down his choice, hoping this time to block Nakano from scoring again.
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