Herman Strockmire is a plaintiff's lawyer, litigating on behalf of all of the clients who can't protect themselves. Ludicrous at first but really, isn't that what we were supposed to believe lawyers would do as in Harper Lee's Atticus Finch? So I'm not sure that Herman is the anomoly. I have come to believe the rest of the profession took the fork in the road, not Herman.
In any event, he is now prosecuting a case on behalf of the Monarch Butterfly, soon to be exiled to the same dusty books as the dinosaur because of the government's genetic alteration of food. They're killing the butterflys, man!
But that's not all. As Herman and his lovely daughter Susan probe deeper, bodies start turning up. Not with a simple K-bar wound to the thoracic cavity or a Glock shot to the head, but ripped up bodies. Super human strength MOs. Could it be that the evil doers in the monarch butterfly case are into slightly more than genetically altering just food?
Enter Jack Wirta, sullen, despondent, wise-cracking, friend of Shane Scully, wounded and left on the hill like a malnourished Spartan child in 350 B.C., who has started his own detective agency. And guess who is his first client?
This is great Stephen Cannell! It's part Michael Crichton, part Robert Crais. But most of all it's part Rockford Files, the A-Team and Wiseguy. And why not? Mr. Cannell wrote those scripts.
We see references to Barbra and Jim, and of course Ted and Mary. I have to be honest. I don't know these people. But when he's finished, Mr. Cannell has convinced me that I ought to. And, as Jack struggles with his percocet and percodan habit, there's a cool intervention scene that I don't think I've ever seen in a book.
So strap this one on. Slip on your black jeans, black turtleneck and a throwaway ankle gun. There's no commercials. Enjoy, boychick! 5 stars. Larry Scantlebury