Toronto Noir series (1-3) by John McFetridge
Requirements: ePUB reader, 1.9 MB, 1.6 MB, 717 KB
Overview: John McFetridge writes gritty, dialogue-intense crime novels set on the streets of Toronto. His books have been compared to Elmore Leonard’s, with one critic, Linda Richards of January Magazine, noting that McFetridge’s voice is "colder and starker" than Leonard’s. "McFetridge is one of a new breed of Canadian crime fictionists," she writes, "building neo noir that seems touched by both the humor and self-consciousness of life north of the 48th.
McFetridge has a knack for minimalist descriptions and straight dialogue filled with tongue-in-cheek humour.
John McFetridge became fascinated with crime when attending a murder trial at age twelve with his police officer brother. He lives in Toronto with his wife and two sons.
Genre: Fiction, Mystery/Thriller
Dirty Sweet (1)
In the middle of the afternoon on a busy downtown Toronto street a man is shot in the head behind the wheel of his SUV. The killer drives away before the light changes. It could be road rage, or it could be a random act of violence. It could be, but it isn’t. What it is, is opportunity. For everyone involved.
The witness, Roxanne Keyes, a real estate agent trying desperately to lease out space in unwanted office space, recognizes the killer—a man who had once looked to rent with her. She figures with this kind of leverage he’ll be a lot more interested now. Except he’s Boris Suliemanov, a Russian mobster in the strip club business, who’s now busy taking out competitors and expanding into drugs and grand theft auto. Then there’s Vince Fournier, a cool guy with a mysterious past who might be able to help Roxanne deal with Boris if he gets what he wants. He rents space in her building for his internet porn company, but he’s looking for a little more from her. And finally, the homicide squad cops can see their own opportunities in the brazen, daytime murder.
In the tradition of Elmore Leonard and Christopher Brookmyre, Dirty Sweet is a fast-paced crime story following each character to a surprising end.
Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere (2)
Sharon MacDonald has a problem. It’s not being under house arrest. It’s not the Iranian guy who just fell from the twenty-fifth floor of her apartment building. It’s not even the police surveillance that’s preventing her from getting to her marijuana grow rooms. Sharon’s problem is a stranger named Ray–he’s too good looking, and his business proposal sounds too good to be true. Detective Gord Bergeron has problems, too. There’s his new, hard-to-read partner, Detective Armstrong, a missing ten-year-old girl, an unidentified torso dumped in an alley, and what looks like corruption deep within the police force. In a city where the drug, immigration, and sex industries are all inextricably intertwined, it’s only a matter of time until Sharon’s and Gord’s paths cross and all hell breaks loose in this pitch-perfect second installment of John McFetridge’s rollicking noir series.
Swap (3)
Detectives Price and McKeon are called to the scene — a husband and wife found slumped in their car, parked sideways on a busy downtown on-ramp, a bullet in each of their heads. That’s what’s in the papers, and that’s all the public sees. Toronto the Good, with occasional specks of random badness. But behind that disposable headline, Toronto’s shadow city sprawls outwards, a grasping and vicious economy of drugs, guns, sex, and gold bullion.
And that shadow city feels just like home for Get — a Detroit boy, project-raised, ex-army, Iraq and Afghanistan, only signed up for the business opportunities, plenty of them over there. Now he’s back, and he’s been sent up here by his family to sell guns to Toronto’s fast-rising biker gangs, maybe even see about a partnership. The man Get needs to talk to is Nugs, leader of the Saints of Hell. Nugs is overseeing unprecedented progress, taking the club national, uniting bikers coast-to-coast (by force if necessary), pushing back against the Italians, and introducing a veneer of respectability. Beards trimmed to goatees, golf shirts instead of leather jackets, and SUVs replacing the bikes.
And now the cops can’t tell the difference between bikers and bankers. Detectives Price and McKeon? All they can do is watch and grimace and drink, and sweep up the detritus left in crime’s wake — dead hookers, cops corrupted and discarded, anyone else too slow and weak to keep up, or too stupid not to get out of the way. This is Toronto’s shadow city, and you won’t recognize it. “Canada’s answer to Elmore Leonard is going places . . .”
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#3:
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