HAND IN GLOVE by Paddy Bostock

Hand in GloveWe got a couple of rich British P.I.s, who aren’t all that private, investigating a mystery, which isn’t all that mysterious, who are trying to solve said mystery without all that much detecting.

Tell me more, you say, because this doesn’t sound like the typical British detective fiction.   Aha!  Seems like you might be more of a competent detector than these two.   ‘These two‘ consists of a displaced Mersey boy, Jake Flintlock, of the ummm well-known Flintlock family, whose stiff-upper-lip history has been thoroughly revealed by a Flintlock ancestor in his much-thumbed Flintlocks Through the Ages tome.   Our particular Flintlock has married well…. quite well, it seems, to a brilliant Italian lady who made bags of cash in the stock market, then made bags of money from a property alarm invention, and now is a psychologist (or is it psychiatrist?) making bags of money treating repentant bankers.  Don’t ask.  It is all too complicated to explain here.

The other half of the duo is Bum Park, half North Korean, and half Afro American, who hails from L.A., now running an extremely successful restaurant in London.  Another long story about how the two got together.  Very long.  I don’t have time for it here.  I got stuff to do.

So, our boy Jake was taking his dog Binkey for walkies in the park, when Binkey gets loose, runs away and finally comes back with a baseball mitt.  Complete with bloody hand in it.  And this is how the ‘mystery’ — and I use that term loosely — begins.

This is a really funny book.  Really funny.  And erudite, too.  Look it up.  Do I have to do everything for you?  If you like mysteries with a generous helping of unconventional characters, British humor, and a dash of intelligence thrown in just to keep you on your toes, then this is for you. And for me.  I loved it!

Paddy Bostock has a couple of other books out, which look to be just as funny and unconventional.  You’ll have to see for yourself:  Mole Smith and the Diamond Studded Pistol, and Foot Soldiers.

Well, I’m off to take my dog for his noon walkies.  Geez, I hope he doesn’t come prancing up with any sports equipment filled with extraneous body parts.  I swoon easily.

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