When E. Leonard wrote this crime story about the deep deep South in 1991 he was almost sixty, and it shows.
The way he develops his plot reminds me of the late paintings by Picasso: crude, loud colours, cynical view of the people he portrays; the perspective of an old man who canīt play the game anymore and grudges others what joy there might be in life for them.
So the good guy in the story has to die a rather staged death. Iīve never been to the American South, so I canīt know, if people there are really so mean und corrupt and filthy, but itīs no great fun reading about them.
Leonard doesnīt show the least sense of humour, which again reminds me of ....