Product Description

“One of the most remarkable prose stylists to emerge from the noir tradition in this century.”
–Stephen King

“Hard-boiled horror, pulp noir vampires, decaying urban souls– you’re gonna need a shower after this one. . . . [Huston] kicks down the door of horror.”
–Fangoria, on Already Dead

There’s only so much room on the Island, only so much blood, and Manhattan’s Vampyre Clans aren’t interested in sharing. So when the Vyrus-infected dregs of New York’s outer boroughs start creeping across the bridges and through the tunnels, the Clans want to know why.

Bad luck for PI and general hard case Joe Pitt.

See, Joe used to be a Rogue, used to work off his own dime, picked his own gigs, but tight times and a terminally ill girlfriend pushed him into the arms of the renegade Society Clan. Now he has all the cash and blood he needs, but at a steep price. The price tonight is crossing the bridge, rolling to Coney Island, finding the Freak Clan, and figuring out what’s driving that bunch of savages to scratch at the Society’s door. No need to look far. The answer lies around the corner in Gravesend. Convenient, all those graves.

From uptown to the boardwalk, war drums are beating. Murderous family feuds and personal grudges are being drawn and brandished, along with the long knives. Blood will spill and, big surprise, Joe’s in the middle. But hey, why should this night be different from any other?

Sunset to sunrise: put off a war, keep your head attached to your neck, and save your girl. Check. Joe’s on the case.


Praise for Charlie Huston and his Joe Pitt novels

“In conceiving his world (a New York City divided by vampire clans, each with different reasons to hate Pitt), Huston gives a fading genre a fresh afterlife. [Grade:] A.”
–Entertainment Weekly

“[Huston] creates a world that is at once supernatural and totally familiar, imaginative, and utterly convincing.”
–The Philadelphia Inquirer

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #26484 in Books
• Published on: 2007-12-26
• Released on: 2007-12-26
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Paperback
• 240 pages

From Publishers Weekly
Starred Review. Huston's third Joe Pitt vampire novel (after Already Dead and No Dominion) takes his Manhattan-based hard-boiled hero on a dangerous trip into the undead communities across the bridge in Brooklyn. The various vampire clans in New York are on the brink of conflict. Leadership has fallen apart, and to make things worse, a Van Helsing is running amok and has recently murdered a longtime supplier of contraband blood. Worst of all, Pitt's AIDS-stricken girlfriend, Evie, is in the hospital failing fast. Once again, he's faced with an almost classical dilemma: infecting her with the vampire virus will destroy the illness that's killing her, but she'll be a vampire. Sent to Brooklyn to meet with a rogue clan of carnival freak vampires, Pitt ends up battling a group of radical Jewish bloodsuckers called the lost tribe of Gibeah. As always, Huston's formidable writing chops are on full display: his action scenes are unparalleled in crime fiction and his dialogue is so hip and dead-on that Elmore Leonard should be getting nervous. (Dec.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1

I DON'T LIKE HIM.

I don't like the way he smells. I don't like the way he looks. I don't like his shoes. If I stuck a blade in him and drank the blood that shot out of the open wound, I wouldn't like the way he tastes.

But Terry told me to be cool.

So I don't kill the guy.

-You can't get somethin' for nothin', is all I'm sayin'.

Terry nods, waves some of the thick cigar smoke away from his face.

-No doubt, no doubt.

The guy I don't like blows another cloud off his stogie.

-If I bring the Docks into your thing, I got to know what's in it for my members. Not like I'm here for my own self. I'm an elected representative, it's the members decide these things, and they decide nothin' they don't know what they got comin' on their end of the deal.

Terry coughs into his hand.

-Well, like I say, the way we work here, the way we, you know, like to go about this kind of thing, is with the understanding that we're all working toward a greater good. The Society, it's not just, you know, a Clan in the traditional sense. We're not just trying to get along and go along. We've got goals. We're all about, and I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, but we're all about empowerment for anyone and everyone infected with the Vyrus. And does that mean folks that aren't even in the Society? You bet it does. But does that also mean achieving our goal will be easier with as united a front as possible? Absolutely. What I'm, you know, getting at is, whether you bring the Docks into the Society or not, you'll still reap the rewards when we break through one day, but, man, we could sure use as much help as possible right now.

The Docks Boss nods, ponders, chews the frayed end of his hand-rolled Dominican, and glances at the goon he brought with him.

-I think he's tellin' me there ain't shit in it for us.

The goon shifts the baseball bat perched on his shoulder.

-Sounds like it.

-Sounds like he's tellin' me he wants somethin' for nothin'.

The goon nods.

-Sounds like it.

The Docks Boss takes the cigar from his mouth, points it at Terry.

-That what you're tellin' me, Bird?

Terry presses the palms of his hands together and puts the tips of his fingers at his chin, a prayerful moment.

-What I'm trying to get across is that there's something in it for all of us. Me, you, your man there, Joe here, your members, the Society, all the Clans and Rogues and even the folks out there that never heard of the Vyrus. I'm talking about how we're gonna make the world a bigger and more wondrous place when the day comes we go public and let them know we're here. I'm saying that there's something in it for everyone. Every person on Mother Earth, man.

The goon raises a finger, a point's been proved.

-Yeah, he's saying there ain't nothin' in it for us.

The Docks Boss pushes his chair back, stands, drops the smoldering stub on the floor and stomps on it.

-C'mon, Gooch, let's get the boys and get the fuck out of here.

Terry shrugs, rises.

-Well, I can't say I'm not disappointed, but it's not the first time we've been turned down.

He puts out his hand.

-And I just want you to know, we're still fighting for you, man. Anytime you want to join the struggle, we'll be happy to have you by our side.

The Docks Boss looks Terry up and down, from his Birkenstocks, past his hemp jeans and his fur is murder t-shirt, up to his graying ponytail.

-You're a freak, Bird. We ain't never gonna have nothin' to do with you and your hippies and your college kids and your queers and the rest.

He pulls out one of the cigars that stick up from the breast pocket of his cheap suit, bites the end off and spits it at Terry's feet.

-And I'm gonna tell Predo as much when I go see him.

He scrapes a match alight on the surface of the kitchen table and puffs the cigar to life.

-The Docks are a serious Clan. We make the move over the bridge here and swing our weight behind someone, they're gonna know their backs are covered. You don't want to give somethin' back for that security, to hell with you. Predo knows value. And he'll pay for it.

He drops the match.

-Hell, I only came to see you out of curiosity. Had to see for myself it was true what they say. How one of the top Clans over here is run by a pansy.

Terry tugs at the soul patch below his lower lip.

-Well, if that's how you see things, that's how you see things. Probably all for the best that you set up housekeeping with the Coalition. And still, still, I wish you nothing but health and happiness, man.

The Docks Boss rolls his eyes and heads for the door.

-Fuck you, Bird.

Terry looks at me.

-You mind showing them out, Joe?

I open the door.

-Sure, no problem.

I close the door behind us and lead the Boss and Gooch down the hall toward the front room where his other two boys are cooling their heels.

The Boss steps alongside me.

-A guy like you, a regular-lookin' fella, what the fuck are you doin' with that clown?

I crack a knuckle.

-It's a job.

Gooch laughs.

-A job? Hope you get paid through the nose, havin' to live in the middle of this freak show.

I stop at the front room door, rest my hand on the knob.

-What you gonna do, it's all I know.

-Too bad for you.

-If you say so.

I open the door and stand aside to let the Docks Boss step into the room ahead of me.

Stupid fuck that he is, he goes right in and only stops when he sees the headless bodies of his boys on the floor, and Hurley swinging a fire axe at his face. I got to give it to him, he does manage to get his arm in front of his head before the blade comes down.

As his arm is hitting the floor and Hurley is going into his backswing, the Boss has got his remaining hand in his jacket, going for the iron bulging at his side. Hurley takes his hack Lou Gehrig style and the other arm comes off and slaps into the wall, the gun dropping.

The Boss stomps, splinters the floorboards beneath the sheets of plastic Hurley spread before he went to work. He kicks the body of one of his headless bodyguards.

-Fucker! Useless faggot!

He stands in the middle of the room, the spray from his stumps slowing to a steady trickle as the Vyrus clots the blood, scabs visibly forming over the wounds.

He looks at Hurley, spits blood at him.

-That all you good for, pussy, a fuckin' ambush? Come on! I can take it.

He sets his feet, turns his face upward, eyes wide open.

-Come on, pussy!

Hurley hefts the axe over his head.

-Just as ya say, den.

The Docks Boss screams as the blade drops. He stops when it splits his head down the middle.

Stupid fucker.

All those cigars, they kept him from smelling anything else. Otherwise he'd have whiffed the reek of blood the second I opened the kitchen door; he would have known there was a problem. In that tight hallway, he could have taken me apart. Another reason to like smoking.

Gooch leans into the room and looks at his boss flopping on the floor. He ducks back as a last jet of arterial blood sprays the ceiling and the dead thing goes still.

-Jesus, that's gonna be hell to clean up.

Hurley gives the axe a jerk and pulls it from the Docks Boss' face.

-Ayuh.

Gooch points at the mess.

-I ain't helpin' ta clean this. That wasn't part of the deal.

Hurley wipes the blade of the axe on the Boss' shirtfront, sees the cigars and pulls one from the dead man's pocket.

-No one said ya gotta clean nuttin'.

-Just so it's clear.

Hurley finds a match, thumbs a flame from it and puts it to the cigar.

-It's plenty clear, boyo.

Gooch points his baseball bat at the corpses.

-So you guys clean up your mess and I'll round up the rest of the Docks and let them know we're joinin' with ya.

Hurley looks at the cigar, wrinkles his nose, and drops it to hiss in the Boss' blood.

-Boyo, the way ya fellas sell one 'nother out, we would nae have ya ta clean our privies.

Gooch is about as quick as Boss was. He gets the bat up in a hurry to block Hurley's axe. But the axe never leaves Hurley's shoulder.

I tickle Gooch's earlobe with the barrel of his dead boss' revolver.

-Hey, Gooch.

He doesn't move.

-Yeah?

-I like this freak show.

I put a bullet in his ear. And when he's on the floor, I put a couple more in.

Hurley shakes his head.

-What's da point a dat, Joe?

-No point. Just that he was an asshole.

Terry comes down the hall and looks at the mess.

He takes off his glasses and bows his head.

-What a waste.

I put a Lucky in my mouth.

-If you say so.

-Labor should be our natural ally. They could have been a big help.

-A big help fucking things up. If this is the best Brooklyn has to offer, we don't have much to worry about.

Terry slips the glasses up his nose and gives me a look.

-The best isn't the problem, Joe.

He heads back down the hall toward the kitchen.

-The worst is what we have to worry about. The worst is still over the bridge.

He turns in the doorway.

-But they'll be coming.

I don't got enough problems.

I don't got enough problems dealing with the day-to-day shit that rains from the sky in Manhattan, now I got to start worrying about it being shipped in from Brooklyn. That's what happens when you get a regular job, other people's shit becomes your problem. 'Course, by the time you got that figured, it's up around your ears and you're just trying to keep your fucking mouth shut.

-Cat got your tongue?

I look up from the square of linoleum between my shoes and try a smile. It doesn't work.

-No, babe, just tired.

-You didn't have to come by.

-Sure I did. What else am I gonna do?

-You know how to flatter a girl, Joe....

Customer Reviews

awful
did not like the style of writing. plot was hard to follow. not worth the money

Hardboiled vampires--violent and edgy
Joe Pitt is going through a rough time. His girlfriend is dying of AIDS, he's lost his independence and is working as enforcer for the Society, and then there's the little matter of being a vampire--with the attendant need for blood. Fortunately, Joe doesn't have much by way of morals, which helps take care of the blood issue. Less fortunately, there's something going on in New York--something dangerous. When his boss asks him to look into possible alliances with a group of vampires living in Brooklyn, Joe wants nothing more than to walk away. Unfortunately, it isn't that easy and Joe ends up walking into a bloodbath.

Between the Docks, the Freaks, and the Chosen, Brooklyn is a mess, but it's a mess that seems doomed to impact the vampire communities on Manhattan. Of course, once Joe finishes with them, there are a lot fewer to impact.

Author Charlie Huston continues his Joe Pitt hardboiled vampire fantasy with another fast-paced and violent adventure. Joe is something of an anti-hero. He's practically an equal opportunity hater, and manages to create a lot of negative feelings back at him. Using broken phrases, obscenity-laden speech, dialect tags reflecting the ethnic origins of his characters, and the continual threat of violence, Huston kept me involved in the story, reading just one more page, even when I had a hard time finding anyone to cheer for.

Pitt chooses to use a dash (--) rather than quotation marks to mark out dialogue and, I have to say, I found this distracting and slowing down my reading. The casual murder of a pan-handler and the less casual but still amoral murder of the 'Docks' gang, coupled with more justified but still gruesome violence against other characters will put off some readers, especially as Pitt seems going through the motions, not driving toward any goal, not even seeing a possible way out of the cycle of death he's caught in. Even the Enclave, which once held a bit of (unlikely) hope now is closed to Pitt.

HALF THE BLOOD OF BROOKLYN serves as a sort of ending for Pitt's relationship with Manhattan. He's burned his bridges with just about every organization on the island and will now need to create a new world for himself. When he does, it's certain to be violent, amoral, and dangerous.

Still good, but just seems to be setting up as a lead in for the next book.
While I also enjoyed this book, it was harder for me stay interested in than the other Huston books I have read. There was a whole new clan of vampires introduced and I felt like a lot of time was spent on this new group without much to show for it (they were basically all killed off!). It was also hard to keep track of who was speaking as there were a lot of characters contributing dialog in a short span of text. I am intersted in seeing where the new leader of The Enclave will take his group as well as to see how the story line of Lydia, Evie and Joe will play out.

Certainly not the best of Mr. Huston's novels but one I guess you should read so as to be prepared when the next one (hopefully back on track) is available.