Orange County Update on Chandler Measures Up to the Master

“Ray [Chandler] and me had a deal,” a 93-year-old Philip Marlowe confides to private detective Jack Liffey in John Shannon’s “The Orange Curtain” (Carroll & Graf, 230 pages, $24). “I’d tell him about my cases and he’d write ‘em up, but he got most of it pretty far wrong.” It takes a certain amount of chutzpah to evoke the name of Chandler and/or his famous creation within the context of a private eye novel. But in this case, Shannon’s self-confidence is justified. In describing his sleuth Liffey’s search for the daughter of a Vietnamese bookstore owner, he matches the master in several key areas, notably location, characterization and dialogue.

As you might guess from the book’s title, much of it takes place in Orange County, a rather mystical territory for Angeleno Liffey that proves to be as perilous for him as Bay City was for Marlowe. Particularly Little Saigon, where a tough cop orders him to get lost and a Vietnamese gang places him on their To Die list. On the up side, there’s a beautiful Asian businesswoman eager to spin a seductive web around him. But H. Rider Haggard couldn’t have imagined a more demanding female. And, as a semi-friendly cop warns him, should he succumb to her lure, he’d better count his body parts afterward. And, oh, yes, there’s also a serial killer on the loose.

Shannon departs from the Chandler format in one major way. He eschews first-person narration in favor of an objective rendition of the tale. This has its benefits--he’s not trapped inside Liffey’s head--but it also undercuts some of the subjective descriptive passages that would make more sense coming directly from his protagonist. Regardless, Shannon has done a remarkable update on the Chandler knight-errant, moving him to crisply described streets mean and alien.

He’s also provided him with a cynical but not despairing worldview that reflects more than a hint of the humanity and political savvy of the heroes who serve the international thrillers of Manuel Vazquez Montalban and Paco Ignacio Taibo. In other words, Liffey is a good man to have around, on either side of the Orange Curtain.

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More Southern California scheming may be found in Max Allan Collins’ “Angel in Black” (NAL, 341 pages, $21.95), a fictional take on the ever-popular Black Dahlia murder. Back in 1983, Collins began a unique private eye series picking up Chicago sleuth Nathan Heller at various periods in his long and eventful career. As the author, assisted by an apparently voracious research team, would have it, Heller has participated in several factual milestones of infamy, including the kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby (“Stolen Away”) and the assassination of Huey Long (“Blood and Thunder”), bringing closure to the heretofore unsolved.

“Angel” recalls the detective’s visit to Los Angeles in the beginning of 1947 that was supposed to combine business (the establishing of a partnership with L.A. private eye Fred Rubinski, a fictionalized version of real-life sleuth Barney Ruditsky) and pleasure (his honeymoon). Both suffer setbacks when he and an Examiner reporter stumble upon the severed body of the woman who would later be called the Black Dahlia.

The sight is grim enough. Even worse for Heller is the realization that the truncated corpse belongs to Elizabeth Short, a woman he’d dated in Chicago who had recently tried to extort money from him. To avoid becoming LAPD detective Harry “the Hat” Hansen’s prime suspect, Heller decides to find the real killer.

Along with Hansen, we meet an assortment of folks from Hollywood’s past, including Mickey Cohen, Barney Ross, Johnny Stompanato, Orson Welles and newspaperman Jim Richardson and get glimpses of such denizens as Bogart and Bacall enjoying themselves at La Rue. We also touch base with untouchable Eliot Ness (no surprise, since Collins has a series featuring him). The period trappings are entertaining but the strength of this and the other Heller tales comes from Collins’ amazing ability to seamlessly blend fact and fiction (an afterword explains which is which) while at the same time filling in the biographical blanks of his believable, enduring hard-boiled hero.

If that weren’t enough, we’re given theoretical, but logical, solutions to the real-life mysteries. Who killed the Black Dahlia? The Collins-Heller conclusion may well be the ultimate answer.

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Jerrilyn Farmer’s “Dim Sum Dead” (Avon, 248 pages, $4.99), the third in a series featuring caterer Madeline Bean, takes place in the Hollywood of the here and now, where, apparently, everything old--from mah-jongg to murder--is new again. From the Santa Monica Farmers’ Market, where Maddie is mugged and the diary of a deceased superstar is stolen, to a Spanish mansion in “the better part of Whitley Heights,” where dim sum is served along with sudden death, to Chinatown, where our heroine solves the crime, ends one romance, starts another and has a great brunch, Farmer offers a charming and fun-filled cook’s tour of L.A.

It is served with a provocative mystery, characters sweet and bitter, salty ripostes, tasty recipes (including a nifty one for a Singapore Sling) and an appealing, humane heroine who will no doubt be whipping up gourmet meals, breaking hearts and solving crimes for a long time to come.

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Dick Lochte’s collection, “Lucky Dog and Other Tales of Murder” (Five Star), and a new edition of his prize-winning novel, “Sleeping Dog” (Poisoned Pen Press), have just been published. He reviews mysteries every other week. Next week: Rochelle O’Gorman on audio books.