Kurt Schlichter and Irina Moises’ Lost Angeles: Noir, Fantasy, and a Big Helping of Humor

Kurt Schlichter, author of the excellent People's Republic/Kelly Turnbull novels, has just released a new book, Lost Angeles: Silver Bullets On The Sunset Strip, co-written with his wife Irina Moises. This is perfect timing since it is an homage to the pulp noir detectives Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler wrote about in the 1930s and 40s, and I recently read Chandler's The Lady In The Lake.

Schlichter's and Moises' detective is Eddie Loud, and he is obviously modeled on Chandler's Philip Marlowe. He's tough and wisecracking, while struggling to live up to his moral code. However, things get really weird, really fast. Set in 1940 Los Angeles, Loud specializes in cases involving "demigods" - people who are part divine and virtually immortal. In the universe of Lost Angeles, the ancient Greek gods exist. However, with the advent and rise of Christianity, these "demigods" have retreated into an uneasy truce with mortals, rarely being seen in public. The male ones, like Apollo, Zeus, and Poseidon, occasionally sleep with a mortal, sometimes creating an immortal. Half-breeds are truly immortal, but quarter-breeds can be killed with a silver bullet or other weapon. With less than 1/64 divine blood, they're basically mortal humans.

The case in this story involves a rare half-breed, Charles Gaultier, who has been kidnapped. His majordomo, Constance Showers, hires Loud to find him. As he begins his investigation, he is soon thrown together with another private investigator, Trixie Gamble, a gorgeous woman who traces her lineage back to Cassandra of Troy. Millennia ago, Apollo fell in love with Cassandra and bestowed on her the gift of prophecy. She, however, spurned him. In revenge he cursed her to be able to foretell the future, but never be believed. Trixie has inherited this gift/curse, and the results are hilarious.

Trixie offered to give me a ride in her little red convertible. I told her that if anybody saw me sitting in the passenger seat, they would think I was a swish. She got that faraway look in her eyes and said that someday most men wouldn’t mind that. I laughed. She was always saying crazy things.

Schlichter, Kurt; Moises, Irina. Lost Angeles: Silver Bullets On The Sunset Strip (p. 44). Kindle Edition.

“The question is who tipped them off we were on the case. Dufrasne?”

“Maybe Goldman,” Trixie said. “He should have listened to me. But regardless, we’re on the Nazis’ radar now.”

“Their what?” I asked, baffled.

“I don’t know what that means,” Trixie said, confused.

Schlichter, Kurt; Moises, Irina. Lost Angeles: Silver Bullets On The Sunset Strip (p. 69). Kindle Edition.

Vivien Leigh’s pic was staring down from the wall into my tomato bisque. Across the way, the genuine article was nibbling on a lobster salad when she wasn’t berating her fiancé, Laurence Olivier, about something. The tabloids were calling her a homewrecker for stealing him away from his wife.

“She doesn’t seem to care much about the scandal,” I observed to Trixie.

“You don’t have to when you just won Best Actress,” Trixie replied. Leigh had picked up a little naked gold man for Gone With the Wind.

“Hooray for Hollywood,” I said and slurped a spoonful of soup.

Trixie got that strange, far-away look again. “Someday, a man will be nominated for Best Actress. He might even win.”

I about spit out my mouth full.

Schlichter, Kurt; Moises, Irina. Lost Angeles: Silver Bullets On The Sunset Strip (p. 71). Kindle Edition.

Trixie is on a similar case, trying to find out where a demigod has disappeared to. His mortal lover has hired her. Unfortunately, she found him dead in the trunk of a car, which is supposed to be impossible. Before she could figure out how that happened, the FBI showed up and whisked the body away.

So, Trixie and Eddie decide to team up and get to the bottom of who kidnapped Charles Gaultier and why. Before too long, they are tangling with German and American Nazis (remember, this is set in 1940, just before the US entered WWII), Hollywood and Russian communists, and mobsters. It's all a lot of fun, with tons of Schlichter's trademark sense of humor. He and Irina have dropped dozens of Easter eggs throughout the book. Here are a couple of examples:

As she finished her Dewars, I counted the bills. “Trust but verify” is my motto. I picked it up at The Trocadero one night when I overheard Ronald Reagan saying it to Jane Wyman at the next table.

Schlichter, Kurt; Moises, Irina. Lost Angeles: Silver Bullets On The Sunset Strip (p. 18). Kindle Edition.

Others gambled at tables set up along the walls. As we passed, a satyr dealt a blackjack to John Wayne. Clarke Gable, sadly, busted after being dealt a king on his twelve showing. He shrugged, frankly not giving a damn.

Schlichter, Kurt; Moises, Irina. Lost Angeles: Silver Bullets On The Sunset Strip (p. 157). Kindle Edition.

There's even a reference to "Captain Geech and the Shrimp Shack Shooters," a fictional beach movie band that was in the Tom Hanks movie, That Thing You Do.

In one respect, Loud is very different from Philip Marlowe: he has no hesitation using his gun, and in practically every scene, he and Trixie leave behind a trail of carnage. (The fact that the dead bodies are all Nazis and Commies makes it acceptable, though!)

As the story works its way up to the climax involving the Nazis, the Soviets, the FBI, and the Mob, Schlichter and Moises engage in some interesting conjecture: what, exactly would it be like to be immortal? Would it be a blessing or a curse? They make a very good case that living forever among mortals would be the latter.

In the Afterword, Schlichter and Moises assure us that this is the first book in a projected series, which I think is great news. Lost Angeles: Silver Bullets on the Sunset Strip is a very entertaining read, and I love all the digs they get in at contemporary Hollywood culture. I was laughing out loud at several jokes, and the plot is very engaging. It's a perfect mix of gritty noir and fantasy. Highly recommended if you are looking for a modern spoof of classic noir fiction.