For your consideration: a deliciously pulpy, old-fashioned tale of betrayal, greed, lust, corruption, sex, and violence set in a pre-Castro Cuba ruled by a corrupt government, American corporate interests, and American organized crime.
Not only is Havana Highwire set in the 1950s—it feels like it was written then, possibly shortly after Mickey Spillane peed in the pool and transformed the shamus game forever. It wouldn’t have been out of place on a paperback spinner rack, possibly published by Fawcett or Signet.
But where Mike Hammer was arguably the “good” guy in his books, there’s nothing particularly heroic about Henry Gore, the opportunistic American yob who, after serving three cold years as a special investigator for the U.S. Air Force in the “snowy potato fields” of Maine, has opted for a new life: expat private investigator in the much warmer clime of wide-open Havana.
His big plan is to cater to the interests (and suspicions) of norte americanos, tailing wayward spouses and lovers on vacations and “business” trips, and hopefully grabbing a few in flagrante snapshots.
Only problem?
Gore’s partner is shady local Ramón Mercado, whom he doesn’t quite trust, and who seems more interested in running his own scams. And then, after only a month in Cuba, a simple catch ’em in the act at a local, Syndicate-controlled nightclub goes off the rails and Gore ends up being beaten and banned from most of the mob-run clubs and restaurants in town.
Things look bleak, until he’s forced by the Batista government to pose as a gunrunner to expose a secret cadre of rebels hoping to topple the regime. Seems that the government, not exactly a paragon of virtue itself, fears the police may be too corrupt to be trusted. Which they probably are. Although I’m not sure anyone in this book is to be counted on, including, possibly, Henry, who handles the narration choices.
Having no real love for the Red Menace or for starving to death, Henry reluctantly agrees. It’s a hell of a way to make a living, though, and the author tosses in all the expected pulp goodies from film and literature you’d expect: a “bad” girl (a sultry nightclub performer), a “good” girl love interest (a fresh-faced sweetie from the Midwest trying to make it as a singer), an annoyingly unctuous young street urchin companion (think Jai from the 1960s Tarzan TV series), disturbing scenes of torture, some sexy violence, some violent sex, slippery allegiances, a waterfront shootout, and plenty of shoulda-seen-it-coming betrayals.
To his credit, author John Keyse-Walker knows how to keep things moving. He may not be breaking much new ground here, and he’s no Spillane, but he makes good use of a vibrant and underused setting, and he doesn’t try to candy coat a damn thing. There are no heroes here—just winners and (mostly) losers. He also pumps a lot of local color into the proceedings that feels pretty spot on.
And while Henry may flip-flop from side to side—sometimes it’s not clear who’s zooming who—there’s no doubt where the author was heading all along: an appearance from some bandit named Castro “hiding in the mountains” is hinted at, presumably for the next book.
