Donald E. Westlake is one of those names, like Lawrence Block or Elmore Leonard or Mickey Spillane, that just conjures up a certain mid-20th Century grimey sort of crime story.  Of course, his Parker novels (under the pen name Richard Stark) are almost a subgenre of their own.  But Westlake was prolific and well loved for good reason.

Somebody Owes Me Money is not high art or great literature.  It’s a punchy, rough & tumble, somewhat goofy caper.  Funny enough, it echoes the first Parker story, in that the main character doesn’t care about much else.  He just wants his $930.  

What follows is an improbable adventure around New York City, facing off against cops, dames, goons, mob bosses, and most terrifyingly, a bit of suburbia.  Chet is not the sharpest knife in the drawer.  He’s a cabbie and kind of a loser.  I don’t even know if he really means well.  I don’t think he means much of anything.  He’s just a work-a-day slob with little going on.  But he did just win enough money to pay off his debts and have some fun money, and dang it. He means to collect.  When his bookie gets plugged, the problems are just starting.

Very readable.  Not challenging.  It’s very much of its time (1969).  The women are not presented in an especially enlightened way.  There are a few bits of racism and such peppered in.  I’ve certainly read worse on both counts.  I like that the book feels so New York City.  Not just because Westlake brings up a lot of specific streets and locations, but because he revels in its urban grit.  This is old NYC.  This is the NYC of Time Square peep shows and men still wearing hats.  If you like this sort of thing, you can definitely do worse than Westlake. 

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