This is not one of the Ed Mcbain’s 87th precinct series peppered with laconic, wide-shouldered New York cops knocking you over with panache. Downtown is almost a fable with each scene more surreal than its brother. The hero is like the Russian village boy out on a quest. Except that he is from Florida and only trying to catch a flight to his mother. Only that its Christmas and its snowing. Only that he remembers the murders he committed as a boy soldier in Vietnam. Only that everyone in New York seems to be called Charlie. And that the only person whom he can trust is a demure and resourceful Chinese girl who drives a limo.
Instead of giants and monsters, the fabulous beings are the peculiar creatures of Ed McBain’s New York. Poor Michael Barnes tumbles into an adventure where he meets an enormously fat policewoman in red lingerie, is hunted by a blonde assassin and her wise-cracking partners, attacked by a stilleto wielding starlet, kidnapped by a mobster, watches an allegory play and poses as a New York Times reviewer. But the most important quesion that must be solved is: Who is Mama?
