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The Poisoners (1971)

von Donald Hamilton

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1253216,987 (3.46)5
When Matt Helm is dispatched to Los Angeles to investigate the shooting of an agent, it wasn't just an assignment--it was personal. To get the answers he wants means run-ins with two-bit hoods, a trio of beautiful women, a bunch of drug traffickers, and his old friend Mr Soo, whose government has ideas about polluting America to death...… (mehr)
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If you are looking for good, solid hardboiled espionage fiction without fancy gadgets and worldwide megalomaniacs, look no further than Hamilton's excellent Matt Helm series. In 27 volumes which do seem surprisingly to get better as the series goes on, Hamilton takes a reluctant G-man who thought after the war he could settle down with a family in Santa Fe and turns him into a cynical, professional soldier for a super secret spy agency/ hit squad.

This volume, which is about midway through the series, takes Helm from some well-earned R & R fishing in the Mountains of New Mexico and sends him to Los Angeles to find out who shot a fellow agent, the redheaded knockout with the code name Ruby, and to wreak vengeance if it could be done cleanly and quietly. On the way, Helm gets caught between two warring Mafia factions, enticed by one femme fatale after another, tricked, captured, and led on a chase through the bars and roads of Baja.

It's a fast moving, well-executed plot that feels more akin to a hardboiled detective novel than a James Bond espionage story. Indeed, his meetings with the various hoods are straight out of hardboiled pulp studio A.

Although this is a great series, this novel in particular seems to be particularly well written. It's as if Hamilton got comfortable with this character and finally knew exactly what to do with him. ( )
  DaveWilde | Sep 22, 2017 |
Paint-by-numbers entry in the Matt Helm series. Not as ridiculous as the Menacers, but only a frail excuse for a real plot. Hamilton re-uses all his tricks from previous books: the bad guys talking too much in front of Helm; the sympathetic good/bad women; Helm letting himself be captured and beaten up so he can get to the source of the problem, etc. Only Helm's character and interior thought processes make this one worth reading. ( )
  datrappert | Jun 27, 2011 |
Not bad, but not my favorite in this series. One of the few times his basic plot is forced, IMO. ( )
  jimmaclachlan | Sep 25, 2009 |
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Nobody was supposed to meet me at the Los Angeles Airport, and nobody did.
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There were headlights in my mirrors, coming up fast. McConnell turned to run. I reached over, hit the door handle on the curb side, dove to the sidewalk, rolled, and came up with a gun in my hand, but it was too late. There were two of them, in one of those fat-tired, souped-up, fast-back little sport coupes, complete with fake racing stripes, that are America's current answer to the true European sports car. You may like them or you may not - I don't, particularly - but you've got to admit that not much can beat them for sheer acceleration. Some of them even have pretty good brakes nowadays, a real innovation for Detroit. The coupe shot past as I was picking myself off the sidewalk, and slowed sharply beyond me. I saw a short shotgun barrel thrust out the right-hand window. It flamed twice in the night and McConnell fell; then the rub-out men were getting out of there with shrieking tires and snarling exhausts, and I still hadn't had a clear shot at them. Punching holes in automobiles isn't exactly what the standard short-barreled .38 Special does best. There's something to be said for the big guns after all, and I'd pulled out the .44 I'd been lugging around since nobody else seemed to want it. The coupe was receding fast. I cocked the massive revolver as I thrust it out two-handed , and I let it fire when the front sight blade steadied on the left half of the slanting rear window. Even with two hands gripping it hard, the cannon kicked so hard you wouldn't believe it. The coupe swerved violently across the street and plowed into the parked cars there. After a moment, the right-hand door opened and the shotgunner staggered out, still clutching his weapon, a semi-automatic job that would hold at least three shells, probably more. What I mean is, even if he hadn't managed to reload, he probably had ammunition left. I saw no reason why he should get any breaks from me, and shotguns scare hell out of me anyway, so I didn't wait for him to swing the weapon towards me. I just knocked him over while he was still looking for a target. The heavy .44 slug chopped him down like a tree.
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When Matt Helm is dispatched to Los Angeles to investigate the shooting of an agent, it wasn't just an assignment--it was personal. To get the answers he wants means run-ins with two-bit hoods, a trio of beautiful women, a bunch of drug traffickers, and his old friend Mr Soo, whose government has ideas about polluting America to death...

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