Galway confidential

At the start of the satisfyingly complex 17th entry in Bruen's Jack Taylor series, the Irish PI has just awakened from a two-year coma caused by the climactic assault in Galway Epiphany. As Jack tries to adjust to the impact Covid-19 has had on daily life in Galway while he was comatose, two major cases are thrust into his lap. First, he's asked to find the perpetrator behind a series of savage physical attacks on two local nuns. Then a man living on the streets asks Jack to stop two young thugs who have been setting fire to homeless people at night. Though he's initially hesitant to take on the jobs, the sheer viciousness of the acts pricks at Jack's conscience, and he agrees. His investigations are soon hampered by the intrusion of a ruthless vigilante group and a self-appointed friend who runs a local crime podcast and claims to have saved Jack's life on the night of his assault. All the usual elements of a Jack Taylor novel--terse prose, muscular action, and plenty of Jameson--are on offer in spades, and though the conclusion is less bone-crunching than usual, it tees up the next entry nicely. This will more than satisfy series fans. Agent: Lukas Ortiz, Philip G. Spitzer Literary. (Mar.)

Galway private eye Jack Taylor awakens from an 18-month coma to a raging pandemic, two serial felons, and a most unexpected savior. Jack doesn't know the man who calls himself Raftery, but the former U.S. Marine, who's taken time out from his podcast, Galway Confidential, to visit Jack every day since rescuing him from a knife-wielding attacker, is at his side when he comes around. The rest of their city isn't doing so well. A pair of sadistic teenagers are dousing the city's plentiful street people with lighter fluid and setting them on fire, and some unrelated party has been beating local nuns badly enough to send them to the hospital and seems likely to send the next round of victims to the morgue. Geary, an old friend of Jack's who lives on the streets, tries to hire him to investigate the attacks on all those other homeless souls, but then he becomes the next victim. And ex-nun Sheila Winston, who guilts Jack into investigating all those wounded religious, ends up strangled with her own rosary. As usual with Bruen, the mystery is mainly an excuse for an unblinkered tour of the local lowlifes, its focus strategically blurred by shots of Jameson whiskey and throwaway apothegms referencing its title (e.g., "Keeping something confidential in Galway means you only tell two people instead of three"). And they're well worth touring, especially when they're set against the headline developments in world affairs that occasionally penetrate Jack's haze. The raffish hero's world feels like an unusually sordid theme park attraction. Just be sure to wipe your hands when you exit. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

The Mother Superior was having a frustrating morning. The pipes had burst, flooding a large part of the convent. Trying to get a plumber was testing her limited patience. The plumber said, "If I come today, it's double rate." She bit down on her lip. "Why?" He said, "See, Sister, I had another job lined up." Pause. "A highly lucrative gig but I cancelled it to agree to help you." She didn't believe a word of it, took a deep breath, said, "Very well, what time might we expect you?" He sighed, said, "I'm running late but I should get there round three." She wanted to scream but held it in. "We'll see you then." He said, "I'll want paying up front." She was outraged. "That's a little out of the usual way of business." He gave a nasty chuckle. "I've been stiffed by the clergy before. One chancer told me he'd pray for me." The Mother Superior thought, You won't be in my prayers. Asked, "Might I inquire the cost?" He reeled off the figure and she said, "That's very steep." There was bitterness in his voice when he spoke. "The price of doing business, Sister." And clicked off. She was just drawing breath when the phone shrilled again. She grabbed it, said tersely, "Yes?" A man's voice. "Whoa, not a very nunny opening." Something in his tone put her in mind of slithery things. She asked, "Who is this?" He hummed the opening bars of "Sympathy for the Devil" by the Rolling Stones. Then said, "Allow me to introduce myself." Pause. "How is your flock doing? Missing three, I daresay?" She felt a kick to the stomach, tried, "Is this some macabre joke?" He snickered, said, "Depends on who is laughing; are you laughing, babe?" She thought she might throw up but managed, "Who are you?" A beat. Then, "Think of a number." "What?" "A number, Sister, give me a digit or I'll bring the wrath of hell to your door." Without even thinking she said, "Six." Why on earth she said that she would agonize over through the years. The man said, "Good choice, leaves us with three to go, and I think that's doable, yeah?" In desperation she begged, "Who are you and what are these numbers?" He laughed. "Nuns. Three down and three to wallop." She muttered, "Sweet Lord in heaven." The man said, "God has left the building, or, rather, the convent." She made a last-ditch effort. "Come to the convent, we can talk, and maybe I can help you." He snarled, "Help? From a nun? Get real, Sister, I must go wash my hammer. It got messed up on the last outing. I used to use the axe but the hammer makes more of, how shall I put it, a crunch." And he was gone. The Mother Superior doubled over and managed to make it to the sink before throwing up. Her legs trembled and her heart pounded. After a bit, she allowed herself a small sherry, well, a large one in a small glass, then tried to compose herself; the sherry was sweet and lit her empty stomach like burning coal. The tremors eased in her body, and she was able to make a call. To Sheila Winston. She said, "Sheila, we may need that private investigator of yours after all." Excerpted from Galway Confidential: A Jack Taylor Mystery by Ken Bruen All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.