“Beneath the deluge the city always acquired a dreamy quality: tonight it looked much like a pretty watercolor painting someone had left out in the rain. As he continued gazing out the high, rain-splattered window watching the storm, Ed could almost envision the city as a beautiful place. As a cop, however, he knew the city to be a dirty, sometimes cruel and soulless place that no amount of rain could ever cleanse completely.”

Ed Barilla is a lieutenant in the city police force who has fallen in love with his beautiful neighbor Laura Rawlings. The problem is that Laura is already married to State Senator Ted Rawlings, a scumbag of a politician who cares more about his political ambitions and power than he does about being nice to his wife.

“Ed recognized all too well the difference between retreat and surrender. Laura had retreated into some dark corner for safety, and didn’t dare come out for fear of being hurt so bad that not getting up would no longer be optional. Ed wanted to reach down into Laura’s dark place and take her hand in his, so he could pull her back up into the sunshine.”

When Ed gets wind of Laura’s abuse by her husband, he reveals his feelings for her, and the adventure begins. Add in an honest District Attorney who plans to unseat the unscrupulous Senator, and a nasty mobster vying for more money and power, and you have the makings for fast-paced 1950s-style noir at its best.
Carousel is like a finely tuned ride in a brand new 1955 Ford Fairlane Crown Vic Skyliner. In this seventh installment of Underwood’s fabulous Noir Shots series, he artistically blends a toned-down gritty noir with tender romance. The period comes to life with vividly described characters and wonderful nostalgic references to the popular culture of the time. Sprinkled in with care are homages to mid-century actors, musicians, books, and sports figures. I especially loved the wonderful tributes to the baseball players of the day. Underwood is undoubtedly a big fan of the Grand Ol’ Game, giving me more reason to cheer.

“…he smelled like he hadn’t been near a bar of Lux since somebody other than the Yankees had won the World Series, which might have been when Lemon and Feller of the Indians shut down the Braves back in ‘48.”

“Well, no one’s getting past first with Priscilla out there, and even Jackie Robinson couldn’t make it to third.”

Underwood writes in a voice that is perfectly suitable to the throwback detective fiction of the era.

“He drove faster than prudent, the rear end swaying back and forth in the slush more than the last unpicked whore in Times Square on a stormy Friday night.”

“Like the St. Louis Browns’ Satchel Paige, she was way past her prime, but still had something left in the tank.”

“Her Cadillac looked more out of place at a dump like this than Leo Durocher did showing up at a church bingo game.”

On the cold Hedy Lamarr look-alike secretary: “He wasn’t going to waste another smile on her. His lips were frostbitten from the first one.”

There are so many perfect lines that all add up to a product that is much more than the sum of its parts. After you read this Noir Shot, you’ll be wanting to read all of his others. ( )