THE CREED OF VIOLENCE

Father and son do that Oedipal thing in turbulent 1910 Mexico.

Revolution is brewing, and (predictably) predators of every description smell opportunity in the looming unrest. Among these is a slick, steely-eyed unregenerate who calls himself Rawbone. He has adopted a creed he refers to as “the practical application of strategy,” an operational philosophy that enables scoundrels to steal and kill with amoral impunity. Rawbone applies it unstintingly though not flawlessly. Having successfully hijacked a truck loaded with guns and ammunition headed for interested parties in Mexico, he suddenly finds himself in the hands of the newly formed Bureau of Investigation. If Rawbone will cooperate in a sting aimed at certain big-time robber barons, he’ll earn blanket immunity for a lifetime of villainy. If not, it’s the slammer. He chooses the sting, of course. Going along with him as a minder—no sensible law-enforcement chief would permit Rawbone any more free rein than absolutely necessary—is a smart, tough young agent named John Lourdes, no straighter an arrow than his charge. Lourdes isn’t his real name, nor for that matter is Rawbone a real name, nor are the men new to each other, though only one of them is aware of the complex history they share. From the very outset of their dangerous mission, the two find reasons to dislike each other, dislike that grows into mutual detestation. But danger prolonged can be its own kind of crucible, transformative and finally redemptive.

As always, Teran’s prose (The Prince of Deadly Weapons, 2002, etc.) has an unfortunate way of turning purple, but the man can flat out spin a yarn.