By Max Allan Collins
It’s 1962, and 20th Century Fox is threatening to fireside Marilyn Monroe. The blond goddess hires Nate Heller, deepest eye to the celebrities, to faucet her mobilephone so she is going to have a checklist in their calls in case they take her to courtroom. while Heller begins listening, he uncovers excess of nasty conversations. The CIA, the FBI, the Mafia—even the Russians—are excited about activities concerned with Marilyn. She’s the vital American cultural icon, idolized via ladies, wanted by way of males, yet her deepest lifestyles is... complicated...and her connection to the Kennedys makes her an item of curiosity to a few events with sinister intentions. no longer lengthy after Heller symptoms on, Marilyn lands up useless of a handy overdose. The detective feels he owes her, and the Kennedys, with whom he busted up corrupt unions within the Nineteen Fifties. yet now, as Heller investigates all attainable people—famous, notorious, or deeply cloaked—who should be answerable for Marilyn’s demise, he realizes that what has turn into his such a lot hard task can also be the top of him. PI Nathan Heller returns in his first new novel in a decade, as Max Allan Collins brings to existence a shiny star-studded forged, from JFK and RFK to Frank Sinatra and Peter Lawford, from Jimmy Hoffa and Joe DiMaggio to Hugh Hefner and Sam Giancana. Bye Bye, child is a Hollywood story you by no means notion may possibly happen…but most likely did.
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Extra resources for Bye Bye, Baby (The Memoirs of Nathan Heller)
We get along. ” I didn’t want to talk about it. “So Hoffa’s your client, and you think Giancana is, too. ” He blinked at me, then grinned—amused, amazed. “You’re kidding, right? ” He had the goofy grin of a high schooler telling a pal about a girl who put out. “Her and the prez—that poon hound Jack Kennedy. You know the Kennedy boys, don’t you, Nate? More famous pals of yours. ” “I don’t brag. ” I shrugged. ” I grunted a laugh. Pawed the air. “But this is silly, Rodge. I mean, ridiculous. Marilyn and Jack Kennedy … the president … of the United States?
Is that rack of shit screwed in? ” I blinked. I admit it—I blinked. ” The Company. CIA. Christ, why would they care who Marilyn was fucking? The FBI I could understand—everybody knew J. Edgar Hoover and the Kennedy brothers were not each other’s biggest fans. That Hoover kept a legendary cache of dirt on the rich, famous, and powerful. “And … that’s it?
Thick white carpeting and textured white walls made a sharp contrast with bright colors courtesy of Mexican art and dark, rustic furnishings that matched the open beams. In a white cotton short-sleeve blouse and dark capri pants, Marilyn—sitting Indian-style on the carpet near the unlighted fireplace—wore only a touch of lipstick, her platinum hair tousled, though her toes did reveal red nails. She had a fresh, freckled, youthful look, more Norma Jeane than MM. She just smiled and waved, like a beauty queen on a float who’d spotted a homely gal friend in the crowd, and returned to her dictation.