November Road: A Novel

By Lou Berney

"When people say they want to read a really good novel, the kind you just can't put down, this is the kind of book they mean. Exceptional." —STEPHEN KING

“Berney’s emotional, empathetic writing keeps . . . the pages turning.” —ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY, “Required Reading”

NAMED A BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR BY Entertainment Weekly • Washington Post • AARP • Newsweek • Dallas Morning News • South Florida Sun-Sentinel • Chicago Public Library • Real Book Spy • CrimeReads • Litreactor • Library Journal • LitHub • Booklist

Winner of the Barry, Macavity, and Anthony Awards, the Hammett Prize, the Left Coast Crime “Lefty” Award for Best Mystery Novel, the Oklahoma Book Award for Best Fiction Novel, and the CWA Ian Fleming Steel Dagger award for Best Thriller Novel!

Set against the assassination of JFK, a poignant and evocative crime novel that centers on a desperate cat-and-mouse chase across 1960s America—a story of unexpected connections, daring possibilities, and the hope of second chances from the Edgar Award-winning author of The Long and Faraway Gone.

Frank Guidry’s luck has finally run out.

A loyal street lieutenant to New Orleans’ mob boss Carlos Marcello, Guidry has learned that everybody is expendable. But now it’s his turn—he knows too much about the crime of the century: the assassination of President John F. Kennedy.

Within hours of JFK’s murder, everyone with ties to Marcello is turning up dead, and Guidry suspects he’s next: he was in Dallas on an errand for the boss less than two weeks before the president was shot. With few good options, Guidry hits the road to Las Vegas, to see an old associate—a dangerous man who hates Marcello enough to help Guidry vanish.

Guidry knows that the first rule of running is "don’t stop," but when he sees a beautiful housewife on the side of the road with a broken-down car, two little daughters and a dog in the back seat, he sees the perfect disguise to cover his tracks from the hit men on his tail. Posing as an insurance man, Guidry offers to help Charlotte reach her destination, California. If she accompanies him to Vegas, he can help her get a new car.

For her, it’s more than a car— it’s an escape. She’s on the run too, from a stifling existence in small-town Oklahoma and a kindly husband who’s a hopeless drunk.

It’s an American story: two strangers meet to share the open road west, a dream, a hope—and find each other on the way.

Charlotte sees that he’s strong and kind; Guidry discovers that she’s smart and funny. He learns that’s she determined to give herself and her kids a new life; she can’t know that he’s desperate to leave his old one behind.

Another rule—fugitives shouldn’t fall in love, especially with each other. A road isn’t just a road, it’s a trail, and Guidry’s ruthless and relentless hunters are closing in on him. But now Guidry doesn’t want to just survive, he wants to really live, maybe for the first time.

Everyone’s expendable, or they should be, but now Guidry just can’t throw away the woman he’s come to love.

And it might get them both killed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Release date: Oct 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9780062663870

Lou Berney

Lou Berney is the multiple award-winning author of Dark Ride, November Road, and The Long and Faraway Gone, as well as Gutshot Straight and Whiplash River. His short fiction has appeared in publications such as The New Yorker, Ploughshares, and the Pushcart Prize anthology. He lives in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, and teaches in the MFA program at Oklahoma City University.

Book preview

1963

1

Behold! The Big Easy in all its wicked splendor!

Frank Guidry paused at the corner of Toulouse to bask in the neon furnace glow. He’d lived in New Orleans the better part of his thirty-seven years on earth, but the dirty glitter and sizzle of the French Quarter still hit his bloodstream like a drug. Yokels and locals, muggers and hustlers, fire-eaters and magicians. A go-go girl was draped over the wrought-iron rail of a second-floor balcony, one boob sprung free from her sequined negligee and swaying like a metronome to the beat of the jazz trio inside. Bass, drums, piano, tearing through Night and Day. But that was New Orleans for you. Even the worst band in the crummiest clip joint in the city could swing, man, swing.

A guy came whipping up the street, screaming bloody murder. Hot on his heels—a woman waving a butcher knife, screaming, too.

Guidry soft-shoed out of their way. The beat cop on the corner yawned. The juggler outside the 500 Club didn’t drop a ball. Just another Wednesday night on Bourbon Street.

Come on, fellas! The go-go girl on the balcony wagged her boob at a pair of drunken sailors. They stood swaying on the curb, watching their pal puke into the gutter. Be a gent and buy a lady a drink!

The sailors leered up at her. How much?

How much you got?

Guidry smiled. And so the world spins round. The go-go girl had black velvet kitten ears pinned to her bouffant and false eyelashes so long that Guidry didn’t know how she could see through them. Maybe that was the point.

He turned onto Bienville, easing through the crowd. He wore a gray-on-gray nailhead suit the color of wet asphalt, cut from a lightweight wool-silk blend that his tailor ordered in special from Italy. White shirt, crimson tie. No hat. If the president of the United States didn’t need a hat, then neither did Guidry.

A right on Royal. The bellhop at the Monteleone scrambled to open the door for him. How’s tricks, Mr. Guidry?

Well, Tommy, I’ll tell you, Guidry said. I’m too old to learn any new ones, but the old ones still work just fine.

The Carousel Bar was popping, as usual. Guidry said hello hello hello how’re you how’re you as he worked his way across the room. He shook hands and slapped backs and asked Fat Phil Lorenzo if he’d eaten dinner or just the waiter who brought it. That got a laugh. One of the boys who worked for Sam Saia hooked an arm around Guidry’s neck and whispered in his ear.

I need to talk to you.

Then talk we shall, Guidry said.

The table in the back corner. Guidry liked the view. One of life’s enduring truths: If something was after you, you wanted to see it coming first.

A waitress brought him a double Macallan, rocks on the side. Sam Saia’s boy started talking. Guidry sipped his drink and watched the action in the room. The men working the girls, the girls working the men. Smiles and lies and glances veiled by smoke. A hand sliding up under the hem of a dress, lips brushing against an ear. Guidry loved it. Everyone here looking for an angle to work, a tender spot.

We already have the place, Frank, it’s perfect. The guy owns the building, the bar downstairs, he’ll front for peanuts. He might as well be giving it to us for free.

Table games, Guidry said.

High class all the way. A real carpet joint. But the cops won’t talk to us. We need you to smooth the way with that asshole cop Dorsey. You know how he likes his coffee.

The art of the payoff. Guidry understood each man’s price, the right kicker to close the deal. A girl? A boy? A girl and a boy? Lieutenant Dorsey of the Eighth District, as Guidry recalled, had a wife who would appreciate a pair of diamond pendant earrings from Adler’s.

You understand that Carlos will have to go along with it, Guidry said.

Carlos will go along with it if you tell him it’s a good play, Frank. We’ll give you five points for your piece.

A redhead at the bar had her eye on Guidry. She liked his dark hair and olive skin, his lean build and dimpled chin, the Cajun slant to his green eyes. The slant was how the guineas could tell that Guidry wasn’t one of them.

Five? Guidry said.

C’mon, Frank. We’re doing all the work here.

Then you don’t need me, do you?

Be reasonable.

Guidry could see the redhead working up her nerve with every slow revolution of the merry-go-round. Her girlfriend egged her on. The padded silk back of each seat at the Carousel Bar featured a hand-painted jungle beast. Tiger, elephant, hyena.

Oh, ‘Nature, red in tooth and claw,’ Guidry said.

What? Saia’s boy said.

That’s Lord Tennyson I’m quoting, you uncultured barbarian.

Ten points, Frank. Best we can do.

Fifteen. And a look at the books whenever the mood strikes. Now, skedaddle.

Saia’s boy glowered and seethed, but such were the rude realities of supply and demand. Lieutenant Dorsey was the hardest-headed cop in New Orleans. Only Guidry had the skill to soften him up.

He ordered another scotch. The redhead crushed out her cigarette and strolled over. She had Cleopatra eyes—the latest look—and a golden tan. She was a stewardess, maybe, home from a layover in Miami or Vegas. She sat down without asking, impressed with her own boldness.

My girlfriend over there told me to stay away from you, she said.

Guidry wondered how many openers she’d rehearsed in her mind before she picked the winner. But here you are.

My girlfriend says you have some very interesting friends.

Well, I’ve plenty of dull ones, too, Guidry said.

She says you work for you-know-who, she said.

The notorious Carlos Marcello?

Is it true?

Never heard of him.

She toyed with the cherry in her drink, making a show of it. She was nineteen, twenty years old. In a couple of years, she’d marry the biggest Uptown bank account she could find and settle down. Now, though, she wanted an adventure. Guidry was delighted to oblige.

So aren’t you curious? the redhead said. Why I didn’t listen to my girlfriend and stay away from you?

Because you don’t like it when people tell you that you can’t have something you want, he said.

She narrowed her eyes, as if he’d snuck a peek in her purse while she wasn’t looking. I don’t.

Neither do I, Guidry said. We only get one ride in this life, one time around. If we don’t enjoy every minute of it, if we don’t embrace pleasure with open arms, who’s to blame for that?

I like to enjoy life, she said.

I like to hear that.

My name is Eileen.

Guidry saw that Mackey Pagano had entered the bar. Gaunt and gray and unshaven, Mackey looked like he’d been living under a rock. He spotted Guidry and jerked his chin at him.

Oh, Mackey. His timing was poor. But he had an eye for opportunity and never brought in a deal that didn’t pay.

Guidry stood. Wait here, Eileen.

Where are you going? she said, surprised.

He crossed the room and gave Mackey a hug. Ye gods. Mackey smelled as bad he looked. He needed a shower and a fresh suit, without delay.

Must have been one helluva party, Mack, Guidry said. Regale me.

I’ve got a proposition for you, Mackey said.

I thought you might.

Let’s take a walk.

He grabbed Guidry’s elbow and steered him back out into the lobby. Past the cigar stand, down a deserted corridor, down another one.

Are we going all the way to Cuba, Mack? Guidry said. I won’t look as good with a beard.

They finally stopped, in front of the doors to the back service entrance.

So what do you have for me? Guidry said.

I don’t have anything, Mackey said.

What?

I just needed to talk to you.

You’ve noted that I have better things to do at the moment, Guidry said.

I’m sorry. I’m in a bind, Frankie. I might be in a real bind.

Guidry had a smile for every occasion. This occasion: to hide the uneasiness that began to creep over him. He gave Mackey’s shoulder a squeeze. You’ll be all right, old buddy, old pal. How bad can it be? But Guidry didn’t like the shake in Mackey’s voice, the way Mackey kept his grip tight on the sleeve of Guidry’s suit coat.

Had anyone noticed the two of them leaving the Carousel together? What if someone happened to come round that corner right now and caught them skulking? Trouble in this business had a way of spreading, just like a cold or the clap. Guidry knew you could catch it from the wrong handshake, an unlucky glance.

I’ll come by your pad this weekend, Guidry said. I’ll help you sort it out.

I need to get it sorted out now.

Guidry tried to ease away. I’ve got to split. Tomorrow, Mack. Cross my heart.

I haven’t been back to my place in a week, Mackey said.

Name the spot. I’ll meet you wherever you want.

Mackey watched him. Those hooded eyes, they seemed almost gentle in a certain light. Mackey knew that Guidry was lying about meeting tomorrow. Of course he did. Guidry came by his talent for deception naturally, but Mackey had taught him the nuances, had helped him hone and perfect his craft.

How long have we known each other, Frankie? Mackey said.

I see, Guidry said. The sentimental approach.

You were sixteen years old.

Fifteen. Guidry just off the turnip truck from Ascension Parish, Louisiana, and tumbling around the Faubourg Marigny. Living hand to mouth, stealing cans of pork and beans off the shelves of the A&P. Mackey saw promise in him and gave Guidry his first real job. Every morning for a year, Guidry had picked up the cut from the girls on St. Peter and hurried it over to Snake Gonzalez, the legendary pimp. Five dollars a day and the quick end to any romantic notions Guidry might have still had about the human species.

Please, Frankie, Mackey said.

What do you want?

Talk to Seraphine. Get the lay of the land for me. Maybe I’m crazy.

What happened? Never mind. I don’t care. Guidry wasn’t interested in the details of Mackey’s predicament. He was only interested in the details of his predicament, the one that Mackey had just created for him.

You remember about a year ago, Mackey said, when I went out to ’Frisco to talk to a guy about that thing with the judge. Carlos called it all off, you remember, but—

Stop, Guidry said. I don’t care. Damn it, Mack.

I’m sorry, Frankie. You’re the only one I can trust. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.

Mackey waited. Guidry tugged the knot of his tie loose. What was life but this? A series of rapid calculations: the shifting of weights, the balancing of scales. The only poor decision was a decision you allowed someone else to make for you.

All right, all right, Guidry said. But I can’t put a word in for you, Mack. It’s my hide then, too. You understand that?

I understand, Mackey said. Just find out if I need to blow town. I’ll blow tonight.

Stay put till you hear from me.

I’m over on Frenchmen Street, at Darlene Monette’s place. Come by afterward. Don’t leave a message.

Darlene Monette?

She owes me one, Mackey said. He watched Guidry with those hooded eyes. Begging. Telling Guidry, You owe me one.

Stay put until you hear from me, Guidry said.

Thank you, Frankie.

Guidry called Seraphine from a pay phone in the lobby. She didn’t answer at home, so he tried Carlos’s private office out on Airline Highway in Metairie. How many people had that number? It couldn’t have been more than a dozen. Look at me now, Ma!

"Are we not still meeting Friday, mon cher?" Seraphine said.

We are, Guidry said. Can’t a fella just call to shoot the breeze?

My favorite pastime.

I caught a rumor that Uncle Carlos is looking for a penny he dropped. Our friend Mackey. Or do I have that wrong?

Guidry heard a silky rustle. When Seraphine stretched, she arched her back like a cat. He heard the tink of a single ice cube in a glass.

You don’t have that wrong, she said.

Goddamn it. So Mackey’s fears were not unfounded. Carlos wanted him dead.

"Are you still there, mon cher?"

Goddamn it. Mackey had cooked Guidry dinner a thousand times. He’d introduced Guidry to the Marcello brothers. He’d vouched for Guidry when no one else in the world knew that Guidry existed.

But all that was yesterday. Guidry cared only about today, about tomorrow.

Tell Carlos to have a look on Frenchmen Street, Guidry said. There’s a house with green shutters on the corner of Rampart. Darlene Monette’s place. Top floor, the flat in back.

"Thank you, mon cher," Seraphine said.

Guidry strolled back to the Carousel. The redhead had waited for him. He watched her for a minute from the doorway. Yea or nay, ladies and gentlemen of the jury? He liked how she’d started to wilt a bit, her Cleopatra eyeliner blurring and the flip in her hair going flat. She shook off a mope who tried to make time with her and ran a finger along the rim of her empty highball glass. Deciding to give Guidry five more minutes, that was it, no more, and this time she meant it.

He wished that it had played out differently with Mackey. He wished that Seraphine had said, You’ve heard wrong, mon cher, Carlos has no quarrel with Mackey. But now all Guidry could do was shrug. Weights and measures, simple arithmetic. Someone might have seen him with Mackey tonight. Guidry couldn’t risk it. Why would he want to?

He took the redhead back to his place. He lived fifteen floors above Canal Street, in a modern high-rise that was a sleek spike of steel and concrete, sealed off and cooled from the inside out. In the summer, when the rest of the city sweltered, Guidry didn’t break a sweat.

Ooh, the redhead said, I dig it.

The floor-to-ceiling view, the black leather sofa, the glass-and-chromium bar cart, the expensive hi-fi. She positioned herself by the window, a hand on her hip, weight on one leg to show off her curves, glancing over her shoulder the way she’d seen the models in magazines do it.

I’m wild to live high up like this someday, she said. All the lights. All the stars. It’s like being in a rocket ship.

Guidry didn’t want her to get the wrong idea, that he intended to have a conversation, so he pushed her up against the window. The glass flexed and the stars shimmied. He kissed her. The neck, the tender joint between her jaw and ear. She smelled like a cigarette butt floating in a puddle of Lanvin perfume.

Her fingers raked his hair. He grabbed her hand and pinned it behind her. With his other hand, he reached up under her skirt.

Oh, she said.

Satin panties. He left them on her for now and lightly, lightly traced the contours beneath, two fingers gliding over every subtle swell and crease. At the same time kissing her neck harder, letting her feel his teeth.

Oh. She meant it this time.

He pushed the elastic band out of the way and slid his fingers inside her. In and out, the pad of his thumb on her clit, searching for the rhythm she liked, the right amount of pressure. When he felt her breathing shift, her hips rotate, he eased off. The muscles in her neck tightened with surprise. He waited for a few seconds and then started again. Her relief was a shiver of electricity running through her body. When he eased off a second time, she gasped like she’d been kicked.

Don’t stop, she said.

He leaned back so he could look at her. Her eyes were glazed, her face a smear of bliss and need. Say please.

Please, she said.

Say pretty please.

Please.

He finished her. Every woman came in a different way. Eyes slitted or chin thrust out, lips parted or nostrils flared, a sigh or a snarl. Always, though, there was that one instant when the world around her ceased to exist, a white atomic flash.

Oh, my God. The redhead’s world pieced itself back together. My legs are shaking.

Weights and measures, simple arithmetic. Mackey would have made the same calculation if his and Guidry’s roles had been reversed. Mackey would have picked up the phone and made the same call that Guidry made, without question. And Guidry would have respected him for it. C’est la vie. Such was this particular life, at least.

He flipped the redhead around, hiked up her skirt, yanked down her panties. The glass flexed again when he thrust into her. Guidry’s landlord claimed the windows in the building could withstand a hurricane, but that remained to be seen.

2

Charlotte imagined herself alone on the bridge of a ship, a storm raging and the sea flinging itself over the deck. Sailcloth ripped, lines snapped. And toss in a few splintering planks for good measure, why don’t we? The sun bled a cold, colorless light that made Charlotte feel as if she had already drowned.

Mommy, Rosemary called from the living room, Joan and I have a question.

I told you to come eat breakfast, chickadees, Charlotte said.

September is your favorite month of autumn, isn’t it, Mommy? And November is your least favorite?

Come eat breakfast.

The bacon was burning. Charlotte tripped on the dog, sprawled in the middle of the floor, and lost her shoe. On the way back across the kitchen—the toaster had begun to smoke now, too—she tripped on the shoe. The dog twitched and grimaced, a seizure approaching. Charlotte prayed for a false alarm.

Plates. Forks. Charlotte put on lipstick with one hand as she poured juice with the other. It was already half past seven. Where did the time go? Anywhere but here, apparently.

Girls! she called.

Dooley shuffled into the kitchen, still in his pajamas, with the greenish tint and martyred posture of an El Greco saint.

You’re going to be late for work again, honey, Charlotte said.

He sagged into a chair. I feel awful puny this morning.

Charlotte supposed that he did. It had been after one in the morning when she heard the front door finally bang open, when she heard him come bumping and weaving down the hallway. He’d taken off his pants before he came to bed but had been too drunk to remember his sport coat. As drunk as usual, in other words.

Would you like some coffee? Charlotte said. I’ll make you some toast.

Might be the flu, I’m thinking.

She admired her husband’s ability to keep a straight face. Or maybe he really believed his own lies? He was a trusting soul, after all.

He took a sip of the coffee and then shuffled back out of the kitchen, into the bathroom. She heard him retch, then rinse.

The girls climbed into their seats at the table. Rosemary, seven, and Joan, eight. To look at them, you’d never guess that they were sisters. Joan’s little blond head was always as sleek and shiny as the head of a pin. Meanwhile several tendrils of Rosemary’s unruly chestnut hair had already sprung free from the tortoiseshell band. An hour from now, she’d look as if she’d been raised by wolves.

But I like November, Joan said.

No, Joan, see, September is best because that’s the one month every year when we’re the same age, Rosemary said. And October has Halloween. Halloween is better than Thanksgiving, of course. So November has to be your least favorite month of autumn.

Okay, Joan said. She was ever agreeable. A good thing, with a little sister like Rosemary.

Charlotte searched for her purse. She’d had it in her hand a moment ago. Hadn’t she? She heard Dooley retch again, rinse again. The dog had flopped over and then settled. According to the veterinarian, the new medicine might reduce the frequency of the seizures or it might not. They would have to wait and see.

She found her lost shoe beneath the dog. She had to pry it out from beneath the thick, heavy folds of him.

Poor Daddy, Rosemary said. Is he under the weather again?

You could certainly say that, Charlotte conceded. Yes.

Dooley returned from the bathroom, looking less green but more martyred.

Daddy! the girls said.

He winced. Shhh. My head.

Daddy, Joan and I agree that September is our favorite month of autumn and November is our least favorite month. Do you want us to explain why?

Unless it snows in November, Joan said.

Oh, yes! Rosemary said. If it snows, then it’s the best month. Joan, let’s pretend it’s snowing now. Let’s pretend the wind is howling and the snow is melting down our necks.

Okay, Joan said.

Charlotte set the toast in front of Dooley and gave each girl a kiss on the top of the head. Her love for her daughters defied understanding. Sometimes the sudden, unexpected detonation of it shook Charlotte from head to toe.

Charlie, I wouldn’t mind a fried egg, Dooley said.

You don’t want to be late for work again, honey.

Oh, hell. Pete doesn’t mind when I come in. I might call in sick today anyway.

Pete Winemiller owned the hardware store in town. A friend of Dooley’s father, Pete was the latest in a long line of friends and clients who’d done the old man a favor and hired his wayward son. And the latest in a long line of employers whose patience with Dooley had been quickly exhausted.

But Charlotte had to proceed with caution. She’d learned early in the marriage that the wrong word or tone of voice or poorly timed frown could send Dooley into a wounded sulk that might last for hours.

Didn’t Pete say last week that he needed you bright and early every day? she said.

Oh, don’t worry about Pete. He’s full of gas.

But I bet he’s counting on you. Maybe if you just—

Lord Almighty, Charlie, Dooley said. I’m a sick man. Can’t you see that? You’re trying to wring blood from a stone.

If only dealing with Dooley were so simple or so easy as that. Charlotte hesitated and then turned away. All right, she said. I’ll fry you an egg.

I’m going to lie down on the couch for a minute. Holler at me when it’s ready.

She watched him exit. Where did the time go? Only a moment ago, Charlotte had been eleven years old, not twenty-eight. Only a moment ago, she’d been barefoot and baked brown by the long prairie summer, racing through swishing bluestem and switchgrass as tall as her waist, leaping from the high bank of the Redbud River, cannonballing into the water. Parents always warned their children to stay in the shallows, on the town side of the river, but Charlotte had been the strongest swimmer of any her friends, undaunted by the current, and she could make it to the far shore, to parts unknown, with hardly any trouble at all.

Charlotte remembered lying sprawled in the sun afterward, daydreaming about skyscrapers in New York City and movie premieres in Hollywood and jeeps on the African savanna, wondering which of many delightful and exotic futures awaited her. Anything was possible. Everything was possible.

She reached for Joan’s plate and knocked over her juice. The glass hit the floor and shattered. The dog began to jerk and grimace again, more forcefully this time.

Mommy? Rosemary said. Are you crying or laughing?

Charlotte knelt to stroke the dog’s head. With her other hand, she collected the sharp, sparkling shards of the juice glass.

Well, sweetie, she said, I think maybe both.

SHE FINALLY MADE IT DOWNTOWN AT A QUARTER PAST EIGHT. Downtown was far too grand a designation. Three blocks square, a handful of redbrick buildings with Victorian cupolas and rough-faced limestone trim, not one of them more than three stories tall. A diner, a dress shop, a hardware store, a bakery. The First (and only) Bank of Woodrow, Oklahoma.

The photography studio was on the corner of Main and Oklahoma, next to the bakery. Charlotte had worked there for almost five years now. Mr. Hotchkiss specialized in formal portraits. Beaming brides-to-be, toddlers in starched sailor suits, freshly delivered infants. Charlotte mixed the darkroom chemicals, processed the film, printed the contact sheets, and tinted the black-and-white portraits. For hour after tedious hour, she sat at her table, using linseed oil and paint to add a golden glow to hair, a blue gleam to irises.

She lit a cigarette and started in on the Richardson toddlers, a pair of identical twins with matching Santa hats and stunned expressions.

Mr. Hotchkiss puttered over and bent down to examine her work. A widower in his sixties, he smelled of apple-flavored pipe tobacco and photochemical fixative. He tended, as preface to any important pronouncement, to hitch up his pants.

He hitched up his pants. Well, all right.

Thank you, Charlotte said. I couldn’t decide on the shade of red for the hats. The debate with myself grew heated.

Mr. Hotchkiss glanced at her transistor radio on the shelf. The AM station that she liked broadcast from Kansas City, so by the time the signal reached Woodrow, it had gone fuzzy and ragged. Even after Charlotte

Reviews for November Road

[eadieb-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Set 1963 - JFK’s assassination. Cat-and-mouse chase across America. New Orleans mob boss, Carlos Marcello, wants Frank Guidry dead as he know too much about JFK’s assassination. On his way to Las Vegas, Guidry means and falls in love with Charlotte and her 2 daughters who are escaping her drunken husband in Oklahoma. Fugitives should not fall in love as it might get them killed. Berney has written an unforgettable American classic. Recommended.

[romonko · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

4 1/2 stars. I really enjoyed this book. It is set right around the time of John F. Kennedy's assignation in November of 1963, and then proceeds to a car chase all around the USA until the story culminates in Las Vegas. This is a noir book in every way. The story is about Frank Guidry, and is run from the big mobster Carlos Marcello. Somehow Frank knows too much about a shocking event that has occurred in Dallas and it appears that Carlos was responsible for it. Carlos and his minion, Seraphine, send one of their best men after Frank. Ramone is a cold-hearted killer who will stop at nothing to get his mark. Frank knows that he's running out of time, and that Carlos can track him anywhere in the States, so he hooks up with a a young woman from Oklahoma on the run from her husband. She is travelling with her two young girls and the family dog Lucky, and he tries to cover his tracks with the new identity he has made for himself with Charlotte and the kids. There's lots of killing and murder like any good story about the mob should have, but there is more to this book than that sensationalism. Frank finds himself falling in love with Charlotte, and he starts to lose sight of the prize - the prize being keeping himself alive. Things star getting really complicated and Frank does not anyone he can trust. The plot moves ahead quite quickly, and I found myself rooting for Frank, as duplicitous as he was, and rooting for Charlotte, who finds untapped strength and depth in her own self during this cross-country adventure. As I was reading I couldn't help but put actors into the roles of Frank and Charlotte. From my much-loved noir films, I would pick Robert Mitchum and Bette Davis for these roles. My more modern choices would be Brad Pitt and Uma Thurman, but no one would have been better than Robert and Bette against the mob and the mob's relentless pursuit of mob justice. Highly entertaining, and highly recommended.

[ewhatley_3 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Since the day of JFK's assassination, numerous conspiracy theories have swirled. One of those theories plays a role in this book. Will you agree? Well written with an interesting cast of characters. I found this far more enjoyable than Berney's The Long and Faraway Gone.

[tottman_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

November Road is set against the backdrop of the JFK assassination. It is a crime novel, it’s a travel story, and it’s a story about people finding themselves. Frank Guidry has spent his entire life surrounded by criminals and is trusted by the New Orleans crime family. Frank was in Dallas shortly before the assassination and now people Frank knows are turning up dead. Frank didn’t get to where he was by being dumb so he knows it’s time to disappear. When Frank spots a stranded housewife with two daughters in tow along the side of the road, he decides he’s found the perfect disguise. Charlotte is on the run herself. She’s on the run from a small-town life she realizes is stifling and a vision of a future that is all too clear and entirely too depressing. Frank finds in Charlotte a connection he’s not felt before and Charlotte likewise feels a connection she’s not had before. The people hunting Frank aren’t just going to give up and staying together may put them all in danger.Lou Berney has written a novel that defies easy categorization. The characters are relatable and sympathetic. The mood is electric, nostalgic and dangerous. Traveling across the landscape of an America devastated by tragedy yet still filled with wonder. It is also filled with brutal violence. The characters are resourceful but conflicted with feelings of hopefulness and resignation. Berney perfectly balances the feelings of discovery that Frank and Charlotte find in each other while never letting it become overly sentimental. The pursuit of Frank by the ultraviolent Barone tempers the mood. It also adds a bit of melancholy as Frank discovers the appeal that life as a family man may hold for him just at the moment that it may all be ripped away.Berney captures the twin edge of people who are both running away from something and towards something. The travel the characters embark on becomes spiritual as well as physical. None of this works without strong characters and Berney absolutely nails that. Charlotte, Frank, the girls and even Barone are all fully realized and will remain etched in your mind long after you finish the story. He wraps up the story with an ending that will run you through a gamut of emotions all over again.The narration of the audiobook by Jonathan McClain is spot on. His vocal intonation complements the characters and helps convey both the mood and the action. He doesn’t intrude on the story but enhances it. His pace matches what is going on and moves the story along navigating the complex emotional landscape of the characters. Given the setting, it is a near perfect story to listen to while driving. Highly recommended.I was provided a copy of the book by the publisher.

[asxz-2 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

This was a real disappointment. I’d read a rave review which led me to believe this was a crime novel weaving in real history and characters a la Ellroy and that it would be right up my street. In fact it’s pretty basic, lacking any particular charm or wit or sense of originality.

Rather that being woven through with history, it sits awkwardly on top of the Kennedy assassination and makes no terribly sophisticated attempt at a believable back story.

Pretty weak and not the introduction to a new voice in crime fiction that I was hoping for.

[bookconcierge · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Book on CD performed by Jonathan McClainFrom the book jacket: Frank Guidry’s luck has finally run out. A loyal lieutenant to mob boss Carlos Marcello, he’s learned that …it’s his turn – he knows too much about the assassination of President John F Kennedy. Within hours of the murder, people with ties to Marcello are turning up dead, and Guidry suspects he’s next. He hits the road to Las Vegas where one man who hates Marcello just might help him. En route he comes across a young mother with two girls, who has her own reasons to be running. Frank sees a perfect disguise and offers to help Charlotte. My reactionsThis is a fast-paced thriller with very interesting and complex characters, and more than a few twists and turns. I love the 1963 time frame, and Guidry put me right back in that time. I travelled many of those same highways with my parents when I was a child. I vividly remember those motels, diners, and roadside attractions with their dusty giftshops full of trinkets my brother and I just HAD TO HAVE. I also remember the excitement of seeing new things, and the worry of having our car break down in a small town where we knew no one. I was quickly invested in the story and eager to see how it would turn out. I loved the way Berney wrote these characters. I could practically hear the gears grinding as Guidry tried to think three steps ahead of the assassin on his trail. Charlotte, starting out as rather meek, young and mostly uneducated, showed true mettle and a strength and determination that seemed to surprise even herself. The other characters seemed more stereotyped: ruthless mob boss, serene and equally ruthless mob girl, psychopathic assassin, young street-smart kid, oily Vegas casino magnate, and even a British butler. I listened to the audio which was marvelously performed by Jonathan McClain. He really brought these characters to life. I particularly liked the way he voiced the seven-year-old Rosemary.

[ridgewaygirl · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Charlotte is raising her two daughters in a small Oklahoma town where everyone knows everyone else, and things are done as they always have been. She's married to an alcoholic who has trouble keeping a job, although his family's status in the town means he usually has one. It's 1963, and she's suffocating under the need to keep up appearances and with the lack of opportunity for women. She'd like to become a photographer, but that's out of the question. So when her husband slips out after a family dinner, she packs up her daughters and the dog and takes off, traveling west, to where an aunt she's lost touch with used to live.Frank is a mobster who has worked his way up the ladder. He's got a sweet life in New Orleans, trusted by his boss, able to rely on his charisma and smooth-talking to get things done. But when he realizes that he knows what really happened on that November day in Dallas and that his boss is systematically eliminating everyone involved, he goes on the run. But his boss has a long reach and no matter how carefully he runs, a single man is too conspicuous to get far. This is just a fantastic noir. Lou Berney has every thing in the right places and writes so very well. There's not a misstep or flat note in the entire novel, which demands to be read at far to quick a pace. Charlotte is a fantastic character and there was not a single moment when I was not pulling for her. This is just a superbly written, researched and plotted crime novel. They don't come better than this.

[kgramer-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I'm a Lou Berney fan. Another well written book with interesting and compelling characters.

[msf59 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

“The prairie, weathered and leathery and endless. Like God meant to get around to it during Creation but had run out of steam.”“And Dolly would sell him out. Every human heart was rotten meat, but Dolly's was more rotten than most.”Frank Guidry is a handsome, charming, well-liked guy. He is also a career criminal, working for a New Orleans mob boss. When he is ordered to go to Dallas, to retrieve and dispose of a powder blue Eldorado, all hell breaks loose. It turns out the date is November 23rd, 1963 and things are red-hot in that fateful, Texas city. Frank finds himself on the run and like everyone else involved in this deadly scenario, he is highly disposable. He some how ends up with a young woman and her son, fleeing from a broken marriage and uses the pair as a perfect cover, as they flee to LA. Well maybe, not so perfect...This is a tight, violent and suspenseful crime novel, well-written and nicely paced. Plenty of echoes of Elmore Leonard here, but Berney has slightly better writing chops.

[techeditor_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Although Lou Berney’s NOVEMBER ROAD is not at all like his award-winning THE LONG AND FARAWAY GONE, this is sure to be another winner for him. It is his writing style that will get you now just as it did then.Charlotte is unhappy with her life and Frank wants to simply stay alive. They’re both on the run when they meet. They interact for a short time, so short that Charlotte’s children don’t even remember much of it 40 years later.My only criticism of NOVEMBER ROAD, and anyone who has been married to a drinking alcoholic will agree, is that the explanation for Charlotte’s unhappiness is inadequate. Her reason for suddenly taking off with her two children does not seem to be enough. Berney says that Charlotte’s husband frequently stays out late and comes home drunk but does not show how this has impacted his family’s lives.But NOVEMBER ROAD is a great story otherwise. It looks like Berney is another go-to author for me.

[vnesting-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

In Nov. 1963, Frank Guidry is a key member of Carlos Marcello’s New Orleans mafia who believes he has one tiny piece of information about the Kennedy assassination that could get him killed. Charlotte is a woman who makes a sudden decision to escape her small town life. From the first page of Berney’s propulsive novel reader's will be pulled along like flotsam on the Mississippi when the river is running high and fast, and tossed up on the shore, gasping, on the final page.

[clue_4 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Frank Guidry is a lieutenant in Carlos Marcello's New Orleans crime family. When President Kennedy is killed in Dallas, Frank's heart jumps to his throat. He was sent to Dallas to set up a getaway just a week before. He doesn't know if the two events are connected but he does know two things for sure; the FBI won't fail to gather every clue and if Carlos is behind the shooting, he won't let anyone with knowledge against him live. Frank has no choice but to go on the run.Charlotte Roy of Woodrow, Oklahoma married into a good family. Her brother-in-law and father-in-law are lawyers. Her husband on the other hand is an alcoholic ne'er do well. Charlotte is smart and curious and in addition to suffering with her husband's behavior, she desperately wants to see and do things that aren't offered in Woodrow. She eventually screws up her courage, gathers up her two young daughters, and goes on the run. And as the song says, two worlds collide. While Berney is good with relationships, whatever they may be, this is a crime novel saturated with suspense and murder. The best crime novel I've read in awhile, it was hard to put down but also hard turning the pages because I was fearful of what would come next.

[fhudnell-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

After Kennedy is assassinated in 1963, anyone who could connect New Orleans mob boss Carlos Marcello with the assassination must be eliminated. Frank Guidry is a fixer for Marcello and he is one of those people who must die, so he goes on the run, headed to Las Vegas. Along the way he picks up Charlotte Roy, a runaway wife from Oklahoma, her two young daughters and their epileptic dog. He hopes that they can pose as a family in order to hide his identity. Paul Barone is the killer dispatched by Marcello to mop up the potential witnesses against him. It's not a good sign that the most interesting character to me was Barone. I liked his unsentimental relentlessness. Frankly, I saw no need to root for Guidry. I loved "The Long and Faraway Gone" by this author, but this book was just OK for me. The backdrop of the Kennedy assassination served as an allure to get people to read this book, but it's only a device to create a reason for Guidry to go on the run. Charlotte and Guidry don't meet until about the halfway point of the book, and there are no romantic sparks when they do meet. I didn't mind that at all. In fact, I found Guidry's later instalove to be totally out of character. At least Charlotte was not an idiot and she turned out to be perfectly able to take care of herself. I wasn't crazy about the ending of the book, and I really hated the epilogue. Please don't tidy things up for me. I'll probably read more by this author, but this one was a little disappointing. I received a free copy of this book from the publisher.

[susan.macura · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a fictional what-if story based on the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in November of 1963. As such, it was an entertaining tale that unfortunately in this time and era could be viewed as another unfounded conspiracy theory, something that there are too many of about too many things, especially since we have a president who spends too much time and effort supporting them. However, for those of use who realize that fiction is just that this is a great story about the mob being behind the assassination and the steps they took to cover their tracks, as well as a great love story between one of the main characters and a woman in the wrong place at the right time.

[maneekuhi · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I noticed this book on a number of best book lists for Fall 2018 reading. I wasn’t crazy about the plot link to the Kennedy assassination – I had read Stephen King’s excellent “11/22/63” and thought that was enough for me. But after scanning a couple of Nov Rd reviews I decided to give it a try; I’m glad I did and I will read at least one other Berney book, “The Long and Faraway Gone”.Frank Guidry works for the mob in New Orleans, he’s one of Carlos’s guys. It doesn’t take many pages to get a pretty clear picture of Frank and where his loyalties lie. A former mentor is now in trouble with the organization and contacts Frank for help. Frank agrees to a meet, though a bit reluctantly. But now what, does he help an old pal out at some risk to himself, or does he betray?Frank is a wise guy, in more ways than one. In quick succession, Frank hears of the JFK assassination, realizes he played a small though unknowing role, notes some players in the chain have been quickly eliminated, and quickly assesses his own future…..then runs. A great set-up. What next?All of a sudden we meet Charlotte, mom of two fascinating little girls, Rosemary and Joan (whom you just can’t get enough of), and wife of a not-so-secret drunk. On the spur of the moment, Charlotte flees, with the girls, the dog, an old car, and not much money. It takes a while for these on-the-run characters to hook up, but when they do they make sweet….music. For the first time in his life, is Frank in love, or is he just using this family as a cover? Remember, this is 1963, no cells, no digital anything, but there are plants everywhere (no, not the potted kind). Where are they headed? “California!” Charlotte would say. Frank would add, “yeah, but we’ll stop in Vegas first”. Vegas in the 60’s – a great place for the climax to this story.Lots of tension, well written, interesting characters although a few are really over-the-top, enough action to make a very good movie. Recommended.

[lisapeet · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Solidly entertaining noir crime thriller set in the wake of the Kennedy assassination. Not particularly deep, but a good ride (though I could have done without the epilogue).

[jillrey · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Described as being “set against the assassination of JFK,” I was expecting more of a historical fiction within the pages of this book. However, I quickly discovered this was not the premise of November Road, but rather happens to be the period in which this book takes place. Frank is a “gangster” tasked with parking a stolen car in a Dallas Parking Lot, after the assassination of JFK he quickly realizes his role and begins life on the run from his mob boss, Carlos Marcello. Charlotte is a wife and mother of two. One night, she decides to leave her alcoholic husband and hits the road. Frank and Charlotte cross paths as the story of love in unlikely places unfolds. Had the stage not been set for a JFK assassination/mob type book I may have been more receptive to the budding romance within. But, the writing felt forced as Berney injected colorful characters in an attempt to continually remind the reader of the mob influence and foundation of Frank’s story. Conversely, despite Charlotte’s emotionally grabbing backstory, she failed to resonate with me and quickly became an unlikeable character creation. Just be warned as you embark on reading this novel (should you chose to read it) that it is not a JFK assassination conspiracy, but rather an unexpected romance in the midst of escape.*Disclaimer: A review copy of this book was provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review.

[judygibson-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

This was a good book but an uncomfortable read for me: I don't like identifying with a narrator who's a bad person, and I especially don't like any hint of children in peril. Aside from those personal biases though, this story of a mobster fleeing retribution for knowing too much about the Kennedy assassination was well written with interesting (though mostly unpleasant) characters. Relieved at the outcome. Will I read more by this author? Maybe.

[Ronald j stanard · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

I didn't dislike any about the book.I liked the book.

[cathyskye · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

With writing like "...the towel could have sanded the faces off Mount Rushmore", Lou Berney certainly knows how to turn a phrase, but that's just icing on the cake of November Road. He also is no stranger to crafting a fast-paced, spellbinding story populated with fully-fleshed, memorable characters. The story is told in three voices: Frank's and Charlotte's, the two people on the run, and a hitman most refer to simply as Barone.The circumstances revolving around the assassination of JFK are more than plausible, and some of the scenes brought back a childhood memory or two, as well as Guidry's escape route along Route 66. The cat-and-mouse chase can make your heart pump a little faster as first we learn where Guidry and Charlotte are before switching to Barone who's rapidly closing the distance between them. Part of me wanted a fairy-tale ending for Frank and Charlotte, who begin to fall in love the closer they get to Las Vegas, but the other part of me was still in the real world. Berney proved to be skilled at leading me on.No matter how strong the story and the writing are-- and they are-- it's the characters who make November Road something special. Theodore, a black teenager who finds himself traveling with a hitman. Charlotte, in despair over her life and the life she's giving her children, changes as she makes her escape from her sot of a husband, and her two daughters, Joan and Rosemary, are easily capable of stealing the show from time to time-- a necessary lightening of the tension that builds throughout the book. But those two children are also strong characters in their own right without becoming cloying caricatures. Even Guidry, who's spent his life living in the moment for whatever pleasure he feels like experiencing, undergoes a transformation when he comes into Charlotte's orbit.Did I get my fairy-tale ending? That's for you to find out. November Road is a marvelous book, in turn nerve-wracking, funny, heartbreaking, and almost impossible to put down. It's going to be a long time before I forget characters like Charlotte and Theodore, and it goes without saying that I'm on the lookout for more books by Lou Berney.

[adonisguilfoyle · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What a refreshing change, in the words of an old advert! I've been hung up for a week on a novel set in the 60s which wasn't grabbing me and a history of The Great Gatsby which was boring me silly, so Lou Berney's short but sweet story of a mob fixer on the run after the Kennedy assassination was just what I needed.Another life thrown into chaos by a death in Dallas on November 22, 1963. When Frank Guidry is dispatched by legendary New Orleans crime boss Carlos Marcello to dispose of a getaway car in Texas, he realises that he is being set up and goes on the run. With a hitman on his heels and a network of his former boss' spies reporting on his every move, Frank decides to change his appearance - by taking on a wife and kids. Oklahoma housewife Charlotte Roy is also on the run, driving across the country with her two daughters and epileptic dog to find a new life in California. When Frank meets Charlotte at a motel after her car has been towed into town for repairs, the opportunity is too good to pass up - but who is out of their depth?Though thankfully plot driven, I really enjoyed the journey with charming Frank and strong-willed Charlotte. Even the hitman was a fascinating character! Frank is using Charlotte and Charlotte senses this, but both enjoy the game while it lasts - I almost wished that they would, somehow, be able to start a new life together, but much preferred the way story worked out. The Kennedy subplot was also interesting to a long-time follower of Camelot - I've only just discovered that the real Carlos Marcello was actually implicated in the assassination at one point. I'm not much of a conspiracy theorist, but I might have to read up on that angle!

[n.w.moors-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Frank Guidry works for the Mob in New Orleans. On the periphery of the assassination of JFK, he's on the run when he meets Charlotte, her two daughters, Rosemary and Joan, and their epileptic dog. They become unknowing cover for him as she heads to L.A., leaving her alcoholic husband behind. You often hear books called page-turners, but this one really is. Frank, a gangster all his life, uses his contacts to escape assassins sent by Carlos, the Mob boss, but everyone is pretty much double and triple crossing each other. Charlotte is practical but determined to give her girls a life different from the dull and proscribed roles for women in Oklahoma in the sixties. It's a great read with a twist ending (at least, unexpected for me). This really should be a movie and I see Lawrence Kasdan has optioned it. Meanwhile, I recommend this for a great read.

[thomaspluck · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A great read. The best story I've read in a long time about people in the life. Characters I will miss.

[runner56_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It is not often that I read a book by a new author and think...wow! that was a thrilling ride.November Road by Lou Berney simply crackles along with strong characters, clear precise prose,and a really enjoyable story. Frank Guidry "former fixer extraordinaire for the Marcello organization is a hunted man. His employers are uncomfortable that he knows a little too much about the perpetrators behind the assassination of JF Kennedy in Dallas and need to terminate his employment on a permanent basis. As a separate story we learn that a beautiful young housewife Charlotte has escaped the clutches of her controlling drunken husband Dooley and is on route to the west coast with her two daughters Rosemary and Joan. As luck (or possibly not) would have it she crosses path with Guidry and this newly combined family attempt to stay ahead of those who would do them harm. As an avid reader and reviewer I often try to anticipate the direction a story is heading and how the adventure will conclude. I was pleasantly surprised with the ending of November Road as the author presents an unexpected conclusion to a cracking little crime thriller. Many thanks to the good people at netgalley for a gratis copy of November Road in exchange for an honest review and that is what I have written. Highly recommended.