BKMT READING GUIDES
Big Numbers
by Jack Getze
Paperback : 204 pages
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Introduction
Who is killing Austin Carr? About to be murdered--snatched off a private fishing yacht by a six-hundred-pound giant bluefin tuna--a down-on-his-luck stockbroker recalls the collection of events, miscalculations, and character flaws that led to his current dire predicament: Living in a truck-mounted camper on the Jersey Shore, struggling to keep up with alimony and child-support payments that no longer reflect his shrinking income, the big-smiling, wise-cracking Austin Carr has been searching for a way out of the stock and bond business. So when his richest client tells Austin he's dying, and the future widow--a redheaded knock-out--offers tender consolation, Austin¿s increasingly desperate financial situation draws him deeper and deeper into a barbed web of bad behavior and deceit. Austin¿s would-be killer, whom he dubs "Mr. Blabbermouth," could be any one of several suspects, as Austin¿s words and deeds have attracted the wrath of many in recent weeks. The potential murderers include a wacked-out professional wrestler angry over Austin's poor investment recommendations, a jealous sales manager who Austin regularly belittles, and even Austin's greedy employer whose personality traits include a nasty, violent temper. Or could there be another suspect Austin overlooked entirely until he stepped on board that private yacht.
Excerpt
PrologueThe stench of my own vomit fills my nose. Breath comes in short, shallow gasps. Why doesn't blabbermouth just shut the hell up and get this over with? "You said you've never been deep-sea fishing, Austin, so I'm guessing you don't know dick about giant bluefin. But when you were a kid, jigging off that pier in California, did you ever hook up with a two or three-pound bonito?" A muddy green Atlantic Ocean surrounds us, the expanse of gentle swells empty but for the fifty-two-foot Hatteras under our feet and a dozen chum-sucking seagulls screaming overhead. "Remember how hard those bonito fought, the way they bent the rod near double?" Mr. Blabbermouth says. "Well, imagine one of those bonito's big cousins, one that weighs...oh, say five or six-hundred pounds. I'm talking brute force, Austin. Hooking up with a giant bluefin is like playing tug-of-war with a Harley-Davidson." Endless waves of dirty wet jade slap against the drifting hull. Clouds shaped like tombstones regularly block the morning sun. "Those shoulder straps okay?" Mr. Blabbermouth says. "Not too tight, I hope." Bastard. I am bridled by what is known as a stand-up fishing belt and harness. Tough leather straps encircle my waist and chest as well as my shoulders. Belts, buckles, and locking brass clips anchor me inside the harness, to the pole, even to the rod-mounted Penn 130 International reel. "You're in luck," he says. "A school's headed this way." Think I'm out for an afternoon of fun? Sport fishing with a buddy? What if I mention nobody but nobody fishes for giant bluefin in a stand-up harness? If you have balls, big balls, you let them strap you into a fighting chair bolted to the deck, hope Big Tuna doesn't rip that out. Mr. Blabbermouth saying, "Here they come." Did I mention my wrists are bound together with duct tape? Mr. Blabbermouth leans close to push the chrome drag lever on the Penn 130. "This will be the second time I've seen this happen," he says. "Like you, a friend of mine had this drag on full when a giant bluefin hit. One second the guy's beside me on deck, the next he's flying over the transom, a splash in the water. You know, we never found a sign of him." I should have seen this coming. That's why I can't stand to mention Mr. Blabbermouth's real name. It's too damn embarrassing. Of the several wackos who tried killing me this month, only blabbermouth here applied planning, logic, and persistence. Used allies. Oh, man, I definitely should have seen this coming. Something heavy bumps the half-pound metal lure to which I am fatally attached. The line draws taut, digging deeper into the green rolling swells. Eternity tugs on my shoulder straps. "Looks like a hook-up," Mr. Blabbermouth says. And I thought life was shitty three weeks ago....
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Discussion Questions
Written by the author:1. Austin Carr is not your average protagonist. He loves his kids, sure, but he also bends rules and misbehaves. Why do we like or dislike him?
2. Do younger, single men really think so much about sex?
3. Do Austin’s wisecracks and sarcasm add or subtract from the book’s suspense?
4. Why does Austin like Luis the bartender so much? Which of Luis’s qualities is most admired by Austin?
Notes From the Author to the Bookclub
Over a woe-is-me, three-martini lunch 20 years ago, a pal and fellow disgruntled stockbroker told me a tale that became the basis for my debut novel, Big Numbers. A half-eaten olive spat from my mouth even before I heard the punchline. “Say that again?” “Jim was a stock-jockey like the rest of us, living hand-to-mouth, until his richest client died,” my pal said. “One week after the client’s funeral, Jim started dating the rich new widow.” I picked up my errant and twice-bitten green olive. “And Jim married her?” “Yup,” my friend said. Bottoms up on my third martini. “That sounds like a novel.” “A noir tale of greed.” Maybe it was the times. The mid-1980s celebrated renewed and sharp economic growth, even greed in my opinion. Or maybe it was just my own greed, my desire to escape the dismally frustrating and soulfully repugnant stock and bond trade. Dialing for dollars, we used to call it. Income based solely on commissions. Believe me, avarice gets nurtured daily when you watch your salary go back to zero every month. “God, that really sounds like a novel,” I said again five minutes later. I imagined movies with famous redheads, a handsome young star as hero. Piles of cash. Boats. Stolen securities. “You should write it,” my friend said. I did. It’s called Big Numbers. --Jack GetzeBook Club Recommendations
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