Florida Straits

I’ll admit, I approached *Florida Straits* skeptical that a book billed as both a ‘killer comedy’ and a thriller could pull off either without sabotaging the other. Two chapters in, I was hooked—not just by the premise (a washed-up journalist turned reluctant criminal mastermind), but by the *voice*. Shames writes dialogue that pops like a freshly opened Coke can, and Ferrone’s narration sells every line, whether it’s a threat wrapped in Southern hospitality or a throwaway joke about tourist traps. The chemistry between the characters—especially the bickering, barely-competent crew of small-time crooks—feels so lived-in you’ll swear you’ve met these people at a dive bar. That said, the plot *does* occasionally meander like a drunk tourist on Duval Street. The middle act sags under a few too many subplots (do we *really* need the mobster’s mistress’s backstory?), and the final act’s twists, while fun, stretch credibility even for a farce. Ferrone’s performance smooths over most rough patches—his timing is impeccable, and he gives even minor characters distinct personalities—but the audio production itself is a touch uneven. A few lines sound like they were recorded in a tin can, though it’s never distracting enough to derail the fun. What ultimately won me over was the book’s heart: beneath the wisecracks and double-crosses, there’s a surprisingly tender story about second chances and the kind of loyalty you only find among fellow screw-ups. If you love your mysteries with more charm than gore and don’t mind a little chaos, this is a winner. Just maybe don’t listen to it while operating heavy machinery—you *will* laugh at the wrong moment.