When I reviewed “Get Real” in 2009, it looked to be Donald E. Westlake’s final book: On the last day of 2008, at the age of 75, he had suffered a fatal heart attack while on vacation in Mexico. His death wasn’t just a loss to his family and friends, though; it was also a loss to readers, for Westlake was one of the most sheerly entertaining fiction writers of his time. Whether his name was attached to a comic Dortmunder caper (14 novels, from “The Hot Rock” to “Get Real,”as well as two story collections) or a black-humored morality tale such as “The Ax” (my favorite among his “serious” books), or a high-spirited farce like “God Save the Mark,” readers always knew they were in the hands of a true professional. Nearly all his novels delivered — it sounds corny — a quiet happiness: They aimed to give pleasure and they did.
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