Elvis Presley sang about them; Al Capone was afraid of them. The legendary Purple Gang rose from a Jewish ghetto in Detroit to rule the river during the Motor City's booming 1920s heyday. Their dramatic story is revealed in THE PURPLES, a novel blending rich historical detail with nonstop suspense, narrated by the gang's leader--the cool, savvy, and unforgettable Joe Bernstein.
"If you believe the papers, we sprang from thin air in 1924. At the time, people started turning up dead in Detroit—which was nothing new, even back then. But when twenty Jewish men get put on the spot in three days, it gets noticed. They blamed it on us, but the truth is not one of those crimes was committed by the Purples. Technically speaking."
Shunned by his community... locked up for trying to help an innocent girl... ambushed by rivals and left for dead in the Detroit River: Joe Bernstein has a few scores to settle, and a bold plan to seize control of the Motor City in its booming 1920s heyday. With his faithful “agent” Abie, his brilliant but fragile brother Max, and an out-of-control enforcer named Grabowski (not to mention a couple of carnivorous creatures known as "the babies"), Bernstein gives rise to the infamous Purple Gang—so named by local merchants because the gang's members were said to be "tainted, like spoiled meat."
Bernstein's boys set their sights on taking over the Detroit River, the pipeline connecting dry America to wet Canada. But Joe also must contend with having “a sweetheart in the nut house” and rising tensions within his gang. Worst of all, the D.A.”s office has brought in an amputee war hero named Riley—who seems to be one step ahead of Joe”s big plans.
A fast-paced thriller that builds to the climactic Collingwood Massacre (a seminal event that changed Detroit forever), THE PURPLES blends richly-detailed historical fiction with nonstop action, all narrated in the wry voice of the smart, self-deluding, and unforgettable Joe Bernstein.
"Fast-moving and funny, The Purples has a hard edge, a soft heart, and an original voice."--Michael Balkind, Sudden Death
Excerpt
"So, how did it start," they all want to know. Then, before you can answer: "Didn't it all start at the Cream of Michigan? On that night when the ghost of Joe Bernstein walked into the diner?"
As a matter of fact, no. If you want the truth, it started four years earlier, during the Palmer Raids. Of course, people don’t want to hear about things they'd rather forget. What they want is a ghost yarn or a gangster tale, and if they can get both at the same time, even better.
So they always start with that night at the diner--the night I strolled, big as life, through the front door of "the Crime," as it was known back then. It was quite a moment, I'll admit: The place was filled with forty of the mouthiest guys you’d ever want to meet, yet they all went dead quiet soon as I entered. Art Goldman actually let out a tiny squeak, like a mouse. He told me later that the moment he saw me, he pictured being eaten alive and that caused the squeak.
The amazing thing was that nobody reached for anything. The only motion came from a guy named Meltzer, who had been constructing an igloo out of sugar cubes on one of the tabletops (yes, this is the kind of productive work that was done back then). When he saw me, Meltzer's hands went limp and crashed down on his igloo, spilling cubes onto the floor.
After coming through that door I stopped and looked around at all of them as they huddled in the diner's ten booths. I held my hands up in the air, palms out, to show I was unarmed.
"Hello, fellas," I said. "Been a while."
Not a sound from any of them, not even another squeak.
So I continued: "I am not here to make trouble. I am only here to make a suggestion."
I explained to them that a new time was beginning in Detroit. It was something big, and they could be part of it if they so chose.
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