Dashiell Hammett investigating the first-ever celebrity murder trial on the foggy streets of San Francisco, a silent-film star hounded in the newspapers by William Randolph Hearst himself -- Ace Atkins knows how to make historical fiction out of a hard-boiled detective story.
Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle was roaring through the '20s with plenty of showgirls and hooch when he pajama-partied a little too much and a starlet got dead. At the time, Hammett was a Pinkerton operative hired to find witnesses whom prosecutors were hiding. Hearst, of course, deployed his yellow-journalism reporters to crucify the "portly beast" Arbuckle. (Chris Farley wanted to play Fatty in a movie, and it would have been a match, because Arbuckle was a self-loathing porker with a gift for making people laugh and no desire ever to grow up.)
Ace Atkins -- yeah, that's really his name -- writes cinematically: Short scenes with clever "buttons" alternate with long swaths of snappy dialogue. One flimflam man, for example, describes another as "a phony bird. That's halfway between crazy and a con man, and that's the middle of the road, brother."
Hammett -- he was "Sam" then, back before his Dashiell days -- tails tricksters and crooks into ornate hotel lobbies and up San Francisco's hills, wheezing with the effort and pausing to spit blood into his handkerchief. While some good-hearted folks appear -- Sam's first wife, one of the Pinkertons, a snitch named Pete the Fink -- the speakeasies and courtrooms of The City are filled by people with their hands out, thumbing their noses at what passes for an upright legal system.
Atkins works too hard at blackening Hearst's character in the epilogue, but Devil's Garden still rises far beyond pulp fiction to a much higher level. The three central characters -- Sam, Fatty and W.R. -- are all blameworthy, all filled with shame but unwilling to do much about it. In Atkins' world, prudes are really grifters, a power broker is just a little boy, a legal case is like a melodrama and a scalawag can be a stand-up guy. There aren't many moralistic blacks and whites in Devil's Garden -- just a lot of grays, melting off into that San Francisco fog.