Back in 1949, Bill Wayne ran a cargo business with some of his buddies. As China falls to the "Reds", he asks his friends to load the plane with refugees. Instead, they find a black marketeer and a shipment of "medical supplies". Bill protests and someone shoots him. He's left for dead as the Communists come through.
Now, Bill's back. He's tracked down his so-called friends and he's determined to get the truth out of them by any means necessary. Happily, they're all distributed in the Southwest, so he can visit them all (and keep a low profile) by the simple strategy of joining a tour group.
Despite the book's constant movement, Say It with Bullets truly is a basic cozy. Bill surprises his first friend, only to witness (and be framed for) their murder. The pattern continues and the bodies pile up at regular intervals with a carefully measured portion of red herring meted out in every chapter. Can Bill and his Pretty Blonde Tour Operator sidekick/foil find the real murderer? Who knows Bill is back? Why are they framing him? And, most importantly, will Bill and P.B.T.O. ever kiss?
Despite being at the heart of a mass of slayings, there's never really any danger - Mr. Powell clearly preferring romantic tension to any other kind. The who of the whodunnit is also broadcast from the very beginning as the story follows the essential form of any mystery: pick the least likely suspect and wait for them to start monologuing. Say It with Bullets is also littered with slapstick moments - a straight out of Off-Broadway gambling spree in Reno topping the list. The book's real plot is plain to see: this isn't about Bill getting his revenge, its about Bill getting to the point where he doesn't care. Stop looking for the truth and smootch the girl in front of you. And eventually, banally, Bill does. Next stop, happy ending!
Say It with Bullets is lighter fare. There's something bizarrely counter-intuitive about wanting the protagonist to quit his quest. Not because he's wrong or because the mission is patently self-destructive, but merely because it is an obvious mess and Bill never seems competent enough to handle the disaster he's unleashed. Why exactly the P.B.T.O. falls for him is unclear (Mr. Powell settles on the "I fancied you when I was a little girl" non-motive that's the last refuge of the desperate entanglement), but Bill's clearly batting out of his league. This is by no means an unreadable or unpleasant book, but is a diversion without either the weight or the significance of many others in the Hard Case Crime series.