So you thought Mickey Cohen was just a figment of James Ellroy’s amphetamine amped imagination? No way Jack, the devil dog of crime fiction wasn’t joshing ya! Mickey was real and he was Baaaad, super Baaaad. The reality: Mickey Cohen was Al Capone’s man on the West Coast, and he acted accordingly, beating, bullying and bribing all that lay before him. He entertained more starlets than Sean ‘Puffy’ Combs and had a larger entourage than Mike Tyson. Brad Lewis’s book is like one of the delicious super-sundae ice creams that the rotund Cohen guzzled by the pint. (he didn’t drink alcohol.) It is by turns delicious and sickening. Lewis takes us from Cohen’s paperboy beginnings to his Tony Montana style blow up on national television and beyond. This is a story that keeps on giving: triumph, tragedy and starlets aplenty. Cohen had charisma and lots of it . Marvel as he climbs the slippery pole of crime lord achievement, whoop and holler as he reaches the very zenith of national notoriety, groan as he throws it all away on the alter of his own rampaging ego. If there is one true crime book you must read,this holiday season, this is it.