The enduring appeal of fictional criminals stems at least in part from their ability to get a job done, often ingeniously, and without moral compunction. John "Mack" MacWray, the protagonist of Pete Hautman's novel Rag Man, isn't a criminal when the book begins, but once he tastes the fruits of deceit, he quickly slips into the underworld. MacWray is a detail-oriented Minneapolis clothing manufacturer whose business partner, Theodore "Lars" Larson, has fled the country with most of their working capital. Chastised and mocked by his lending institution, his in-laws, and the Hennepin County sheriff's office, MacWray travels to a Cancun resort to confront Larson, who laughs off his ex-partner's outrage and explains how much easier life is for the dishonest. MacWray takes Larson's advice, beginning right there in Cancun, where he stands motionless and lets a tragedy occur. Bolstered by his sudden abandonment of conscience, MacWray reinvents himself as an underhanded businessman, ready to defraud banks, bully vendors, cheat customers, and have an affair with his wife's best friend. Rag Man is the ninth novel from prolific pulp writer Hautman, a disciple of the Elmore Leonard school of tough-guy genre plots. He's got a devious mind, and the book is at its best when he's inventing new ways for his leading man to behave like a heel and reap rewards for it. MacWray's methods are far from admirable, but they're thrilling to read about, for as long as they last. But the book loses some of its kick when the good times start to sour. Almost as soon as MacWray tastes success, the seeds of his potential downfall begin to bloom; the same authorities who sneered at him when he was a failure resent him as a success, and begin waiting for an opportunity to pounce. Hautman presents a string of bleak assessments of the human condition in Rag Man. He indicates that business is all about getting money moving, not about the product, and he implies that any sort of genuine relationship gets in the way of acquiring wealth. As with many crime stories, the author operates under the assumption that character isn't absolute, and that, as he writes, "the concepts of good and evil [are] of purely situational utility." None of the above is revelatory, and almost every noir narrative includes some kind of "crime doesn't pay" comeuppance, but Hautman puts an unusual amount of weight on the hard lessons of malfeasance. For readers who enjoy the rough stuff, Hautman makes certain that his book punches back.