Guys will literally watch Heat instead of going to therapy. Trust me on this, I'm guys. Heat is a fantastic movie, Mann an incredible director of crime and action, and the movie is gorgeously shot and full of top-tier performances, from Pacino's deranged detective Vincent Hanna, to De Niro's professional and tactical criminal mastermind Neil McCauley, and Val Kilmer's icy gunman Chris Shiherlis. The movie is perfect and self contained, and doesn't really need a sequel.

But we have one anyone, because Mann is not done with these characters. And you know, this story is parasitic, but perfectly fine, advancing on three parallel timelines. In 1988, we meet McCauley and Hanna much as they are, with Hanna chasing a psychopathic home invader in Chicago, and McCauley planning a heist against a Mexican cartel. Immediately after the events of the movie in 1996, Shiherlis is recovering from his wounds and working as a security contractor for a Taiwanese-Paraguayian crime family. And in 2000, lose ends are being tied up, with Hanna, the psychopathic home invader, and Shiherlis helping the daughter of the crime family move to the next level.

If you like Heat, you're going to enjoy this book, which is much like the movie, but more. But I think without the movie, and without Pacino and Kilmer in my head, this wouldn't have been nearly as good. The writing is a lot like a screenplay, terse and telegraphic, stating images and moods rather than making them. The novel is not Mann's form, and while co-author Gardiner does her best to flesh it out, you can see where the dialog crackles, and when this book needs light, sound, and actors to make it live.

But hey, you're not going to go to therapy are you?