Though starting with an interesting change of pace for a premise- no mystery, focused entirely around one small block on one day-the truth is this is one of the extraordinarily rare McBain clunkers. Most of it, however, is not on the author, it's just a novel that comes across very dated in it's early 60's earnestness about the evils of racism whilst frequently coming across to the modern eye as pretty flatly racist. The phonetic spellings of accents alone is pretty painful.
It's not a total lost cause- there are some nice character notes here and there. I just hope someone picking it up as their first 87th Precinct novel doesn't get discouraged.