Monday, March 18, 2024

Danger Woman (Abel Mann, 1966)

The back cover promises some sort of a Baroness men's adventure action espionage, but I lowered my expectations once I checked the imprint page. Published in 1966, the same year when the last Fleming's Bond hit bookstores, this looked more likely to be another clon jumping on the 007 bandwagon.

It's neither. It's a book with a couple of scenes in which our eponymous heroine is naked and tortured with some nasty medieval devices. The rest of it is rambling that is sometimes funny but more often just astounding in its craziness.

It also feels like something the author would work on for a while, pause, and then resume later without fully remembering everything he has already written. And since Abel Mann is one of John Creasey's pseudonyms, and he used it only for Danger Woman, let's speculate a bit and say that this was his pet sleazy project to which he would occasionally return between his Gideon books. Or maybe our Johhny boy simply had a couple of cognacs too many occasionally and let his creative juices go crazy?

How else could one rationally explain that the captured agent simply drops off the stage after the third chapter? Or what the hell is the story with the mysterious Spanish girl? The bad guys seem to be fanatically devoted to her, and still, she's nowhere to be seen after the first half. The thing with Paul, the agent, is confusing too. Our gal Storm Frend sees him only once (I don't think they even speak to each other), and yet, he's the only man after her dead husband who lights her fire. 

And then there's an episode with Bertha, the nurse. She starts complimenting Storm on her beautiful body and talking about "fulfilment," and Storm responds with some cryptic philosophy about "love, carnal knowledge, contact of flesh." Which, let's be honest, is how many lesbian scenes start in porn flicks. But here, a few pages later, it turns out that Bertha is trying to persuade Storm to have a baby and that she cannot have one because Nazis were doing some nasty shit to her womb in Auschwitz. Huh? Why would one bring such depressing shit up since the book has nothing to do with the holocaust (or fertility). Anyway, as abruptly as Bertha appears, she follows the other characters and departs for good.

As confusing and disorienting as all this is, it is still nothing compared to the plot. Since explaining something one cannot understand is impossible, I won't even try. However, you can find a few hints in the "object of desire" section of the facts below.

This is definitely one of those "so bad it's good" books, but unfortunately, it's neither bad nor good enough. Not enough sex (or torture) to be really sleazy. It takes itself way too seriously with all the patriotism and Union Jack-waving shit. And, most importantly, there's zero (intentional) humour in this one. So it is hardly surprising that it remains the sole entry of the eventual Mrs Storm Frend series even though it closes with the usual "knowing that one day he would summon her and that she would go back".

Which is too bad, really. I would definitely check out its sequel. Badass heroines always have potential, and a follow-up could shine with a more coherent plot and some editorial effort.

3/5

Facts:

Hero
:
See the back page - paragraphs 1 and 2.

I can add that she is not exactly a modest person:

She was proud of her beauty, too, of the clear skin of her cheeks, the ivory of her forehead, the sculptured lines of her nose and chin. She was the perfect woman. She knew that and had built her life about its truth.

Clear skin of her cheeks? The ivory of her forehead?? And even the almighty ChatGPT cannot make sense of "building a life about its truth".

The bad guy(s):
See the back page - last paragraph.

But in Duke, aka Juan's defence: yes, he is definitely a fanatical patriot (to put it mildly) with sadistic tendencies (I'm not sure about demonic, though), but overall, he's not such a bad guy. If nothing else, he collects rare books and is one hell of a lover. See the "cool lines" section below.

Dames
See the "hero" section.

Location:
This was her London.
She knew the capitals of the world, from the cavernous cement majesty of New York to the lissome grace of Paris, from the new dwarf city of Berlin to the towers of Madrid, from the steel-spanned beauty of Sydney to the schizophrenic worship of the gods of myth and mammon in Tokyo. None was an echo or an image of London, none had the spread and the fulness, the grandeur and the picturesqueness, the ancient and the modern all cheek-by-jowl - none except London.

And for no other reason I can think of but to do some 007 mandatory globetrotting, there's a brief episode that takes place in Nice in some fancy hotel. 

Body count:
3 + one guard dog guarding the wrong place at the wrong time

The object of desire:
See the back page - paragraph 3

But those "fantastic schemes" are really hard to understand. They involve Juan spreading hatred and dissatisfaction among Commonwealth nations in the UN, stirring up troubles and making the work of the peacemakers difficult—not unlike what Communists used to do.

Confused? So it's our Storm:

"Storm, understand what I am about to say absolutely."
"I will if it can be understood."
"We must find out from Arago why he is doing what he is, and for whom he is doing it."

But it does get cleared at the end:

When the fighting is over and the nuclear war is done, there will be nothing left of the Great Powers, but there will still be Spain. And Spain will become great again, without knowing that her greatness came from me.

Blackouts:
The first one comes when they spin her around on something called "The Pirouette", and the pain is apparently so intense that:

She did not lose consciousness, yet she was not fully conscious.

Huh? Go figure... But at the end of the chapter, it is unquestionable. She barely reaches the getaway vehicle among the bullets storm, and...

It was then that she fainted.

The second one takes place in Nice, right after she checks into the aforementioned fancy hotel:

She was drugged, of course; this she now knew. What she didn't know was whether she would ever come round again once she lost consciousness.

Title:
See the "hero" section.

Edition:
Pocket Book #50298, 1st printing, September 1966

Cover:
Love everything about it, even though it is not the most anatomically accurate. Surely her left hand is not that long?

Cool lines:
It has to be said that the whole thing is pretty dull until it reaches its climax in the last two chapters. Since my glass of wine is still almost full, and I'll write a condensed summary: 

He came in.
In all her years as a spy, and as a woman, she had never known fear as she knew it now.
...
Pale, soft-looking hands, beautifully manicured.
She knew how such hands could hurt.
...
She smiled into his eyes.
She knew what effect such a smile could have.
...
He could see her face, her lips, curving so gently, a glimpse of her teeth, her shoulders, the fullness of her breasts.
...
"Nothing is worth such a waste," she said softly.
He did not answer.
"Nothing could justify your despoiling me. It would be sacrilege."
...
"Nothing could justify it," she repeated.
...
"There is so much more to do with my body," she said. "More than you have ever dreamed." Her voice dropped to a whisper, and the whisper was like a caress. "Untie me. Then you can find out whether I am telling the truth."
He neither moved nor spoke.
...
"Untie me," she said again. She almost pleaded.
"You know I cannot," he replied.
"I know you can."
"Storm, what makes this silence so important to you?"
"What makes my words so important to you?"
"I have - a duty."
"I have - a body."
"Storm."
"Untie me."
...
"Don't waste me," Storm said. "Untie me."
...
"No one can save you, no one can spare you."
"You can," she said.
"You are fooling yourself."
"You are denying yourself."
...
"Juan," she whispered. "Untie my legs."
Nearer.
"Just my legs." She could hardly hear her own voice. "I cannot harm you if my hands are tied. And you will have proved yourself."
...
"Juan," she said, "if you must, you must. But why not - afterward?"
Afterward.
"Untie my legs," she pleaded, and in the pleading there was promise.
...
She lay smiling at him, her eyes glowing, and the radiance was not forced, for she was warmed in the prospect of life.
...
"Now," he said, "prove that there is no other woman like you."
...
He was not simply a male. He was a man of deep experience, as great a lover as she had ever known.
Slowly she slid into a kind of oblivion, oblivion of the world outside, as if there were only the two of them alive, and because of that they were as one, not only for passion's sake but for the sake of tomorrow's world.
...
The time came when there were two bodies where there had been one.
...
"Juan," she said. "Did I prove my boast?"
"You proved it."

And that's it, I'm outta here. You are welcome. Not only for passion's sake but for the sake of tomorrow's world

Sunday, March 10, 2024

Nice Guys Finish Dead (Albert Conroy, 1957)

A "wrong place, wrong time" story with a twist: our hero is a reporter, so it is really the "right place, right time." And yes, the Pulitzer Prize will be mentioned as soon as on page 47.

No mystery whatsoever as the story unfolds in 3rd person narration from various protagonists. So it is a thriller, and this is where my first problem with the book arises: its incredibly uneven pace. Halfway through, we must follow our hero's simple task of tracing a witness for 50+ pages. Barney really takes his time! He travels to New York to interview some agent who only gives him the witness's mother's address in New Jersey. After visiting her, he finally obtains an address in Atlantic City, where he will travel next. In short, Mr. Conroy could easily squeeze several chapters into a couple of paragraphs, each containing a single phone call.

It gets better. There's this weird subplot involving Barney's love interest. It just so happens that Molly is an illegitimate child of the main bad guy (talking of coincidences...), whom she deeply despises for dumping her mother, even though the guy offered to adopt her when she was a child. So now - years later! - she tells him that she has changed her mind and is willing to be adopted. An offer that Alex cannot refuse, so she promptly moves into his house... where she starts spying on him by wiring his room and recording him scheming criminal affairs with his "associates". What a gal!

This raises a couple of questions. First, is it even possible for an adult person to be adopted? I've never heard of it. And second, how could Alex Cook become the No. 1 guy in "organization" if he is so fucking dumb and clueless? It turns out that none of this will be relevant, as the incriminating recordings won't even be needed at the end. Bad guys will shoot themselves out because Barney has gathered plenty of evidence anyway...

After all these shenanigans and needless travels, the author seems to have realized he was way behind schedule and had been too enthusiastic about the word count, so he decided to wrap up the whole thing rapidly. The kidnapping attempt of his kid is done (planning + the botched execution) in a couple of pages, and the final shootout between the bad guys takes even less. 

There are things that I liked. It's hard-boiled as hell. Our hero gets his ass severely kicked several times, and on one occasion, he even ends up with an internal haemorrhage. But don't worry, because he will return the favour a few pages later by putting the other guy in the hospital. With a little help of a fucking hammer! Plus, there are some unsettling scenes at the end about some poor girl being hooked on heroin and forced into prostitution.

The book opens by letting us know that the hero just got dumped by his wife. She also took away their kid. So I was dreading some inevitable family shit. Luckily, with the exception of the aforementioned kidnapping episode that resolves itself quickly, this doesn't happen.

It's a bit of a hectic mixed bag. The writing could be better, a bit grittier, and with some cool one-liners thrown in. Forgettable, but at least not too boring stuff.

3/5

Facts:


Hero:
A look of calm - almost of lethargy - came over his lean, bruised face. It was when he looked like this, that Barney Fox became a dangerous man.

The bad guy(s):
As mentioned above, the guy is pretty gullible. No wonder Barney Fox outfoxes Alex C(r)ook.

Dames
Molly Howarth, radio DJ and soon-to-be Barney's ex-wife replacement: 
curved gracefully, with fantastically long legs, a regal neck, and a face like a fine marble carving.

Nora Rice, former night club singer, recent witness to the murder, and currently junkie:
A knockout. Big blue eyes, impudent sexy face, plenty of figure.

Enid, the call girl: 
One hell of a blonde. Almost six feet tall. Nothing slender about her. Everything full, firm and delicious.

Location:
Unnamed town on the East Coast close to New York.

Body count:
5

The object of desire:
"The way I see it, there's only one way for you to get out of spending the next ten years in prison."
"How?"
"By digging up proof that Alex Cook put on pressure to fix a murder committed by his nephew. That would ruin Cook. His power would evaporate. There'd be a big political clean-out in this city."

...and maybe then the Pulitzer would land?

Blackouts:
He just kept punching, concentrating on the moving bulk in front of him, until something hard connected with the back of his head and drove his brains forward against his eyes.
He fell through darkness. He didn't hear himself land.

The same guy ("the bruiser") gives him another savage beating, but this time, Barney is literally saved by the bell that spooks the guy so much that he decides to flee the apartment instead of finishing the job:

He lay there on his side, face toward the opening door.
He saw Molly Howarth come in before darkness engulfed him and washed away all pain...

He comes up briefly, and after a few "What happened", "Call the police", etc exchanges, he really goes down:

He stared at the carpet below the other side of the bed, saw the broken bottle lying there. He passed out, grinning insanely...


References:
Molly is a Radio DJ: "... and so let's listen to some more of that Rodgers and Hart stuff. This time it's Little Girl Blue, Martha Raye handling the vocal. Martha and Hart are a combination you just can't beat..."

Cool Blurbs:
There's a tagline that says "Fastest, toughest thriller," but I'd argue that only the second part is trueBut I found this great badass line describing Barney, which would be much. much more effective and cool sounding:

"He was stubborn. He was cunning. He was a professional."

Title:
Archie Schaefer, the accordionist, is a nice family guy who starts the body count meter rolling. And speaking of accordionists, do you know this hilarious quote from Tom Waits:

“A gentleman is someone who can play the accordion, but doesn't.”

Edition:
Gold Medal #1079, Second Printing, January 1961

Cover:
Well, there's a tough guy with a gun and a beautiful redhead, but... that's all there is!? It feels like incomplete work, more like a couple of sketches. 

Uncredited, but according to pulpcovers.com, its author is Mitchell Hooks.
 
Cool lines:
/

Sunday, October 8, 2023

Night Lady (William Campbell Gault, 1958)

I usually leave commenting on offensive language until the end. We all understand these pulpy paperbacks were written in another century when different morality codes were in place. Hell, sometimes their crudeness and political incorrectness even make them more amusing. But this time, I will make an exception since the very opening of Night Lady goes a bit loopy. Check this:

The thing you want to remember about wrestlers is that they are not always as virile as they look. It’s a trade that appeal to the narcissist. And from self-admiration it’s only a step to love of like for like.

And love of like for like can lead a man into something as socially respectable as Rotary or something as socially repugnant as homosexuality. 

What follows is a barrage of homophobic shit. Forget the "love of like for like". We get monsters (!?!), freaks, weirdies, homos, ugly slobs, pansies, etc. Relentless stuff. It's on almost every single page for the entire opening chapter. Then, for some reason, it finishes as abruptly as it started. Weird...

When this poisonous torrent of insults stops, the book becomes at least readable, but unfortunately, it is still not very enjoyable. The story involving corruption in wrestling showbiz is original, and most of the characters are interesting and decently fleshed out, but the plotting is terrible. Nothing really happens, and our gumshoeing hero is basically going around in circles interviewing the same people who were introduced at the beginning. 

Joe Puma is yet another Mike Hammer clone: a conservative asshole (btw, he doesn't work on Sundays), full of prejudice, old-fashioned ideas, and judgments about everything and everyone. But unlike Hammer's, his M.O. is a complete mess. For starters, there's this weird cooperation with the cops. Instead of simply having his best friend cop (as most of the other private eyes do), Joe works with the police. Literally - he actually mails them his daily reports!?

He's hardly efficient and thinks more about what he will eat for the next meal than what to ask his suspects on numerous pointless interviews. Or taking the whole afternoon off to take a girl out for a picnic!? Twice, to be precise. So, it comes as no surprise that as late as in chapter 8 (of 15), he starts whining about neither him nor the police making any progress.

But thanks to his incompetence, we are treated with a few unforgettable scenes.

He is still clueless in chapter 12, still whining (nothing, nothing, nothing….I had nowhere to go, no lead to follow or suspect to interrogate), so he gets the brilliant idea:

I got a big piece of paper and put down all the characters in this muddled murder and tried to connect them with lines of meaning, tried to find in the web of interconnecting lines, some road to revelation.

Huh? Can you imagine Phillip Marlowe doing something as idiotic as this? Hell no, the only diagram he would ever draw would be the one of some complicated chess game position. 

Can Joe Puma sink even lower? Well, yes, he can. In another scene, he finds himself stuck in an apartment with a girl and is reluctant to go out where a couple of hoods are waiting for him. So he asks the girl to watch over him through the window and call the cops if they get rough. It's not exactly something your typical P.I. would degrade himself to, but I'll let it slide. After all, he does work with the police, and this same pair kicked the shit out of him a few chapters earlier. But then comes the masterpiece: 

You don’t happen to have a gun around, do you?

Simply brilliant! Do you have a spare gun lying around!?!? Needless to say, I take back that Mike Hammer comparison, with apologies to all Spillane fans out there.

There's more, but let's not dwell too much on our poor Joseph. We still have an ending to discuss. It deserves discussing because Joe doesn't really break the case. The thing is that the villain is so fucking stupid that the case breaks itself. In short - the guy is involved in the shootout with our man Joe and the aforementioned couple of hoods. Both tough guys end up dead on the floor, but he simply walks away back to his office and later tells the cops he wasn't around. As simple as that. His word against Joe's.

Still unsatisfied, Joe just has to tie up the loose ends. He interviews one of his suspects' psychiatrist (who has never heard of doctor/patient confidence) and comes up with the final shocking twist. Without giving away too much (sic), it is linked to transvestitism! And we are treated with some more vulgar and primitive psychoanalysis:

It means an urge to wear the clothes of the opposite sex. Like women in riding habits and men in silk Hawaiian sport shirts.

Finally, there's an epilogue: a five-page scene in which Joe fights a professional wrestler! And yes, masculinity, heterosexuality, virility, etc will prevail in this final combat. The. Fucking. End.

I don't know. There must be Gault fans who consider him subversive for breaking pretty much all unwritten genre rules and not avoiding writing about "socially repugnant" topics. I'm not one of them. This was my third Joe Puma, which will remain so for a long time.

2.5/5  

(I'm generously adding half a point for that "do you have a gun" scene.)

Facts:


Hero:
He looked at me enviously. “Tough. Smart, sexy, tough and active. Damn you, Joseph Puma.”

Dames
There are many female characters, and Joe - instead of investigating - takes some time off to summarise them all. You can find this on page 145. It's a pretty silly thing that finishes with

Nine women I had met and batted only .222. Figure it out for yourself, nine into two. That was pretty damned decent of me. 

Now is a good time to mention another repugnant, degrading human behaviour that troubles Joe. You see, he doesn't mind having sex with a girl on their second date. So it is even more shocking that we catch him later contemplating:

I’d had personal experience with her beyond the hearsay. And I am not young enough to believe that a girl who succumbs too quickly to me hasn’t succumbed as quickly dozens of times before.
Well, maybe it wasn’t a sin. Who am I to judge? But when it gets to be a compulsion it is sure as hell as much of a degradation as any other compulsion, including overeating.

In other words - it's "decent" of him to score, but it makes her nymphomaniac? What an asshole.

Location:
L.A.

Body count:
3

The object of desire:
...to keep the game (wrestling) honestly crooked.

Blackouts:
Nothing special about the first one:

I went down half-conscious and caught a foot in the throat. I heard the wail of a siren right after they started to kick me.

I liked the second one more. After the shootout that leaves two bad guys bleeding on the floor, Joe gets smashed on his head with the vase by a pissed-off "stocky blonde":
 
And though I couldn’t see her, I could recognize the nasal of the stocky blonde who was neither sister nor wife. She said shrillingly, “Damn you, I warned you not to mess up the place!"

References:
Had The Los Angeles Times published some bad reviews of Gault's stuff?

The paper was the Times. The Los Angeles Times. They do love to compare themselves to The New York Times but they are to The New York Times what Elmer Kenilstube is to Dizzy Dean. In case you never heard of Elmer Kenilstube, he pitched for Elkville in the Dakota League and set a record, losing sixteen consecutive games.

And he was most likely the only person on this planet who disliked Sophia Loren and Gina Lollobridgia:

I turned to the drama section and read about the stars, the feminine stars. I do love to read about them and imagine myself in their lives, dancing and like that. On the stars, the Times does an adequate job. American stars, I mean, and the skinny Italian ones. Those big Italian stars you can have, all tits and guts.


Cool Blurbs:
...starring Joe Puma, William Campbell Gault's greatest gift to private-eye lovers everywhere

Title:
A woman wearing a white sheath dress and a cerulean mink stole is seen leaving the scene of the first murder. The crime happened at night, hence - Night Lady?

Before you start googling, I did that for you: cerulean means "deep blue in colour like a clear sky". You are very welcome.

Edition:
Crest #260, First Printing, December 1958

Cover:
A beautiful painting, sort of subdued... more sad or maybe nostalgic than erotic. Uncredited, and I can find no signature.

Cool lines:

Did the killer know they were Sheila’s?
Sheila knew they were Sheila’s.
According to my theory, Sheila was not the killer.
So go back: did the killer know they were Sheila’s?

Sunday, January 29, 2023

Strange Witness (Day Keene, 1953)

It opens promisingly. Instead of the classic "You'll be back" lines that the prison warden always uses for bidding farewell to the released inmate, in this one, our hero promises that he'll be back. What a badass! And yes, ladies and gentlemen, fasten your seatbelts - the name of the game will be revenge!

Well,... a few chapters into this snooze fest, you can safely unfasten them. Strange Witness turns into yet another plain framed-man-on-the-run story. There's a couple of things that were probably supposed to make it a bit special, but neither really works. Our guy is not alone on his run as he needs to protect some kid - the titular strange witness. Which could be cool in case little Greta was some sharp, witty teenager. Instead, she keeps whining and is a general nuisance to both him and the reader. The second unusual touch is our hero's profession. He is a ventriloquist, but he mainly uses his skill to entertain the brat by making her stuffed rabbit talk.

These are just some of the problems. Our hero is dull, the bad guys are as two-dimensional and stereotypical as they get (yes - the main villain is a fat owner of some fancy nightclub), the dialogues are lifeless, and the romantic angle requires all of the suspension of belief that you're willing to give.

The premise of a kid witnessing a murder is not bad at all. But the whole thing is 190 pages long, and there's no actual story development or tension build-up. Hardly a page-turner...

One just never knows with Keene. None of his stuff is terrible, and some is brilliant. I think this is the first one of his that I'm just gonna file in my memory as simply forgettable.

2.5/

Facts:

Hero:
So he'd been a high-priced M.C. and ventriloquist. That came under the heading of talent. All he was was a regular Joe, not any smarter than the average guy on the street, not half as smart as some.

Dames
Thelma, a healthy ex-gun moll with a concave stomach:

Jackson stood enjoying his cigar, admiring her. She was, he judged, in her early or middle twenties. Her stomach was concave. She was slim flanked and full breasted. Her legs were long and shapely. There was an aura of health about her. 

Location:
Chicago

Body count:
6

Not counting Jackson's kid brother Jerry who got shot down over Korea (flying a saber jet!) and not counting the main bad guy even though "Sovereign State of Illinois will take care of the matter, ... Id' say six months from now".

But I'm including some hapless cabbie who dies in his taxi after a car chase ends with a crash. A bit weird because there's a corrupt lawyer in that taxi who dies too, but another passenger - a bad guy's henchman - survives and gets away with a broken arm. I have nothing against lawyers dying, but wtf is this collateral death of the innocent working-class guy!?

The object of desire:
To kill Flip Evans or not? That was the question.

Blackouts:
Jackson is incredibly durable. He gets slapped around from the get-go, and it takes two pages of beating that includes spiking him where it hurt the most with the high French heel for him to finally lose his consciousness:

A wave of pain reached up and engulfed Jackson. He thought: As a gunman I'm a damn good ventriloquist.
Then the wave carried him down into a cool green depth and everything was silence.

He blacks out one more time, but we don't get to know any details on this occasion. After yet another beating that concludes one chapter, another one simply begins with:

With returning consciousness, he knew panic. He thought: The bastards. They've buried me.

Title:
How was I to know the brat was in the office? I damn near died when I turned around and seen her standing there holding that damn stuffed rabbit.

Edition:
A Graphic Original #58

Cover:
Not bad. It would be even better if the blonde held a gun. But her facial expression is cool. She does look a bit amused about the killing happening in the other room, doesn't she? 

Cool lines:
"If you only knew how I love you, Flip."
"Love me?" the fat man puzzled.
"Yeah," Lieutenant McCreary told him. "You're a new Buick, eight hundred more a year and an up-in-rank to me."

Thursday, March 31, 2022

Save Them For Violence (James M. Fox, 1959)

It is a Monarch book, so we shouldn't really be surprised by its misogynistic sex & violence cover. After all, the crazier they are, the more we collect them, right?

But what is somehow surprising is that the cover scene actually takes place in the book! But it happens very close to the end, and until then we need to endure a dull story with a bunch of uninteresting characters that are/were hopelessly in love. Monarch delivers on sex as they occasionally do get laid, but they sure don't deliver on sleaze as those scenes are hilariously cheesy and totally safe. See the 'cool lines' section of the facts below.

The plot? I'm not sure to be honest, and it seems that the author himself wasn't sure where he was going with it. It reaches its climax with our cover-girl heroine in distress and the good guys rescuing her. So they come up with this ingenious plan:

"We must depend on Marya to stay alive until we can reach her," Sandor said cryptically.
"Do you have a plan?"
Sandor shrugged. "There can be no plan. But there are two of us - and he is only one."
Grant stared down at the dark temple. "Maybe," he said.

Hilarious shit. Unfortunately, it's just one of the handful of LOL moments. Still, it kind of nicely summarises the whole thing. 

2/5

Facts:

Hero:
John Grant, US Embassy attaché in Mexico City

Dames
John's devoted secretary Elaine Stacey with a big crush on her boss: Cool, attractive, sensible, efficient, and possessed of the most beautiful legs he had ever seen.

But still, John is obsessed with Marya. As everyone else really, and you can read more on the back cover scan. I can only add that she is my kind of gal and the only thing that works in this book.

Location:
Mexico City with some flashbacks to Rome and Romania. Which btw, is repeatedly referred to as Rumania.

Body count:
Only one. I hope this was intentionally ironic because the only guy who dies in this one is the cowardly bodyguard Maderos.

The object of desire:
"In your country, how long would it take for a man to amass four million dollars?"
"With our income tax situation, Raul, I'd say about a hundred and seventy-five years."
Rodriguez snorted. "That's too long."

Blackouts:
/

Cool Blurbs:
Not exactly a blurb, but it says "First Publication In Book Form" on the front page, which got me a bit curious. In what other form could it possible be published anyways!? 

But the revelation follows quickly on the intro page, where it is noted that it is based on a screenplay by Robert C. Dennis and James M. Fox. I unsuccessfully tried to find the movie on IMDB, so it looks like it was never actually filmed. 

Title:
Somehow puzzling. Could it be that the editor had replaced the word "from" with "for" to make it more catchy and aligned with the cover? One of life's big mysteries that we will never find an answer for... But definitely a great candidate for the title that Seagal should consider for his next flick!

Edition:
Monarch #132, September 1959

Cover:
The woman lay helpless on her back, spread-eagled, her hands and feet tied to the tubular iron posts at the four corners of the bed. The upward thrust of her arms stretched her chest muscles taut, pulling her breasts high and erect. Her skirt was bunched around her hips, exposing the sleek nylon columns of her legs.
...
The point of his knife wormed under the bra in the valley between the proud peaks. Threads parted. The last one resisted, broke. With the knife blade he flipped the cups, one by one, to the side.
...
"It is not the same when a woman is tied," she said, her voice low and husky. Her lips parted, and she moistened them with the red tip of her tongue.

Huh? Taut chest muscles? The valley between the proud peaks??

Cool lines:
In the absence of some snappy dialogues and hard-boiled action, let's put some sex here!

The cold air bit into her exposed flesh. Then his hands began to build small fires, activating sensitive nerve ends she had never felt before, and the searing touch of his lips and tongue spread the flame of sensation throughout her body. And at last she felt the driving weight of his assault, and she cried out as she rose to meet him, all self consumed in the frenzy of her need.

Driving weight of his assault?

There was a tantalizing moment in which she held back, soft flesh quivering at the ever bolder urging of his hands, parted lips resisting the bruising demand of his mouth. But at last, with a cry torn from deep in her throat, she yielded herself to him completely. The rhythm of a woman's giving began, the tempo rapidly increasing until it was she who was demanding, she whose fingers raked his back in mindless pain of wanting.

Bruising demand of his mouth? Mindless pain of wanting?

She leaned forward, pale soft lips parting slightly. The thin fabric of her suit pulled taut against surprisingly full breasts, and he saw that she wore no blouse. The fact made him peculiarly conscious of the soft whiteness of her throat.

Soft whiteness of her throat? 

Saturday, February 26, 2022

Self-Made Widow (Philip Race, 1958)

I came across this one while reading an excellent article on convicts-turned-writers in the recent issue of Justin Marriott's one and only Paperback Fanatic. Like always, I discovered lots of exciting stuff and several new books were added to my ever-growing to-do list. Just couldn't pass this one because of its incredibly cool title. Luckily, I could find a nice copy for just a few bucks.

We learn in the article that Elmer Merle Parsons aka Philip Race was a small-time crook, in and out of San Quentin for minor crimes like burglary, car theft, and passing stolen cheques. I know I'm going to sound a bit mean, but his lack of a more severe crime experience is painfully evident in this one. Our hero needs cash badly (expensive wife...), so he ensures himself and - a couple of days later! -  stages his death. The greedy couple's plan is to simply find a bum whose burned corpse will pass as his. Obviously, all they need to do is to swap clothes. To make the identity switch waterproof, Johnny puts his wristwatch on the unfortunate victim. This truly pushes the limits of amateurish crime to new levels.

None of the above is much of a spoiler since it gets explained on the back cover and the first-page teaser.  All this stuff is over by page 70, but we still have 120 more. Turned out these were 120 excruciating pages to go through. Johnny ends up on the skid row, meets his new best friend, falls in love with a hooker with a golden heart, starts playing the piano again,... and finally, fucking finally, gets his revenge.

Dull, predictable, going nowhere fast, with the hero as confused and uncharismatic as Liam Neeson. Skip it.

One last thing! If you have a drinking problem, I strongly advise you against picking this one up as not to get into temptation. They all drink, and they drink constantly and heavily. I'll remember the Self-made Widow for the (funny?) scene in which our hero instructs the cab driver to have a couple of drinks while waiting for him!?!

2.5/5

Facts:

Hero:
Johnny Babcock, not a very successful oil salesman.

Dames
Titular Edna (fire in velvet and fever in silk) is by far the best thing in the book. The way we like our femme fatales - hard, smart, and sexy. Her antithesis is Dee, an ex-hooker (but still with a golden heart) who reminds Johnny of her undying, everlasting love on every single fucking page she appears on.

There's also some silly, amateurish psychological sex angle. There's lots of passion between him and Edna (see below), but with Dee, he cannot get it up at first: "We were discovering each other, a process any young couple knows about." Once they do get it going, the author doesn't detail the act itself (simply, "This was the time"), but he does not spare us from enduring their family planning debate immediately after they finish. If you're curious - there will be four boys and one girl.

Location:
Los Angeles

Body count:
3

The first one is great! After they finish the dirty business, our greedy couple needs some fuel:

I got the bottle. My fingers couldn't handle the cork. I smashed the neck against the door, poured my mouth full of the hot fluid.
"Me, too," Edna said and I handed it to her.

Once invigorated, they have wild sex:

You couldn't call it love. It was too furious, too jerky and savage. A fight, it was, and both of us emerged shaken and exhausted, cramped and weary from twisting in the confined front seat

The object of desire:
A hundred thousand dollars! All the money in the world. No more short end of the stick, no worrying about whether some idiot likes you enough to give you a five-dollar raise. People and places, sweetheart. Clothes, excitement...

Blackouts:
3

References:
The air in the joint was hazy, full of drifting tendrils of smoke; the same music insinuated through the small talk. Except now I know who the piano was - Thelonious Monk. I'd deposited a flock of dimes to make sure the music didn't stop. The tunes were bluesy and wonderfully articulated and suited my mood exactly - complicated and lowdown.

Title:
"A rich widow, darling," Edna said, whispering over the faint music from the car radio, "Rich and beautiful and eager to please."

Edition:
Gold Medal  #s796, First Printing, August 1958

Cover:
Not bad, but not very appropriate as it looks more like a romance, not a mystery novel. According to pulpcovers.com, made by Ernest "Darcy" Chiriacka.

Cool lines:
The drink came and I put it away. It went down like water. Warm water. Question: How much scotch does it take to wash down murder? The man poured and I experimented.

Friday, February 11, 2022

I Get What I Want (Larry Heller, 1956)

This one seems so obscure that it's not even listed on goodreads.com. So yes - I bought it simply for its badass cover and great title. But I did have a good feeling about it, and I'm happy to report that it was justified.

Three-part structure. We start off with the Gil Brewer-ish "boy meets girl" type of story, meaning that our couple ends up in the back of his car on their very first date. On the very first day they meet, I may add. 

The middle part is where the plot thickens. Most of it takes place on a small island where our hero's residence is, so this isolated scenery gives the novel an extra edge and claustrophobic feel. Plus, another shady character enters the picture, so Jeff gets some additional worries besides his (by now) elusive love interest and her shady uncle.

By this point, it is all nicely set up for the final part that kicks off triggered by an accidental death of some local asshole (or was it really accidental?), and this is also where a nice twist takes place. The plot sidetracks a bit, and the author makes quite a savage attack on the small-town mentality. And I don't mean savage just figuratively because our hero is on the wrong end of the brutal beating (three pages!) by a local cop. Very hard-boiled and very good. After this nice little detour, the main plotline resumes and reaches its climax in a standoff on a small boat in the middle of the ocean. I've already used the words isolated and claustrophobic, right?

Nothing extraordinary about this one, but everything is a bit above average. I really liked it, and I'm keeping it in my collection. Not just for its badass cover.

4/5

Facts:

Hero:
Jeff Tucker - an ordinary guy without much worry in the world. Until Letty comes along...


Bad guy(s):
You can read about Buster on the back cover, but let's not forget Daly - "a crafty son of a bitch".

Dames
We have Helen Anders, his girlfriend with "a quiet, delicate mouth that was serene without being placid", but it's all about Letty, really. Once more, see the back cover for the details, but in short: "I don't know what it was, but the impact of this girl was incredible."

Location:
A small Florida fishing town called Sanibar, just off the Gulf of Mexico. Surrounded by the red tide - the ocean full of dead fish killed by some sort of a red germ. A nice touch that gives the novel an unsettling morbid feel of isolation and entrapment.

Body count:
3

Object of desire:
See the 'dames' section

Blackouts:
Jeff is a pretty tough guy, but he gets kicked around a lot in this one. It starts with a fight with some local drunk who harassed Letty (see the 'cover' section below) but on that occasion, he manages to "still cling to a thin edge of consciousness".

The first proper one happens when he's so lovesick that he drinks himself into oblivion and picks up a fight with some lads in a bar: "I can't remember anything but clash, chaos, and violence - and a great dark segment of wheeling sky in which the stars glittered like crushed glass."

Then comes the savage beating I mentioned earlier. Somehow, he's able to crawl away, and then "...somebody touched me on the shoulder and I screamed"

The last one happens in the final scene, where he confronts the bad guy. Jeff is armed with the speargun, and the other one has a gun - "I heard the zing of the released spear just before I passed out".

References:
I ordered two extra-dry martinis, and the waiter walked away with that kind of placid dignity they have in better restaurants where they know their tips will run at least twenty percent. He looked a little like Charles Boyer.
"He looks like Charles Boyer," I said to Letty.
"So what?" She kept making those crosses on the table-cloth.
"And that woman over there by the window, she looks like Greer Garson. If the bartender turns out to be Humphrey Bogart, we're in Key Largo."
"Very funny. Ha, ha."

And I agree with Letty. It's not very funny, especially since neither Boyer nor Garson is cast in Key Largo.

Title:
Very cool sounding but doesn't really relate to anybody or anything particular in the book.

Edition:
Popular Library #760, July 1956

Cover:
It's not a bottle, but an empty beer mug:

He was pretty drunk and hanging on her like an old overcoat. His right hand was in the small of her back, and he must have been trying to pull her in close because she arched away from him and turned a little, evading the knee he sought to push between her legs.
I pushed back my chair, but it was all over before I could get to my feet. Letty reached out, picked up an empty beer mug from the top of the juke box, and rapped him on the back of the head with it. She turned and walked away from him while he was staggering in dazed circles. She came back to the table and sat down.

Cool lines:
"I'll get you some day. You're going to trip again, and this time I'll get you for sure. And when they fry you," his eyes were mad, "I'll put a pan under you and catch the grease. And the next day I'll eat my pancakes in it!"