Booze, broads, bullying and brawls, thought Morg. These are a few of my favorite things.
Posts tagged noir
It wasn’t as if I intended to start my golden years early. Several decades early. But I had free time. All dressed up in a tweed jacket and vintage tie. All dressed up and no place to go. Except the thrift stores, antique shops and second-hand bookstores. So I wandered around town.
The antique shop was like any other antique shop. Loads of crap piled on cabinets, tables and bookshelves. Some of it was interesting crap. I hardly ever see a genuine straw skimmer anymore. I want one, but I didn’t want to pay $70 for one that was too small. So I kept looking. I found the cane in an umbrella stand. I didn’t need it. Still don’t. But I liked twirling it casually by the crooked handle. So I got it. For $7. Too bad the skimmer didn’t work out.
Then I was off down the street to the used bookstore. I twirled my cane as I went. God knows I don’t need more books. I have more than I can possibly read or store right now. But that never stops me. Fortunately for me, the bookstore was running low on quality literature. But I snap up anything I can find by John D. MacDonald. I love Travis McGee, but MacDonald’s other stuff is equally good. This was a non-McGee book called A Key to the Suite. For $2.50. Sold.
I tucked the book into my jacket pocket and strolled down the street twirling my cane. It occurred to me that I had jumped the gun. I was a little young to be a tweedy cane-carrier. With a book more than 50 years old, no less. But I wasn’t too concerned. The time will come. I’ll need a cane. And I’ll still be a gent with a necktie and a book in his pocket. Just an old gent by then. Might as well practice.
Life’s a Gyp, Kid
Morg Malden ambled into his tiny living room from his even tinier bedroom. Eleven o’clock. Good thing he didn’t have anything pressing today. Or the next day. Or the day after that. He’d have to do something, sooner or later. But he’d get to that.
Breakfast first. Morg flipped open a pizza box lying on the floor since the night before. God damn. Ants. This shouldn’t have been surprising. But Morg had been leaving pizza sitting on the floor overnight at least weekly for the past several years. Never had any problems. Oh, well. Live and learn. But he’d have to get that pizza out of here. Otherwise ants would just continue to congregate in the middle of the tatty carpet.
He threw out his breakfast, lunch and dinner, cursing at himself as he did. Now breakfast would be just beer. He thought back to his late grandfather. It was hard to believe Morg had been a kid. But he had. And his toy had broken. His grandfather had shrugged. “Life’s a gyp, kid.” That’s probably offensive now, Morg thought. Not that his grandfather would have cared.
Morg ambled over to the refrigerator. No pizza, no grandpa and nothing in the refrigerator besides beer. Oh, he had memories. Memories of his grandfather and memories of the pizza. Fat lot of good that did him. He reached for a cheap beer and cracked it open. Here was breakfast. He raised the open bottle to toast no one in particular. Life’s a gyp, kid.
“My disguise must strike terror. I must be black. Terrible. Criminals are a superstitious cowardly lot. I must be a creature. I must be a creature of the night.”
Bridges
They tell you never to burn bridges. The investigation isn’t about you. Act respectfully when you’re questioning someone. You may need to get a little rough sometimes, but apologize after you get what you need. Honey gets more flies than vinegar and all that.
It’s a good idea. So I try to do do it that way. But sometimes good ideas just get stretched to the breaking point. This broad just wanted to lecture me. The workers were all oppressed. It was all about power, I had to realize that. All I knew was that one worker’s head had been oppressed by a very large wrench. I’d figure out all the oppression in the rest of the world later.
She didn’t like my priorities, but I needed priorities in my line of work. She said she didn’t plan on getting a job and submitting to the oppression. She wouldn’t get a job, that much was for sure.
They say not to burn bridges. They don’t say what to do if you don’t wanna cross those bridges ever again.They don’t tell you what to do with a bridge that doesn’t go anywhere. All good ideas have exceptions. She was a two-bit cunt. So I told her so.
Robert B. Parker revitalized private eye fiction in the 1970s, and this new anthology pays tribute to the modern master of the genre. And what do you know, I was lucky enough to get a chance to review it for Crime Fiction Lover. The contributors in this book include new Spenser author Ace Atkins, Dennis Lehane, Lawrence Block, Ed Gorman and other crime fiction titans.
But don’t just take my word for it. Go read the review, then take my word for it.
It’s no secret that John D. MacDonald is one of my hardboiled favorites. Random House is reprinting his Travis McGee novels, and I thought I’d take the opportunity to talk about McGee’s (and MacDonald’s) place in hardboiled literature. So head on over to CFL for a “review” (such as it is) of The Deep Blue Good-by and a discussion of McGee—a beach bum and rather unqiue hardboiled hero.
Also, before you rush over to CFL, take a moment to admire the pulp art of Robert McGinnis, who illustrated a great many John D. MacDonald covers (both McGee books and standalones). McGinnis was every bit the master that MacDonald was, and the pairing is inspired. It’s like a pulpy seal of quality if I find an old paperback with John D. MacDonald’s name on it and cover art by Robert McGinnis.
But don’t just take my word for it. Go read the review, then take my word for it.
This smashing illustration from Tony Fleecs left me with just two questions:
- Why isn’t this a real book?
- Why aren’t there pulpy Valentines?
Because I want both.
This slim volume was haunting, thought-provoking and brutal. It’s also my latest review on Crime Fiction Lover. Helmick skillfully serves up noir fatalism and stifling frustration on the Georgia blacktop. If Rod Serling were alive, he’d be jealous he didn’t think of this plot for The Twilight Zone.
But don’t just take my word for it. Go read the review, then take my word for it.
