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By Lionel White

White is without doubt one of the lesser-known noirists whose books have been filmed via Kubrick and Godard ('Pierrot le Fou' used to be 'based on' 'Obsession') and have been a power on Tarantino. regardless of the name, this is often extra of a personality examine, with a chilling portrayal of a cold-hearted manipulator referred to as Flood and the lads and ladies, stable and undesirable, who stick to his orders, in spite of the fact that reluctantly. The attitudes to ladies are greatly of its time (mid-fifties), i.e. 3 different types: strong, undesirable, and married. there is humour, and violence, and a basic feel of unease. Memorable pulp noir, a forgotten vintage.

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He asked. “I got everything figured,” Candle told him. “And tomorrow I think I'm going downstate and pick up that rented car. ” “I don't want to be hanging around there myself a damn minute longer than I have to,” Shorty said with a distorted smile. Candle took the last drink out of his glass and then put it down on the table at the end of the day bed. “I got a little news for you,” he said softly. ” “Yeah. Get this. ” Shorty said. “Who? ” Candle smiled slyly. “A guy named Harper,” he said. ” “I guess maybe you never knew him,” Candle said.

She knew something was coming, but she didn't know what. For a moment the thought occurred to her that she was experiencing a feeling of guilt. She hated herself for it, but she couldn't control it. She felt as though she had done something wrong; that in some way she had betrayed him. Well, in a way, she supposed that she had. He wheeled, quickly and stood in front of her, close, so that the buttons of his coat brushed the thin fabric of her dress. He made no effort to touch her. “You haven't kissed me,” he said.

The porch too was in darkness now. He had been lying there, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, for a long time. He guessed that it must be close to midnight. A dozen times he had been tempted to get up and look at the clock, but each time he had resisted the temptation. There was no point in finding out how many hours had passed, no point in torturing himself. He didn't move until he heard the sound of the car approaching far down the narrow dirt road. Even before the twin headlights slanted into the driveway leading to the house, Frank knew that it was Kay.

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