There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen. You can even get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge.*
“‘Okay Moondoggie,’ I said to myself. ‘You’re a tough guy. You’ve been sapped twice, choked, beaten silly with a gun, shot in the arm until you’re crazy as a couple of waltzing mice. Now let’s see you do something really tough - like putting your pants on.’”
*Raymond Chandler, Red Wind, 1938
**Murder, My Sweet, 1944
That is way more cat stomach than ever I want to see. My foot itches.
Left by Slywy on May 9th, 2009