More loot from my Lifeline Bookfair crime spree:
SIX DAYS
to go before Westland would go to the electric chair for the murder of his wife...
SIX DAYS
for him to sweat in the death cell--with a gangster and a fiend for company...
SIX DAYS
for private investigator William Crane to flirt with death and find the real killer...
Now this
is an example of hard-boiled crime fiction. Originally published in 1935 it is steeped in Depression cynicism, and filled with characters who are corrupt, cowardly and treacherous. Innocence is vindicated--eventually--but it takes a lot of bribes and a sharp lawyer. Oh, and some help from gangsters:
Butch looked forbiddingly at Crane. "Connors musta told you about us."
"You bet he did." Wind whipped the side curtains against the body of the car and whistled across the back seat. "He said you boys could muscle your way into heaven and come out with a truckload of harps."
This was a lie but it satisfied Butch.
"Connors would have been all right," he said, "if he could of left the coppers alone. It's OK to knock off a hood or so, but you oughta be careful about shootin' coppers. It makes the judge mad, and sometimes he won't let ya fix the case."
(Page 110)
No comments:
Post a Comment