Robbie's Wife (Russell Hill, 2007)

Not much to say about this one. An old American screenplay writer goes to the rural UK countryside in search of muses that would help him create his next masterpiece and put him back on the Hollywood map. He finds one, or better to say, one and THE only one in a shape and form of Maggie, wife of the farmer and B&B owner, where Jack wonders by chance one night. Obviously, the poor lad's name is Robbie.

Jack falls madly in love with Maggie, and from there on, you don't need much of an imagination to guess where this thing will go. And it's all about pure LOVE and not much about passion, fucking or even about good old money scheming. No deadly sins here, to which we are used in our crime books. To summarise:

"You know that I've fallen in love with you."
"Yes, I know that. And when I'm around you it's as if my nerves are exposed, as if my skin is raw and if you were to come closer to me my body would betray me."

Still, at the beginning, it was all right. Jack was introduced as a bit of an unstable character, and I thought that he would eventually go really fucking mental. I could see lots of possibilities by simply turning him into an ageing Clint Eastwood-type bad-ass, starting with (just an example) kicking the ass of that gypsy (pardon: traveller) blackmailing asshole. It would definitely appeal to the Tarantino generation. And although I don't qualify in that category myself, I wouldn't mind some action at all.

But nothing like that happens. I mean, he does get weirder and weirder and acts increasingly more irrational (you see, he's still in love), so "fucking mental" hardly qualifies for his state of mind. I think pathetic is much more appropriate.

It's written decently, but it's simply not my cup of tea, I'm afraid. It just drags on and on for ages. To be a bit mean, I would call it "Postman Always Rings Twice for the old people".

2/5

Facts:

Hero:
Jack Stone, a sixty-year-old movie writer

Location:
UK countryside south of London on the farm called Sheepheaven (which btw is a really cool name, isn't it?)

Body count: 

1

Dames:
Robbie's Wife Maggie

Blackouts: 
After the whole ordeal of murder, having his car stolen and being humiliated and extorted by the gipsy, Jack drives back to London and starts drinking heavily in his little hotel room. He then finally passes out, which, after all this shit and also considering his not-so-tender age, is of course totally understandable. 

Title: 
Couldn't be more direct or appropriate except for maybe choosing simply "Maggie"

Cover:
Maggie standing in the doorway. Which is a sort of a leitmotif, as there are numerous occasions of her in that position (though none that I can remember of when she's dressed so sexy). Decent illustration, credited to R.B. Farrell.

Cool lines: 
He switched off the tape recorder. "You've been charged, Jack. You might want to learn the rules for cricket."

Total Khéops aka Total Chaos (Jean-Claude Izzo, 1995)

Bad stuff just keeps happening to the police inspector Fabio Montale: his old friend Ugo was killed after avenging the death of their mutual friend Manu, Fabio's platonic love Leila was brutally raped and killed, and his not-so-platonic love Marie-Lou was beaten savagely by her asshole pimp. During the routine day, our hero also needs to deal with a punk dealer who beat his girlfriend's gay brother. Plus other shit, lots of other shit.

Strangely enough, with his hands full of work, Fabio doesn't really seem to be too eager to get his shit together and to start some proper investigation. He leaves that to his investigating journalist friend and lover, Babette(!), and even to one of the mafia's retired big bosses(!?!). He himself spends most of the time whining about his mid-life crisis, giving us guided tours of Marseilles, sharing some pretty lame philosophy ('ala That's what love is, the possibility of losing) and more than just a few cooking recipes.

Eventually, all the above events turn out to be related. Even more, they trigger the gangster war between the Marseilles mafia and the Camorra from Naples. Total chaos? Definitely! At the end of this thing, even our main protagonist himself is so confused that he freely admits that "I couldn't really make heads or tails of it all."

I didn't get some of it, too, to be honest, but still liked it a lot. Especially the first half is a total page-turner. Although it is bleak and at times a bit depressing, it's full of life and genuine emotions. Melancholy, nostalgia, sadness, broken relationships, and lost friendships - these elements give the novel a unique and personal tone, which is why I didn't mind that the story itself was neglected and not very coherent. At first, I didn't mind it, but as it went on, the repetitive digressions (women, food, art, history, politics, etc.) became quite annoying and even irritating. I'm not saying that it's bad writing because it's actually brilliant. Sub-plots are fluent and develop nicely, but the pace is too slow. At least it was to my liking.

Also, I didn't like Fabio's character very much. 20+ years of service and the hard life in the army and on the streets should have made him tougher (he actually cries at least a couple of times for fuck's sake!) and especially more cynical. There's practically zero humour in this one, and most dialogues are unbelievably corny, even Seagal would be embarrassed by some of the one-liners. Check this one for an example:

"What's the connection?"
"That's what I'm wondering."
"Do you believe in coincidence?"
"I don't believe in anything."

Huh?

But on the other hand, strictly speaking, Fabio is not exactly our main protagonist here. This honour rather goes to the city of Marseille. The author is obsessed with this melting pot of cultures and writes about its (mostly) miserable inhabitants with lots of respect and affection. Which is great, but what bothered me was this relentless naming of every single fucking street where our hero happens to be. It must be really cool reading this if you know the city, but for me, it was just one more distraction.

But despite everything, it's original stuff. Passionate. And I bought the second one of the trilogy even before finishing this one.

4/5

Facts:

Hero: 
Fabio Montale, a cop

Location:
Marseilles. Where cops are playing cowboys. Shoot to kill: that was their basic rule. They followed the General Custer principle that only good Indian was a dead Indian. And in Marseilles, everyone - or almost everyone - was an Indian.

Body count: 
8 proper corpses + 8 "soldiers" in the gangster war + Fabio's cop partner who dies in the unrelated case (when chasing a Mercedes full of gypsies).

Dames:
What cards did I have left? Four queens. Babette: friendship found. Leila: a missed opportunity. Marie-Lou: a promise given. Lole: lost but still awaited. Clubs, spades, diamonds, hearts.

Of four of them, I liked Marie-Lou the most I think. "Young West Indian hooker.... A real looker. Like Diana Ross at the age of twenty-two."

Blackouts: 
Yes, two of them. Both pretty unoriginal: first time he gets beaten to the pulp by the bad guys warning him to stay off the case, and second time he faints out of exhaustion after punching a cop. None of them is described particularly vividly, simply "then everything went black" and "after that, it seems, I fainted".
 

Title: 
Refers to either the city of Marseilles or to the inconsistent plot. Also, a song with this title by some hip hop band was mentioned, but all I can remember is that their name was an acronym. Any ideas?

Cover:
Nice retouched picture of (yes, you've guessed it!) Marseille with appropriate choice of the background colour (see body count section above), Credited to Emanuele Ragnisco.

Cool lines: 
He started to beg. I'd lost all sympathy for him. He disgusted me. I couldn't even stand the thought of slapping him.

Scratch One (Michael Chrichton writing as John Lange, 1967)

Another case of the wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time. Mistaken identity crossover with espionage with lots of romance this time, but - unlike the highly original and enjoyable 3 to Kill - this one is very formulaic, predictable and simply boring.

The story is trivial but still full of holes and nonsense. Our hero, jetset kind of lawyer, gets mistakenly sucked into a sinister plot involving a 30 million dollar arms shipment and the killing of a bunch of secret agents and arms dealers. One of them is a Formula 1 driver, and his demise is planned to take place during the Monaco race by sniper blasting one of his tyres (!?!?). This ingenious plan is masterminded by a secret group of various dubious intellectuals who call themselves Associates.

It's pretty messy, so it's no wonder that our hero, on pg. 64 already, is "still more confused than he was at the start" because as he rightly concludes "it just doesn't make sense". Fifty pages later, when he receives a severed finger, he finally realises that "he had to do something" and calls the American embassy. But still, up to this point, Scratch One is amusing in its silliness and its humorous (kind of) style. But then everything changes when Roger meets mysterious, beautiful, sensitive and intelligent Anne.

Obviously, they fall in love, and the story spends 20 pages detailing their lunch and museum visit. At this point, the whole thing really starts to fall apart, and I realised that it's gonna be pretty shitty reading from that point on. It simply seems that the author gave up on the plot altogether. Later on there's another painful section of them having a picnic and buying some villa (once again 20 pages) followed by brief description of Brauer killing the real hit man. There is a short glimpse of hope when two stories meet, but it soon turns out that this big twist is just (another) far-fetched coincidence.

Pretty silly indeed, but I did enjoy a couple of things. The first one is the gang leader's character, Dr Liseau. He's a delightful gentleman/sadist kind of an asshole (Ether, my friend. Injected intravenously, it is quite amusing). Just loved that scene where he gives some poor schmuck a thorough physical examination before he starts torturing him to make sure his heart is strong enough to endure the pain! What a sick fuck, right?! I wonder whether he had ever heard of the Hippocratic Oath. Btw, his number one henchman, Brauer, is also pretty cool and a bit insane, but he's criminally underused.

The grand finale, featuring the aforementioned assassination plot, is simply hilarious. Our hero becomes a decoy for police because, you see, after spending three (3!) days in Dr Liseau's villa, he knows him better than anyone. Even though cops have been after him for years, have all kinds of surveillance photos and shit like that. So here comes the hilarious part: cops give our hero a whistle to blow in case he spots him! No guns, no wire, a fucking whistle to blow in the middle of the crowd attending the Formula 1 race. Almost pissed myself laughing.

Silly stuff, and not even silly in a funny way.

2/5

Facts:

Hero:
Roger Carr, a lawyer

Location:
French Riviera - "A very rich area, and a gambling area. That is a rare and unbeatable combination." Which is of course bullshit, rich people and gambling go together hand in hand.

Body count: 
13 (not counting 2 dead and 3 badly injured on the plane blown up by the planted bomb)

Dames:
Anne, Anne and once again Anne.

Blackouts: 
Well, he's not supposed to be a tough guy, so we can forgive him for passing out three times! And I'm not even counting the occasion when he is sedated adequately by the good doctor to fix his broken nose. Also, it's worth noting that the last one is pretty idiotic because he loses his conscience after the fight.

Title: 
After the mistaken identity fuck up, Carr becomes "a perfect decoy to divert them while they shipped a new man onto the scene." Which is, of course, a suicidal mission that one French cop comments briefly by "Scratch one American". And btw - that same asshole suggests Carr to simply "act naturally"!

Cover: 
By Glen Orbik. I guess it is an illustration of Anne in the scene when Roger meets her for the first time on the beach while she's sunbathing. It's okay, but it could have been a bit more sexy. I included another cover that's cool, too and better reflects the novel's tone.

Cool lines:  
"Dry vermouth on the rocks." It was an interesting choice of drink, he thought - alcoholic, but weak. It fitted a man whose business was killing.

He moved well for a big man, his grace was swift, controlled, and his strength was deadly.

A handsome devil, he thought, if you liked them mean. 
He would be a great success with ladies who preferred their sex swift and brutal. And he dressed well, In a sort of English way. 

"The gun is now in my pocket," Brauer said. "Do not speak to our friend [policeman] up there. I would not like to ruin my suit, or his."

"What's that?" he said.
"A gun."
He stared stupidly, wondering where it came from. After all, she wasn't wearing anything. Christ, he thought, I must be drunk.
"Does it work?"
"Bien sur."
He nodded. It figured: she didn't look like a girl who would fool with a rod that didn't work. 

He regarded him in a detached way, as if he were a prospect buyer for a product of dubious usefulness.[The Coolest!]

3 to kill (Jean-Patrick Manchette, 1976)

Wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time, plus a revenge story. Usually not my cup of tea, but this one was pretty special. Not (just) a thriller but also a weird mystery about what the hell is going on inside our main protagonist's head. He acts and reacts in a totally unpredictable manner, and Manchette never really bothers to explain his odd behaviour. A few hints are dropped every now and then, but we don't know (until the end) whether Georges Gerfaut was a bit mental from the very beginning or whether it was this whole violent affair that pushed him over the edge.

And this "confusion" is beautifully complemented by the writing style. There are sections of totally dialogue-less text (opening ten!!? pages), the pace alters from the rapid action scenes to static and (more or less) non-eventful periods lasting months, most chapters are about Georges, but sometimes narration moves to hit-man Carlo or his asshole employer and so on. Pretty wild and incoherent, but still cool and very enjoyable. So if poor Georges is confused about what the hell is happening to him, we are confused about what the hell we are reading and what kind of twist the next chapter will bring us.

The language used is also unique. It's told in the third person by a narrator who uses minimalistic and sparse vocabulary, presenting facts without emotion. Maybe a bit hard to follow at the beginning, but once I had gotten into it, I enjoyed it a lot and laughed my ass off on a few occasions. Just check out the "Cool Lines" section below, and you'll see what I mean. And btw, I loved the fact there was no family shit - we don't even get to know the names of his two daughters.

Another thing I liked about 3 to Kill was its autobiographical aspect; it made Georges more real and probably a bit more sympathetic. He is described as a jazz lover and "leftist militant in his distant youth" and Manchette himself was political activist and saxophone player. There are numerous references to jazz music and musicians, and it's too bad I don't know shit about the genre because it seemed to me that they were chosen carefully to give a specific atmosphere when used. This book is so cool and weird that it wouldn't surprise me if someone tried to create a soundtrack for it.

One last thing before I wrap this up. Don't let my blabbering about style, jazz, and psychological crap fool you - this is still a first-class hard-boiled stuff!! Check out the "Body Count" section and keep in mind that this little jewel is less than 150 pages long.

5/5

Facts:

Hero: 
Salesman Georges Gerfaut

Location: 
Paris, briefly at the seaside town Saint-Georges-de-Didonne, the countryside town of Vineuil and some remote village in the Alps 

Body count: 
8 and not counting Raguse (died of wicked cold). Plus, bull mastiff Elizabeth 

Dames: 
Raguse's granddaughter Alphonsine and Georges' wife Beatrice aka Bea: Catholic on one side and Protestant on the other, Bordelaise on one side and Alsatian on the other, bourgeois on one side and  bourgeois on the other.

Blackouts: 
Yes, one - when he gets thrown from the moving train

Title: 
Cool sounding but not very accurate. Georges certainly didn't plan to kill 3 people, and hit-men planned to kill just one, or, including Georges, two at most.

Cover: 
Cool and iconic picture of a Paris metro station. But again, not very accurate, as the novel spends little time in Paris.

Cool lines:  
From the aesthetic point of view the landscape was highly romantic. From Gerfaut's point of view, it was absolute shit.[The Coolest!]

Alphonsine and Gerfaut were having almost nonstop fun. Between the two of them, things were going well. They were delighted to have engaged at last in sexual congress and intended to repeat the experience as often as possible. 

"You bastard!" Gerfaut cried. "You stinking dirty shit! Son of a bitch of a son of a bitch of a bastard!"[The Coolest!]

But then they had run into this moron Georges Gerfaut. A travelling salesman, though, is usually very easy to kill. Carlo ad Bastien were well placed to draw comparisons because they had exercised their skills in the most varied social milieus, They were beginning to get quite angry with Georges Gerfaut.

The Long-Legged Fly (James Sallis, 1992)

James Sallis wrote a foreword to Derek Raymond's He Died with his Eyes Open, which I really liked. It is a good and honest text, full of (deserved) admiration for that strange novel. So that aroused a bit of curiosity in me, together with the fact that he also wrote a Chester Himes' biography, which is now pretty high on my to-do list. I've heard of Sallis before, of course, and have seen his books in bookstores, but somehow never got around to reading any of his stuff. At least I wasn't sure about it until I had read The Long-Legged Fly. Now I know for sure that I haven't read him because I would surely have remembered such a brilliant and unique style of writing.

And this one is also a bit strange. By form and overall feeling, it is definitely hard-boiled noir-ish stuff. But instead on crime(s) it concentrates entirely on its protagonist. We follow PI Lew Griffin, who specialises (I think) in missing persons cases through the various stages of his life and career spanning from 1964 to 1970, following an episode in 1984 and finally concluding in 1990. The author doesn't really bother to explain what made our guy successful in one period or what drove him into alcoholism and the gutter in another. Individual cases are not related and also not very complicated (or coherent if I'm completely honest), and again, the author doesn't even seem to be interested in plotting.

Sounds strange and disjointed, but it's anything but. At least once, you realise that this is not about whodunnit at all. It's a masterclass in writing, characterisation, atmosphere creating, treating people (and readers) with honesty and respect. Clever and thoughtful stuff that - at least for me - was hardly a page-turner. Quite opposite in fact, as I've read it slowly in the evenings with a cup of tea and not on the bus on my way to work. I just wanted to enjoy it as long as possible, absorb it, and let it sink under my skin.

So my only complaint about it would be that it's too short.

5/5

Facts:

Hero:
Lew Griffin, PI

Location:
New Orleans

Body count: 

3

Dames:
Vicky, the Scottish nurse and LaVerne, his lifelong friend/partner

Blackouts: 
The third part (year 1984) starts with "Light: it slammed into my eyes like fists". But we soon learn that he'd just awoken after a binge drinking (the air reeked of alcohol). Still, this can be at least partly considered as unconscious, as we all know how bad those hangovers can be, right?

Title: 
It was pretty much a WTF title until I had asked uncle Google about it, and he explained that this was the title of one of Yeats' poems. You can listen to it here and try to decipher it if you feel like it. But then again, maybe it's not about this poem at all because Sallis plays in a band called Three-Legged Dog, so he may have some weird fixations about animal legs? Nah, just kidding;)

Cover:
Nice one, always cool to see an air conditioner (or elevator) as a metaphor of descent into darkness. Or am I just imagining things, and it just means that it's pretty fucking hot in Lew Griffin's New Orleans?

Cool lines:  
We are not angels, Lew. Angels couldn't breathe the air down here. They'd die.[The Coolest!]

The Secret Lives of Married Women (Elissa Wald, 2013)

Two unrelated stories about the identical twin sisters. Leda, pregnant with her second child, moves into a new home with her husband and their child. There's a guy across the street renovating some vacant house, and for some reason, she feels threatened by him. True, he's a bit pushy and doesn't exactly respect her privacy, but still, it seemed to me that his only real sin was the fact that he had recognised Leda in an old porn movie. And if I understood that shit correctly, it wasn't even hardcore porn. By this time, we are well into 100+ pages, and events finally start to unfold a bit. In a pretty ridiculous turn of events, Leda is left to believe that her husband had killed that poor schmuck, which turns her on so much that they can finally have a decent fuck.

And that's it, the end of the first part. Now we need to go back in time and endure another story, this one about her sister Lillian. She's as stereotypical tough bitch top lawyer type as they come (these writers really shouldn't watch so much TV), who gets assigned to a case involving an ex-nun/ex-professional slave in a BDSM house now working (and being obsessed by) some blind, clueless guy. Again, nothing much really happens for the most part. Except that Lillian gets more and more horny and finally gets fucked hard in a tame SM scene where the only act of sadism consists of a few belt spanks of her ass. And a chapter later, her court case drama ends with a pathetic twist.

In short: it's awful. Truly bad. I guess it probably tries to explore female sexuality, but it falls short and is immature. Far, far, far from a trashy exploitation or pulpy hard-boiled or even a simple erotic story. When I think about it, it's basically far from everything. Which is usually not a bad thing at all, but the problem here is that it is just so fucking boring! Won't even go into the style, as the whole thing feels like being written by a 15-year-old aspiring kid encouraged by winning some literary award in a local newspaper contest.

Why did I buy this piece of shit in the first place? Well, it is published by our beloved HCC, and occasionally I do read a novel written by a female author just to prove myself right about my rule about not reading them. Was also a bit intrigued by Junot Diaz (loved! his Oscar Wao btw) cover blurb, but this too proved right my rule about ignoring that publishing marketing crap printed on the covers.

So this is what I get for disobeying my own rules, and it serves me right. But you have been warned! Just skip this and leave it to the bored housewives and 50 Shades of Grey fans. Many of them wander around airport bookstores where this one belongs.

1/5

Added 7-Dec-2013:
I recently received a very passionate response (to put it mildly) to this blog post, and after re-reading the text, I admit I have pretty much deserved it. It does read mean and nasty and makes me look like a misogynistic asshole, so I do feel a need to apologise and to clarify it a bit. Of course, I do read books written by women; I just don’t read crime/mystery books written by women. I’m not saying they are all bad and won’t go into details about this issue, so let’s just say I don’t seem to understand feminine sensibility about the dark side :) But would love to be proven wrong and will gladly check out any reading tips.

Again, sorry if this text was offensive to you - it certainly wasn't my intention to insult anyone. Will definitely be more mindful about how I put together my posts in the future.

Facts:

Hero:
Twins Leda and Lillian

Location:
Portland and New York

Body count:
None. Or maybe a couple if we count an orgasm as a little death.

Dames:
Twins and ex-nun, ex-professional slave Nanette "Nan" Magdalene

Blackouts: 

/

Title: 
There are not many secrets between these two married women. They are pretty honest to their hubbies except for that Leda's porn flick and Lillian's "SM" quicky in the Hilton hotel..

Cover:
Good as all Orbik's covers are, in this one he caught both of their expressions exceptionally well. But it's not too accurate because Lillian is not naked during her Hilton affair. It likely depicts the picture Nan used for blackmail.

Cool lines: 

/

Shaft's Big Score! (Ernest Tidyman, 1972)

Begins with Shaft returning home to Brooklyn from his vacation in Jamaica, which is a bit odd. I mean, he did visit the Caribbean, but that was two years later in Carnival of Killers. But let's not split any hair over this; we don't really expect these pulpy novels to be very consistent, do we?

And this one is as stereotypical as they come. After 10 pages, the stage is set - his good friend murdered, leaving behind a hot widow and a shitload of hidden money over which two rival gangs (blacks and Italians, of course) will fight mercilessly. And with a few horny dames thrown into this pot, there's our hero in the middle of it, trying to save his friend's honour and missing cash.

Cops are, of course, totally disinterested and incompetent. After the initial killing, they simply conclude that "this was a professional hit and it wasn't the last one". Which I found a bit odd because blowing up the entire building's floor to kill a single guy (not even a mobster!) doesn't seem very professional to me. But again, it's a Shaft novel, and we shouldn't try to make much sense of this black and white, violent world. It's better to just let it ride and enjoy such little nonsense. My favourite one was towards the end when just two (?) bad guys are chasing our main man, who's, btw, armed with a shotgun (!) It's evident that these two suckers are no match for "two hundred pounds of meat and meanness", so why the hell are they chasing him and not the other way around? Maybe because "the lessons of escape were bred into his bones"? Anyways, when they do manage to "corner" him, he simply shoots both of them. The end.

Of course, it's more about the style than the content, but still Mr. Tidyman could try a bit harder on the story aspect. It reads more like a screenplay (maybe that's the reason for the chase mentioned above), which can actually be the case here because IMDB doesn't state that the movie is based on the book, so maybe it was published after the movie came out.

Anyway, it's a fun read with great dialogues, cool slang, and some hilarious one-liners. But it does get a bit repetitive and dull towards the end as there's a 100+ page gap between the initial killings and the final bloodbath.

2.5/5

Facts:

Hero: 
John Shaft, PI - Just under two hundred pounds of meat and meanness ... A man in motion, moving almost as quickly as his mind.

Location:
NYC, mostly in Queens, where "It is is easier to get a cab than a cop. The cabs either have a better radio system or they are more eager to get the work"

Body count: 

9

Dames: 
Arna, the widow. Gail Sharrett, daughter of a mobster kingpin. Rita Towne, the mistress of another mobster kingpin. 

The latter one is a nymphomaniac (deep pit that could never be filled, a fire that could never be cooled) who fucks Shaft, and it's a pretty funny fuck too because our main man just cannot satisfy her. So after the intercourse, he simply concludes that "If he could have unscrewed his cock he would have given it to her to play with." He also tries to give her some advice, to which she simply responds by saying, "Don't talk. Fuck." [Fatale]

Blackouts: 
Two - on the first occasion he gets knocked off by the explosion, but second one is a more proper because he gets beaten to a pulp.

Title: 
A bit silly, but on the other hand, well aligned with the exploitation genre. Also inaccurate, because I have no idea what Shaft was supposed to score. Rita Towne doesn't really count, and he gives recovered money back to Arna so she can establish a fund for crippled kids and build a school for them. Also, not sure wtf is about that exclamation mark at the end?

Cover: 
My paperback is the first UK publication from 1972, and they didn't even bother with some original artwork for the cover. Just used a movie poster with Richard Roundtree, which is, of course, totally understandable - you can't get much better advertisement than that.

Cool lines:
"Say goodbye to your fucking empty head," Shaft told him. "I don't need it any more." [The Coolest!]


"Got another back there?" he asked the pudgy stewardess, holding up the plastic glass at her. She smiled the pudgy little smile. Did the pilots have to wind them up before each trip? Could she hold that smile as an engine fell off?"Here you are, sir. Scotch on the rocks." The voice had all the sincerity of a radio commercial for hemorrhoid ointment and the girl would probably smile all the way through a blow job. [The Coolest!]


He could see how nervous Kelly was getting. He was jumping like a broad with a sniff of coke on her clit. [The Coolest!]

Mascola didn't answer. He lay stretched out beside Cal's coffin. The right side of his head was missing. A coroner would say there had been probable brain damage before death. [The Coolest!]

"My car or yours?" Gail Sherrett asked coldly as they waited for the elevator.
"Mine's yellow," Shaft said, "with a build-in meter."