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Clifton Adams_4 Titles (Pulp; Hard-boiled)

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  a selection from Chapter One: The
blue Buick pulled off the highway about fifty yards past the station. I could see the driver looking back at the cabins,
and there was a woman beside him in the front seat. They sat there for two or three minutes while the man made up his
mind, and finally the Buick began backing up and stopped in front of the gas pumps. -Fill her up?- I said. -All right.-
He opened the door and got out. -What we're looking for,- he said, -is a place to stay for the night. Do you have a
vacancy?- -Sure thing.- There were five cabins behind the station and they were all vacant, Most of them would remain
vacant, even during the tourist season. That's the kind of place it was. I wondered about that while I put gas into his
car. Here was a tourist with a new car, wearing expensive clothes, so why should he want to put up in a rat trap like
mine when there were first-class AAA motels all along the highway? He must have read my mind. -Engine trouble,- he said.
-Nothing serious, but I thought I'd better get a mechanic to look at it.- -Oh. Your best bet is to go back to town and
talk to the people at the Buick agency.- He smiled pleasantly. -That's what I was thinking.- He was a pretty good-sized
guy, and you could see that he kept in condition. His face was burned to the color of old leather, and I guessed he was
the type that spent a lot of time on a golf course, or maybe a tennis court. We talked a little about the weather and
how hot it was, and then I hung up the hose and went to work on the windshield. That was when I got my first good look
at the woman. And she just about took my breath away. At first I thought she was asleep. She sat there with her eyes
closed, her face completely expressionless. Her hair was blonde and short, and her skin was pale, almost white. She wore
tan shorts and a white T shirt. The tan shorts looked almost black against that skin of hers. As I was finishing with
the windshield, she opened her eyes. For just an instant we stared at each other through the glass, and then she smiled
the smallest smile in the world and curled up slowly like a well-fed cat. -Will you check the oil?- the man said. I
added a quart of oil. Then we went inside the station and he signed the register: -Mr. & Mrs. Karl Sheldon, St.
Louis, Mo.- -You want me to call the Buick agency for you?- I asked. He smiled again. -Don't bother. I can drive it back
to town all right. Anyway, I'd like to freshen up a bit.- I put them in Number 2 cabin, right next to the one I kept for
myself. I went around every morning and put the cabins in shape, but it would take more than clean sheets and a few
licks with a mop to make them look like anything. They were all just alike, bedroom, bath, kitchenette-lumpy beds,
peeling dressers, cracked linoleum on the floors. But I hadn't realized how shabby they really were before I saw the
look on that blonde's face. -Really, Karl! It seems to me-- -It's just for a little while.- And he looked at me, almost
apologetically. -Don't bother with the luggage. I'll bring it in after a while.- That was a dismissal, so I went back to
the station. The thermometer on the east side of the wash rack had reached an even hundred. I opened a bottle of Coke
and stood in the doorway, watching the endless stream of traffic rushing by on the highway. License tags from
everywhere-Nebraska, California, Illinois.... Where do tourists go, anyway, in such a hell of a hurry? What difference
does it make? I thought, with a taste of bitterness. They're not going to stop here 
  
  Kindle Edition

 Published June 3rd 2009 (first published 1955) 
  
  
  
  To most Texans, Wolf Garnett was a notorious
outlaw: a man to be feared. To Frank Gault, he was a relentless obsession: a man to be killed. Gault had spent more than
a year tracking him, out to revenge the brutal, senseless murder of his young wife.
  
  And now Wolf Garnett
was dead. At least everyone who should know - even the outlaw's sister - agreed that the rotting corpse just buried in
the New Boston cemetery was Wolf Garnett. But Frank Gault wasn't satisfied. How could he have seen Garnett in Indian
territory four days earlier if he'd been dead for two weeks? Why did the county's iron-fisted sheriff deliberately
arrange for him to ride out of town unarmed? And why did the whole town seem determined to keep him away from Garnett's
sister?
  
  Whether for revenge, justice, or satisfaction, Frank Gault was driven to find out how Wolf
Garnett died - or get killed trying.
  
  

 
  You sonofabitch, I thought, if you knew what was good for you, you would pull that trigger right now, because
five minutes from now it's going to be too late!
  
  Paperback, 148 pages
  Published March 1st 2007 by
Blackmask.com (first published 1956) 
  
  
  
  WHOM GODS DESTROY is the story of the rise and fall of Roy Foley, a man who grew up in Big Prairie, Oklahoma
on Burk Street, the wrong side of town. He spent his growing up years trying to prove he belonged on the other side. He
could outfight those boys, was smarter than all of them, but he was still a Burk Streeter. It was football that gave him
an inroad. He became the high school’s quarterback and had colleges scouting him. He was the toast of the
town.
  
  That’s when he worked up the courage to talk to Lola, the beautiful dark haired girl
he’d worshiped from afar since both were nine years old. She was from the “right” side of town. He
asked her to the dance, but was told she’d already promised another boy. She would certainly save some dances for
him and looked forward to seeing him there. Roy had planned carefully. College on a football scholarship, then law
school, marriage somewhere in that mix. To Lola of course.
  
  The dance went swimmingly, several dances,
then a couple of cokes and a talk out on the balcony. That’s when things went awry. He professed his love for her
and his plans.
  
  And she laughed at him.
  
  Devastated, he was angry at first, then
embarrassed. So he ran. He couldn’t face her again. There would be no football scholarship, hell, no high school
graduation, and no marriage.
  
  It’s fourteen years later and all that was behind him. Or so Roy
thought. He is a fry cook in a small joint. A telegram arrives from his aunt telling him his father had died and the
date of the funeral. He finishes his shift, packs a bag, and catches the bus to Big Prairie, with four hundred dollars
in his pocket and a small bag, everything he owned. He knew his father had no money. Neither did his aunt and he
didn’t want father buried in a potter’s field.
  
  He arrives to late, just after the funeral
and burial, and learns it was paid for by a charity, the Christian Ladies Aid. Determined to pay it back however long it
took, he called the charity and asked who the chairman was, informed that it was the wife of the county attorney, Mrs.
Lola Keating!
  
  And he was ready to begin running again.
  
  Fate has something different in
mind for him though. On the way to the bus station, he runs into an old friend from high school, a teammate for
football, Sid, big, dumb Sid, another from Burk Street. He was driving a hit red convertible, wore an expensive suit,
had a big house, and a blond wife that matched all of them. Suddenly interested, he learns Sid is a bootlegger.
Prohibition had ended twenty years ago, except for a couple of states, and Oklahoma was one of them.
  
  A
new plan springs into his mind(consult back cover below) and he wangles a job as a runner with Sid, to get his feet wet.
He could lay hands on the money needed to start his own retail business, so he said, he just wanted to start slow.

 
  Roy is full of hate for that long ago incident and has long range plans to make th lovely Lola pay. Crooked
politicians, Lola’s husband one of them, crooked cops, all are to pay in his plans. To do that he has to become
top dog.
  
  And as the title implies…
  
  A fine little crime novel from 1953, a Gold Medal
at that. 						

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