Not so much forgotten as perhaps overlooked, this 2007 firsthand account of author Sheridan’s journey into his own heart of darkness is as impressive as it is readable. Like Sam Spade on the trail of The Maltese Falcon, Sheridan is chasing an elusive maguffin . . . in this case, the ability to know – to know the true extent of his physical and mental boundaries as he takes on the toughest fighters in the world, mano-a-mano.
If you consider that last sentence way to macho for its own good, this is probably not for you. Yet, Sheridan’s experiences are tempered by his examination of the motivations beneath them, which makes the story worth grappling with.
A FIGHTER'S HEART: ONE MAN'S JOURNEY THROUGH THE WORLD OF FIGHTING
In 1999, after a series of wildly adventurous jobs around the world, Sam Sheridan found himself in Australia, loaded with cash and intent on not working until he’d spent it all. It occurred to him that, without distractions, he could finally indulge a long-dormant obsession: fighting.
Within a year, he was in Bangkok training with the greatest fighter in muay Thai (Thai kickboxing) history and stepping through the ropes for a professional bout. That one fight wasn’t enough. Sheridan set out to test himself on an epic journey into how and why we fight, facing Olympic boxers, Brazilian jiu-jitsu stars, and Ultimate Fighting champions.
Along the way, Sheridan delivers an insightful look at violence as a career and a spectator sport, a behind-the-pageantry glimpse of athletes at the top of their terrifying game.
An extraordinary combination of gonzo journalism and participatory sports writing, A Fighter’s Heart is a dizzying first-hand account of what it’s like to reach the peak of finely disciplined personal aggression, to hit—and be hit.
Finishing A Fighter’s Heart, I found myself understanding what drove Sheridan to fight. As I warily eye the approaching end of my sixth decade, I still rigorously push back against it. While I’m never going to go mano-a-mano against a muay Thai master, I still run and workout twice a day – every day – as I have done for years. I still want to know – to know how fast I can still go; to know how long I can continue. The pleasure and the energy to continue comes from obtaining that knowledge – there is personal meaning simply in the knowing.
Now, on to this month's news. First of all: We're back! After more than a year, Hard Case Crime has new books in stores. GETTING OFF by Lawrence Block is the story of a beautiful young woman who sets out to murder every man she's ever slept with, while QUARRY'S EX by Max Allan Collins is the latest installment in his popular series about the hit man known as Quarry. In two weeks, two more new titles will arrive in stores: THE CONSUMMATA, begun in the 1960s by the legendary Mickey Spillane and completed after his death (at Mickey's request) by Max Allan Collins, and CHOKE HOLD by Christa Faust, the second story about Angel Dare, who first appeared in the Edgar Award-nominated MONEY SHOT.
You can find out more about each of these books on our Web site, www.HardCaseCrime.com. While you're there, you can also get a taste of our first two 2012 titles: THE COMEDY IS FINISHED by Donald E. Westlake and BLOOD ON THE MINK by Robert Silverberg. (The Westlake has never been published before; the Silverberg hasn't been published in any form for 50 years!) You can order any of these books online or -- better yet -- by requesting them at your favorite local bookstore. Whichever way you choose, we very much hope you will get yourself copies of these books. Heck, get extras for your friends -- they make great gifts for the crime fiction fans in your life.
Later in 2012, we'll be bringing you Edgar Award finalist Joseph Koenig's first new book in 20 years, FALSE NEGATIVE, a tale of a true-crime writer investigating the death of beauty pageant contestants in 1950s Atlantic City; and a very unusual first novel called THE TWENTY-YEAR DEATH by Ariel S. Winter. THE TWENTY-YEAR DEATH is three times the length of our usual books, and for an important reason: the story is told in the form of three separate pulp crime novels, each written in the style of a different famous mystery writer! These two books aren't up on our Web site yet, but we'll be unveiling the cover of FALSE NEGATIVE (by the inimitable Glen Orbik) around October 7 -- so mark your calendar...
And what's coming after those two? We've got something very, very special to announce. After hunting for more than 9 years, we have located and secured the rights to the final, never-before-published novel by noir master James M. Cain, author of MILDRED PIERCE, DOUBLE INDEMNITY, and THE POSTMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE. The new book is called THE COCKTAIL WAITRESS, and it may be the single most important discovery we've ever made. It's the story of a beautiful young widow whose first husband died under suspicious circumstances and who finds herself pursued by two new men, each of whom has something she wants. But she can't have both of them...or can she? It's steamy, gritty, suspenseful, and altogther worthy of the legacy of this great writer. We can't wait to show it to you.
Alas, we do have to wait for that one. But happily you've got plenty of good books to read in the meantime. This is a good time to be a Hard Case Crime fan, for the first time in quite a while, and I want to thank you sincerely for keeping the flame burning all these months while we were away. If you get a chance, please tell a friend about our books. If you read our new titles and like them, please post a review somewhere online to let people know. The best thing you can do to ensure that Hard Case Crime books keep coming is not just to buy them yourself (though we're very grateful for your doing that) but to tell people about them and help us spread the word.
Many thanks for that help, and for all your passion for what we do -- it's what keeps us doing it.
I have a favorite crime writer. I bet you’ve heard of him. But you may not be able to come up with his name. Here, have a sample and see if you can guess who it is:
Well it’s 9th and Hennepin and all the donuts have names that sound like prostitutes and the moon’s teeth marks are on the sky like a tarp thrown all over this. And the broken umbrellas like dead birds and the steam comes out of the grill like the whole goddamned town is ready to blow.
Did you guess? Was it Chandler? Hammett? Cain? Nope.
One of the best crime story writers—ever, if you ask me, and you didn’t—has never been on any best of lists, has never won an Edgar or an Anthony or any other award, has never been anthologized. But he’s written so many concise and poetic crime stories and noirs and done it all this time right under our noses.
WELL, THE GUNSMITH ACTUALLY NEVER WENT AWAY, BUT THIS ENDURING ADULT WESTERN SERIES HAS PAST THE TEST OF TIME TO FIND ITS EARLY NUMBERS BEING REPRINTED AND BROUGHT INTO E-BOOK AVAILABILITY . . . HERE'S THE WORD FROM J.R. ROBERTS . . . AKA: ROBERT J. RANDISI . . .
Little did I suspect, 30 years ago, when THE GUNSMITH #1: MACKLIN'S WOMEN came out, that it would be reprinted 30 years later, both as print and as an e-book. But here it is, appearing as of Oct. 2011.
From that point on Gunsmiths will continue to appear until the first 200 are available as ebooks. #2 THE CHINESE GUNMAN will appear in Nov. In Dec. the first books in the ANGEL EYES and TRACKER series will appear, and then GUNSMITH #3: THE WOMAN HUNT in January.
The Gunsmith books will continue to appear as by J.R. Roberts, but Angels Eyes, Tracker and Mountain Jack Pike series will appear as by Robert J. Randisi writing as . . .
In any case, shared [ABOVE], the cover of Gunsmith #1, which will also be the cover of the POD trade paperback, and the Audios which will appear in January and February.
A cop from Wisconsin pursues a killer through the terrifying slums of Nairobi and the memories of genocide
In Madison, Wisconsin, it’s a big deal when African peace activist Joshua Hakizimana—who saved hundreds of people from the Rwandan genocide—accepts a position at the university to teach about “genocide and testimony.” Then a young woman is found murdered on his doorstep.
Local police Detective Ishmael—an African-American in an “extremely white” town—suspects the crime is racially motivated; the Ku Klux Klan still holds rallies there, after all. But then he gets a mysterious phone call: “If you want the truth, you must go to its source. The truth is in the past. Come to Nairobi.”
It’s the beginning of a journey that will take him to a place still vibrating from the genocide that happened around its borders, where violence is a part of everyday life, where big-oil money rules and where the local cops shoot first and ask questions later—a place, in short, where knowing the truth about history can get you killed.
THE SECOND DETECTIVE FEY CROAKER L.A.P.D. NOVEL . . .
One Tough Cop
Her Personal life is a shambles. But no cop does it better than Fey Croaker – as she fights for respect in the L.A.P.D. . . . and for justice in a city on the edge.
All of Los Angeles is thrust into chaos when a popular NBA athlete is charged with a series of gruesome murders. The evidence against the defendant appears overwhelming, but old evils die hard.
For L.A.P.D. homicide detective Fey Croaker and her appealing crew, the race for the truth will tax each of them to the limit. Under the scorching light of media attention, Fey’s own demons are brought into sharp focus with the life of her wayward brother literally hanging in the balance.
It’s a race to get to the truths hidden beneath layers of lies, secrets, and deadly perversions – and Fey must win while there is still an L.A. left to protect and serve.
A DETECTIVE FEY CROAKER L.A.P.D. NOVEL
Darcy Wyatt spun the wheels of the blue delivery van onto the loose asphalt behind Fratelli Pizza. A lone streetlight illuminated an almost empty parking lot.
Darcy had been gone longer than he'd intended and hoped the boss, Butt Wipe Norman, hadn't noticed. He also hoped no more delivery orders had come in. Darcy was feeling pleasantly buzzed after his exertions. Sucking down a fat dubie of Kenny's bitchin' grass had also helped to soften the edges. Maybe when he and Kenny got off they could do a couple of six-packs and have some more giggles. Kenny was warped, but he was always good for laughs.
The van stank of old pizza and sweat socks. Kenny never cleaned the damn thing out, and the threadbare carpeting in the back was covered in stains and filth. A stack of bondage magazines, a shovel, a basketball, and a raft of empty beer cans bounced around in the back, mingling with fast-food wrappers, dirty workout clothes, and odds and ends of other junk.
Unlike the other Fratelli Pizza restaurants where Darcy worked, Butt Wipe Norman was too cheap to pop for an official Fratellimobile for deliveries. Darcy didn't have a car of his own, so it was a problem whenever he got called to fill in for the regular delivery guy who worked for Norman. However, Kenny also worked for Norman's Fratelli Pizza franchise. Since Kenny and Darcy were buds, he always let Darcy borrow the van for making the delivery rounds while Kenny stayed and cooked up more of the round gut bombs that were making Butt Wipe rich.
Darcy liked hanging with Kenny. Kenny said they were sort of like brothers. They both hated Norman -- they actually hated anybody who ever amounted to anything -- and were always talking about what they were going to do to Norman some day to mess him up.
Darcy jammed the steering wheel gearshift into park and jumped out of the van. Reaching back inside, he used one hand to drag out two insulated pizza delivery packs. With his other hand, Darcy grabbed his motorcycle helmet. It was a full-face helmet, scuffed and scarred. He never left it with his cycle in case somebody ripped it off. It had other uses as well.
Feeling loose, he pushed his way in through the back entrance to the restaurant.
"Hey, hey, buddy," he said when he spotted Kenny in the back hallway. "What's happening?"
"Shut up," Kenny said urgently. He held a finger up to his lips.
Darcy looked a little shocked. He'd never seen Kenny acting anything but cool, but the guy was real agitated now. Darcy dumped the pizza insulators on a counter.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Ah, hell!" Darcy glanced around as if he was looking for an escape. "How'd they find out?"
"I don't think they did, man. But you gotta get outta here. They're asking about you."
"What the hell am I gonna do?"
"Take off, man. Just get on your bike and blow. I'll cover for you."
"Cool. Thanks, man."
"Hey, we're brothers, aren't we?" Kenny held out an open palm and Darcy slapped it. "Get going, man."
Darcy pulled his helmet over his head and threw Kenny the keys to the blue van.
Kenny stood watching as Darcy went back out the rear door and headed toward where he's parked his motorcycle. When he heard the motorcycle kick over, he turned and ran into the front of the restaurant. "Mr. Norman! Mr. Norman," he yelled excitedly.
A short, fat man with a thick black mustache turned away from talking with two uniformed police officers.
"What-da-ya want, Kenny?" Norman asked. His voice was an abrasive whine. "It's Darcy. He just took off on his motorcycle."
The two cops looked at each other and then turned to look through the front window of the restaurant when the noise of Darcy's cycle roared past. The older of the two cops was suddenly in action, dragging his partner with him out the front door.
Kenny rocked back on his heels with a smug smile. He sure liked the reaction he'd started -- it was almost as good as real giggles. Well, not really, but it was still pretty cool. If things went as planned, the real giggles would come later on tonight.
Darcy wasn't important anyway. Even if the cops caught Darcy -- and Kenny always knew they would -- Darcy didn't know anything that could mess things up. It had been cool manipulating Darcy's kinks -- pervert see, pervert do. Actually, Kenny figured throwing Darcy to the wolves was a good move. It got Darcy out of the way before he did find something out, and Kenny didn't need the complications of killing him without a good reason.
No rest for the wicked, Fey Croaker thought as she dropped her purse on her desk with a loud thump. The shoulder strap snaked out and bounced off a Styrofoam cup filled with coffee. The hot liquid slopped out of the cup, immediately soaking into reports and paperwork scattered like abandoned confetti across the desk top.
Fey looked at the mess and rolled her eyes. She swore under her breath and tried to shake dark brown droplets off several of the disaster-struck documents. Giving the salvage work up as a lost cause, she threw the papers back on the desk and dropped down into her chair. She swore again. Louder this time.
"Get out of the wrong side of the bed this morning?" Monk Lawson asked as he entered the squad room from the back stairway. It was three in the morning, and except for Fey and Monk, the squad room was deserted.
Fey scowled darkly at the young black detective. "Where did you come up with this morning stuff?" she asked. "It's still the middle of the damn night." Monk laughed. "Yeah, I know how you feel. I hate these call-outs. I'd only just turned off the lights and headed for dreamland when my beeper went off."
"At least you got to sleep," Fey said.
"Oh," Monk said. "Out doing the town, were we?"
Fey gave a weary shake of her head. "Not really." Her tone of voice suggested trouble.
"Problems on the relationship front?" Monk asked gently. For a while he'd sensed there was something not going right for Fey outside of the job.
Fey shook her head to dismiss the subject of her personal life. "This too shall pass," she said with a deep sigh, and then forced a smile.
At forty-something, creeping ever closer to fiftyish, Fey had been the Homicide Unit supervisor at the LAPD's West Los Angeles Area for almost four years. She wasn't the department's only female homicide detective, but she was the only female supervising a major divisional Homicide Unit.
On several occasions she'd paid the price for being a woman in the position, but there was no way in hell she was ever going to give it up without a fight. She'd come too far, both professionally and personally to roll over and play dead when the going got a little rough.
Some of her co-workers believed she'd only been given the position due to the department's affirmative action movement. Fey, however, didn't much care if that was true or not. The fact was that she was in the position and she was damn good at it. She'd made her bones several times over, and she'd match her unit's clearance rates against any other division in the city in a heartbeat.
West LA's detective squad room was located on the top floor of the two-story building. The front desk, the Watch Commander's office, records, administrative offices, and a small jail were located on the ground floor. The station's huge roll call room, male and female locker rooms, and the officers' workout room were situated in the basement.
Two stairways led from the ground floor to the detective division. The front stairway was for civilians and led to a small lobby. Behind the lobby was a hallway housing interrogation rooms, a victim's interview room, the Homicide Unit's incident room, and an area designated for the area CAD (computer statistics) team. The back stairway led from the center of the ground floor to a second hallway and the back entrance to the squad room. Along the second hallway, the area vice unit had a small office appropriately located across from the bathrooms. Another small office in the same hallway was occupied by a bureau narcotics unit.
One quarter of the squad room was walled off for a section of the department's Bunco-Forgery Division. The remaining expanse of open floor was used as the detective division's work space. Various groups of desks were butted against each other like giant dominos. Each grouping represented a different fragment of the overall investigative case load -- Burglary, Auto Theft, Juvenile, Robbery, MAC (Major Assault Crimes), Sex Crimes, and Homicide.
Due to recent organizational imperatives, Fey, as the Homicide Unit supervisor, had been given additional jurisdiction over the MAC and sex crimes investigations as well as her unit's traditional homicide tasks. This meant far more paperwork and a half-dozen extra detectives to supervise. Somehow this translated into a hell of a lot more personnel problems, and far more call-outs, such as the one she and Monk were currently working.
Fey had been in mid-shriek when the noise of her beeper had exploded across the angry, emotional battlefield that her relationship with Jake Travers had become.
"Damn it!" Fey had cursed. She'd slid naked out of bed and began rooting around in her purse to retrieve the offending pager. What had started out as a lovemaking session with Jake had rapidly deteriorated into a slanging match even before the preliminaries were over. He'd pushed her buttons and she'd responded by pushing his. Passion had changed from lust to hurt, and hurt to anger, in seconds. Dripping with emotional blood, the spiked and dangerous rocks on which their relationship was floundering were as naked as their bodies.
When she had looked at the number on the pager's digital display, Fey could sense the call meant more trouble. The ongoing argument with Jake would have to wait. It wouldn't go away, not until they had finished tearing each other apart, but it would wait.
For some months Jake had been pressing Fey for more of a commitment than she was willing to give. With three marriages already behind her, Fey knew it was a position she was never going to place herself in again.
While Jake had not had the political strength to win election as the District Attorney during the past year, he was still considered a fast-rising star in the District Attorney's office. Political clout was again amassing behind him, but there was much maneuvering ahead if he was to assure his future. Jake and Fey had been lovers for several years, but he now needed the respectability of marriage for the sake of political correctness. Fey didn't think that was a good enough reason to place herself back into indenture. There was no doubt that Jake loved her -- as she loved him -- but Fey knew that love wasn't enough.
Marriage had much more in common with a willingness to constantly compromise than it did with love. And there lay the rub. Fey was no longer willing to compromise. She had achieved her own autonomy and didn't need Jake, or anyone else, to make her complete. Conversely, she had no desire to be simply another part in someone else's life puzzle.
While Fey had called the station Watch Commander, Jake picked his clothes up from the floor of Fey's bedroom, climbed into his pants, and left without another word. Fey had kept her naked back turned while she talked on the phone and purposely kept the conversation going until Jake was gone. When she heard the slam of her front door, Fey told the Watch Commander, Terry Gillette, that she was on her way in. That done, she hung up the phone and breathed a sigh of relief. To her mind, even getting called out to work, when normal people were tucked up tight in their beds, was preferable to living through the hell of a long term relationship crumbling around your shoulders.
Twenty minutes later, she was on her way to the West Los Angeles Area station.
THE LATEST NOVEL FROM HARDBOILED COLLECTIVE AUTHOR MICHAEL HASKINS . . .
When journalist Mick Murphy runs into his love fantasy in a wintry Harvard Yard, he is soon dragged into a web of brutal killings that began in Boston and end in Southern California.
Trying to protect his dream girl, a Filipina named Michelle, Murphy runs afoul of a police friend and his nemesis, a Cuban-American cop, as well as Los Angeles County sheriffs, before he is beaten by a gang of Ameriasians and his Jeep is blown up.
Holding onto his romantic dream, Murphy faces loss of friends and his life before the finale.
The prime evil faced by police officers in a city described in a local newspaper in the Nineteenth Century as Hell on Earth – is murder.
From the autumn of 1887 through the summer of 1891, New Orleans Police Detective Jacques Dugas investigates the most intricate cases of mayhem and murder . . .
The city’s most notorious madame is stabbed to death; a hulking simian killer lurks along the rooftops of the French Quarter; a blood-splattered woman dances around the body of her husband and maniacally laughs, “I did it! I did it!”; bodies of tortured men are found along fog-shrouded streets; the death of innocence plays out when a visitor on her honeymoon is strangled, a New Orleans beauty is found murdered; a missing woman case turns into a complicated mystery; the Gold Bug of Jean Lafitte draws hidden desires; killers killing killers; the severed hand of a murder victim points to her murderer.
Det. Jacques Dugas, the lone French detective on a police force dominated by the Irish at the end of the Nineteenth Century, is called ‘the smart one’. Cerebral. A thinker. Yet, you will see he is quick to act with controlled aggression when necessary and persistent enough to remain focused on the case and not get distracted by a pretty woman, petty cops hell bent on revenge, or a case that seems unsolvable, as in “Maria’s Hand.”
He is a quiet, lonesome man, focused on the job and yet – he knows, one day he’ll find her. There’s a woman out there for him. After all, he’s a Frenchman.
Two of the short stories in this collection are new, never published before. “A Willing Lad” is a chilling tale while “Worthy of Love” is as sad as the Edgar Allan Poe poem that introduces it.
Included in New Orleans Prime Evil are my four stories inspired by the four mysteries written by the man who created the modern detective story, and my literary inspiration – Edgar Allan Poe. His voice resonates through the book. My stories are nothing like Poe’s except for my tipping my hat with the titles, a salute if you want to call it that.
The inspiration drove me to create Jacques Dugas. I hope you enjoy his exploits.
Vertigo’s crime writer Gary Phillips (Angel Town, Cowboys) presents this oversize comic one time event!
For the first time ever Zen freelance spy Derek Flint, the cool curvaceous private eye Honey West, and the mysterious secret agent super-hero Captain Action team up in a story in swingin’ sixties L.A. to battle hippie robots, mobbed-up, ray gun totting gangsters, a wigged out mad scientist, brainwashed GIs and an alien menace we could only called DANGER A-GO-GO. Dig it!
Brought to you by New York Times best selling author Nancy Holder and novelist Howard Hopkins!
When young women vanish at a sleazy burlesque club, three beautiful heroines slip undercover and out of their clothes to investigate–and wind up comforting a kidnapper who just might be out of this world.
Featuring the delicious Domino Lady, the first appearance of the deadly Golden Amazon in 70 years and introducing the voluptuous new pulp crime-fighter, The Veil!
Franchesco variant cover can be purchased separately at retail of $5.50
THIS IS AN OUTSTANDING SHOW . . . DAVI IS SUPERB . . .
DAVI SINGS SINATRA
VIBRATO JAZZ AND GRILL
SEPTEMBER 20, 2011
ONE SHOW: 8:30 PM
You may know actor/director Robert Davi as the James Bond villain, Franz Sanchez, (License to Kill) or Commander Acastus Kolya (Stargate Atlantis) or Agent Baily Malone (Profiler) or any one of his many film/tv roles. But tonight he returns to his first love, singing. Notably singing the standards made famous by Sinatra.
Here’s what people are saying:
“Robert Davi’s show ‘Davi Sings Sinatra’ is a superb love letter to the man who defined Twentieth century popular music. It’s theatrical, heartfelt, and beautifully staged and sung. While incorporating a swagger and style that evokes Sinatra, Davi – whose rich and multi-colored baritone is remarkably confident – shuns imitation, instead bringing his unique and exciting actor’s edge to the performance…” Charles L. Granata -Sinatra producer, author and historian
“... Davi brought to the American Songbook something that other current singers do not possess: a truly great voice – a darkly rich, and colorfully nuanced vocal tone that is able to plume the depth of a song and bring to the surface what the composer really intended, along with the emotional depth of an actor in full command of his powers.”
– Dr. Ted Baehr, MovieGuide
Mr. Davi's album- "Davi Sings Sinatra -On The Road To Romance" -- is coming out in late October . . .
Hard Case Crime Discovers Lost Novel by Author of Double Indemnity, Mildred Pierce, and The Postman Always Rings Twice . . .
James M. Cain’s Final, Unpublished Crime Novel, The Cocktail Waitress, Scheduled for 2012 Release
Hard Case Crime, the award-winning line of mystery novels published by Titan Books, today announced the discovery of a lost crime novel written by James M. Cain, author of such classics as Double Indemnity, Mildred Pierce, and The Postman Always Rings Twice. The new novel, The Cocktail Waitress, has never before been published. Hard Case Crime will bring the book out in Fall 2012.
The Cocktail Waitress was the final book written by Cain, who died in 1977. He was working on revisions to the novel until close to the end of his life; handwritten notes and edits appear in the margins of numerous pages. Charles Ardai, founder and editor of Hard Case Crime, first learned of the book’s existence from Max Allan Collins, author of Road to Perdition, and has spent more than nine years tracking down the author’s original manuscript and arranging to get the rights to publish the book.
“Together with Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler, James M. Cain is universally considered one of the three greatest writers of noir crime fiction who ever lived, “ said Ardai, “and for fans of the genre, The Cocktail Waitress is the Holy Grail. It’s like finding a lost manuscript by Hemingway or a lost score by Gershwin – that’s how big a deal this is.”
Combining themes from Mildred Pierce and The Postman Always Rings Twice, The Cocktail Waitress tells the story of a beautiful young widow, Joan Medford, whose husband died under suspicious circumstances. Desperate to make ends meet after his death, she takes a job as a waitress in a cocktail lounge, where he meets two new men: a handsome young schemer she falls in love with, and a wealthy older man she marries.
“Why am I taping this?” Joan narrates. “It’s in the hope of getting it printed to clear my name of the charges made against me…of being a femme fatale who knew ways of killing a husband so slick they couldn’t be proved. Unfortunately, they cannot be disproved either… All I know to do is to tell it and tell it all, including some things no woman would willingly tell…”
“At his best, Cain was an astonishingly strong writer, not just of great crime novels but of great novels, period,” Ardai said. Cain’s work is taught in literature programs at numerous major universities and was also the basis of classic films such as Billy Wilder’s adaptation of Double Indemnity, which boasted a screenplay by Raymond Chandler and was nominated for seven Academy Awards including Best Picture. The Postman Always Rings Twice was adapted as a 1946 film starring Lana Turner and then again in 1981 with Jack Nicholson and Jessica Lange and a screenplay by David Mamet. Mildred Pierce was adapted earlier this year into a critically acclaimed miniseries on HBO for which stars Kate Winslet and Guy Pearce both won Emmy Awards.
The Cocktail Waitress will be released initially in hardcover and e-book editions, with a paperback edition to follow in 2013. Like all of Hard Case Crime’s titles, the book will feature a new cover painting in the classic pulp style.
Stanley Wilson - Cha Cha Club The Caps - Three Little Pigniks Buddy Morrow - Richard Diamond Lester Young - In A Little Spanish Town Jack Kerouac - The Early History Of Bop part 1 Charlie Ventura - For Boppers Only Shorty Petterstein - The History Of Jazz Cootie Williams - Gator Tail Cyril J. Mockridge - Nightmare Alley Main Theme Early Zell - Aunt Woo-Wa The Frankie Ortega Trio - 77 Sunset Strip John Carradine - Night Song For The Sleepless Sun Ra - Lullaby For Realville Gil Mellé - Mars Monica Lewis - Hold My Hand
Back in 1983 Ace Books released She Devil, a collection of Robert E. Howard’s “Spicy” stories. Since then, that rare paperback has become increasingly expensive, with books in fine condition selling for $40 or more. Of the eight stories contained in the Ace collection, five were pulled from the pages of Spicy-Adventure Stories, a pulp magazine that specialized in such tales. According to Patrice Louinet, the typescripts that Howard sent to the magazine were “spicier” than they wanted, so an editor toned them down a bit. These unadulterated yarns have been unavailable to Howard fans and scholars—until now.
The Robert E. Howard Foundation is proud to present Spicy Adventures. Not only is this collection the first time many of these stories have appeared in hardback, it is the first time most have appeared with all the spice that Howard intended. Besides all of the complete tales, this volume contains a large miscellanea section with drafts and synopsizes that allow readers to glimpse Howard’s creative process.
The volume checks in at 211 pages, and will be printed in hardback with dust jacket, in a limited quantity of 200 copies, each individually numbered. Cover design and painting by Jim & Ruth Keegan; introduced and edited by Patrice Louinet, assisted by Rob Roehm. The book is expected to ship by the end of September.