Tuesday, August 31, 2021

August Book of the Month: The Blood Boss by Davidson King



Summary:

Vampires, mermaids, and witches…oh, my! Black Veil is full of them all, but at the end of the day, it’s The Blood Boss who has the last word. Ever since The Final War, Vampires rule Black Veil, and with The Blood Boss in charge, peace reigns.

Keeping the vampires under control is a task Cain takes seriously. Humans have accepted his rule, and anyone who seeks to destroy his territory is given swift punishment. His promise to keep Black Veil safe comes with great sacrifice and selflessness; never does he dare hope for more in life. Until one day, a man walks through his front door and changes everything.

Jayce has a happy life. His adopted parents love him, he wants for very little, and he lives every day to the fullest. But when a normal evening turns into a nightmare, and Jayce is forced to come face-to-face with The Blood Boss, the world as he knows it feels like a lie.

Then a great secret is revealed, and nothing is what it seems. Cain and Jayce must work together to stop the forces uniting against the vampires. Life and love are in jeopardy as they fight those who seek to destroy them. Can Cain and Jayce keep Black Veil from crumbling into the sea when every attempt to do so seems impossible?


HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!!!! Once again Davidson King has proven that the Force is strong within her because . . . WOW!  The talent for storytelling that runs through her veins is so strong, if it really was the force she could singlehandedly blow up the Death Star.  Her gift of words is so powerful you can't help but get sucked in once you start.

I won't say she had "fears" about venturing into the paranormal genre but I'm sure there were inner hesitancies but she needn't have worried because the world King has created in her new series, Black Veil, really is the complete package.  The Blood Boss, or as those closest to him call him, Cain may be a vampire of few words but you know he's the boss by his presence.  "Presence" may seem like an odd word to use in literature since you aren't seeing the character on a screen or stage but the world building that Davidson King has created is so vivid and descriptive, I felt like I was witnessing it right outside my window.  You really lose yourself in the book and become part of the environment that is Black Veil and the desire to discover all it's little nooks and crannies, rumors and truths, and how the lines of good and evil can sometimes blur.

As for the main characters, Cain and Jayce?  Well, I mentioned the power Cain gives off but he also has heart(and yes I realize that's an odd thing to say about a vampire but its no less true), he cares for others more than he wants the world to know.  We meet Jayce as he steps in to receive punishment for a debt his father hasn't been able to pay back and he doesn't do this on a whim, this is the kind of man he is.  Put these two together and you have a recipe for what could be complete and utter chaos or the grand champion winning pie at the fair that you want to eat even though its been sitting on the judging table for days.  Which is it?  Trick question really, on one hand I won't give particulars to spoil anything but truth be told Cain and Jayce are a little bit of both, chaos and champion.  

Cain and Jayce and the supporting cast of characters who I'm sure we'll get to see more of in future installments makes The Blood Boss an absolutely delicious read sure to satisfy any and all your fiction hungers.

RATING:



Chapter One 
Jayce 
“Good night, Jayce.” Sibell, the old lady who owned the bookstore where I worked, squeezed my shoulder when she passed. 

“Stay safe, Sibell, I’ll see you Monday morning.” 

She smiled softly, her dark eyes twinkling as if they held a million secrets. Nodding quickly, she shut the front door. 

I had worked here from the time I was eighteen and loved it. Now that I was twenty-three, Sibell was able to hand over a great many important tasks to me, such as counting the drawers, locking up, and ordering inventory. She’d told me the day she promoted me that she was grateful to finally have someone she trusted to watch over the store when she couldn’t. I took the responsibility seriously and was equally as grateful.

After I flipped the sign on the door to closed and locked the cash drawers in the safe, I did a sweep of the rows to be sure they were all tidy and nothing was out of place before leaving and locking the door. 

“Late night?” the baker across the way, Burt, shouted as he shut down his own place. 

“Fridays always are. Have a good night, Burt.” 

He waved and got into his truck. I didn’t drive; the desire to learn how never intrigued me. If it rained I took the bus, but on clear days like today, I used my legs to get me home. I always traveled along the sidewalk that paralleled the ocean. In the morning, the sunrise would be my cup of coffee, and in the evening, when the moon made the sea glitter, it was a nightcap of delicious Chardonnay. 

I was raised in foster care, though I didn’t have horrible and traumatizing memories like many in the system do. I was one of the lucky ones. My foster parents loved me from the second they found me on their doorstep at only a few days old, and I’d always felt like I was their son. At the age of five, I went from a foster kid to an adopted one, and Michael and Anne Harlow became my legal parents, and Black Veil City my home. 

While not perfect and constantly humming with magic in the air, I wouldn’t live anywhere else. I heard the chimes from the church bells, indicating it was nine in the evening, and I hurried my steps. See, I loved this city, but when the sun was fully tucked away, it was safer to be home. 

As I passed the police station, one of the officers stopped me.

“You shouldn’t be walking around at night, son. Do you need a ride?” 

“No thanks, I’m just around this corner.” 

“Okay, be safe.” I could feel the officer’s eyes on me until I turned down my street; everyone was vigilant at night. 

I wasn’t born when it happened, but as the story goes, the world was falling apart, and humanity was responsible for it. In school, I was taught that due to humans killing the planet and each other, a balance no one knew existed had been upset. 

The textbooks referred to it as The Final War because there hadn’t been one since. Mom would tell the story so dramatically, it was almost humorous. The first time I’d heard it, I was ten: 

“From the Earth’s core the demons climbed, and from the stars the angels fell. The sea came alive, and the waves brought magical creatures ashore. The trees trembled with life as winged magicians swept through the forest. Humanity was not destroyed in this war; it was set to order.” 

That was how she always started the story. Vampires, fairies, angels—all of them had come to Earth’s aid and saved it. When the dust settled, a new hierarchy was created and humans were not at the top. I was okay with that because, first of all, I’d known no differently, and also I’d learned that the oceans became cleaner, the air was safer, and there was zero pollution. But the fact that humans weren’t number one meant something else was, and here in Black Veil City, that was vampires. Namely, The Blood Boss.

I had never met him—hell, he didn’t show his face anywhere that I’d ever seen, and I knew very little about him. But he controlled all vampires, and while the streets weren’t running red with blood at night, it was the time they tended to roam, and crime was rare but it did happen. 

I could see the porch light shining at the house and was just about to climb the steps when I realized there was a sleek black Cadillac in the driveway that didn’t belong to anyone I knew. Who could be here at this hour? 

Something crashed inside and I rushed through the door, worried Mom, Dad, or the foster kids inside were in trouble. 

“Jayce!” Mom shouted from the couch. Her hands were on her lap, and tears streaked down her cheeks. Dad was on the ground, his nose bleeding. But what had me frozen in place were the two hulking vampires in the living room. One stood beside Mom, and the other hovered over Dad. 

“What’s going on here?” There were laws in place that vampires couldn’t enter someone’s home and dominate them for anything unless they had proper documentation from The Blood Boss. 

“Who are you?” The one who was beside Mom narrowed his eyes. 

“I’m Jayce Harlow, and I live here. Who are you?” 

“Jayce, don’t…” A sharp look from the vampire above my dad shut him up. 

“I’m Emil, this is Petru, and we’re here under orders from The Blood Boss.” Emil was the one guarding my mother, and he slipped a piece of paper from the pocket of his expensive suit.

He walked over to me, and I had to crane my neck to meet his gaze. He had to be over six five or something. His blond hair was styled in a short cut, his eyes an eerie shade of blue—a cross between white and baby blue. I’d noticed all vampires had odd-colored eyes; it was one way of identifying them. 

“Take a gander.” He held the paper out to me, and I took it, reading every word carefully, hoping I’d find a reason to tell them they had no right to be here. But there was none and… 

“You borrowed money from The Blood Boss, Dad?” 

Petru stepped back when my father tried to stand, but he stayed close. 

“I had to, Jayce, I had no other choice.” 

I read the line that scared me the most. “Failure to pay the agreed-upon amount will result in your punishment being ruled on in front of The Blood Boss and a fair judgment dealt.” I looked up, and tendrils of fear licked at my skin. “Dad, this is serious! It says you borrowed over fifty-thousand dollars.” 

“I know and—” 

“Do you even have it?” I knew he didn’t; money was tight even with what we were given from the government to care for the foster kids. I’d told my parents not to take any more kids in, that we couldn’t afford it, but they hated turning away a child in need. 

“No.” His voice was a whisper, and he flinched when Petru grunted. 

“Emil, is it?” The vampire nodded. “Can I ask what punishment my father will get?”

He shrugged. “I’m not The Blood Boss; you’d have to ask him, but the reason there is order in Black Veil is because no one gets to slide by without repercussions for their actions.” 

“But from your experience, what would you say he’d get for it?” 

Emil spared a glance at Petru before answering. “The reason Michael Harlow borrowed money had to do with the fact that the bank was about to foreclose on his house. It’s a noble reason. My guess is he’d likely make him work it off.” 

The bank was going to foreclose on the house? Why didn’t anyone tell me? 

“He already works two jobs. If you take him away, the bank will surely take the house. Isn’t there another way?” 

Emil shook his head. “Anne Harlow could take his place as payment.” 

My mom was a schoolteacher during the week, and on the weekends she worked at the community center to help children who were struggling in school. She couldn’t be away either. 

“If you take Mom or Dad, they will be even deeper in debt with the bank, the foster kids will have to leave, and I don’t have a lot of hope for them in the system, and they’d lose their other jobs. Please, is there any other way?” 

Emil looked over at my mom, then at my dad. When he met Petru’s gaze, it was as if they were having some sort of telepathic conversation, and maybe they were; I didn’t know a lot about vampires’ abilities. 

“Are you their son?” Emil turned toward me again. 

“No!” My dad made to run over to me, but Petru stopped him easily.

“I am, why?” 

“It’s not typical, and I’ve never seen it done, but you could go in your father’s place.” 

“Jayce, please.” My mom was sobbing, and I heard the pitter-patter of footsteps above me. No doubt the kids were listening and frightened. Michael and Anne were amazing foster parents. If it weren’t for them, I’d likely be in a shit situation, and if they left here now it would be a disaster. 

I, on the other hand, only worked at the bookstore and while Sibell needed my help, she wasn’t completely lost without me. Mom and Dad would take a little hit financially, seeing as my paycheck went to help out around here. It was the sole reason I stilled lived at home. However, without me here it would also be one less mouth to feed, so things might balance themselves out. 

“I’ll do it.” 

My mom cried harder, and my dad tried to break free of Petru’s grasp. They loved me and didn’t want to see me handed to The Blood Boss, especially for something I had no control over. 

Emil held a small square device in his hand. “I need your finger.” 

Reflexively I clenched my fists. “It will be hard to work off my father’s debt if I’m down one finger.” 

Emil and Petru chuckled. “You can keep your fingers, just slide one in here.” The square device opened and there was a tiny needle sticking up inside. “I need a drop of your blood.”

I glanced over at my parents, Mom’s cries were softer, but my father looked as if he were about to come apart. 

Slowly, I stuck my finger inside the device, feeling the brush of the needle. Emil gave me no time to react; he shut it and I felt the quick, piercing pain. 

“Repeat after me,” Emil said. “I, Jayce Harlow, agree to take punishment for Michael Harlow’s debt to The Blood Boss for the allotted time agreed upon by him.” 

I repeated what he said, and he went on. 

“This is a blood oath you are making at your own free will and without coercion?” 

“Yes.” 

“I hereby stand witness to this pact and agree to the substitution of Jayce Harlow in place of Michael Harlow.” 

Emil released my finger and I immediately stuck it in my mouth, earning a chuckle from both vampires. 

“I bet you’re delicious.” Emil winked but quickly walked to my dad. 

“I don’t allow you to take my son!” 

“Michael Harlow, you are hereby excused of your obligation to The Blood Boss—” 

“No! I refuse.” He tried and failed to break away from Petru as he raged and cried.

“Dad, please. Let me do this. Conner, Lisa, the twins, they need you and Mom here.” 

“What if he hurts you?” My mom spoke through her sobs. 

“A debt is not punishable by death or physical harm,” Emil answered, his voice laced with boredom. “Petru, I will get Jayce to the car, and then you may release Michael and join us.” 

“Can I say good-bye?” 

Emil’s expression hardened. “I’ve been as kind as I’m going to be, Jayce. Let’s go.” 

Even if I wanted to, I wasn’t going to argue. I followed Emil out of the house, hearing my mother’s loud cries all the way to the car.

Author Bio:
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.

When she's not writing you can find her blogging away on Diverse Reader, her review and promotional site. She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.

If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she'd tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you're afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.


FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE
INSTAGRAM  /  AUDIBLE  /  LINKTREE
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EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com 





Sunday, August 29, 2021

Week at a Glance: 8/2/21 - 8/29/21





Sunday's Short Stack: Lost in Boston by RJ Scott & VL Locey



Summary:

Meet the newest member of the Rowe family - Austin Rowe - cousin of Ten, Brady, and Jamie.

Drafted first round to the Boston Rebels is a dream come true for Austin Rowe. It doesn't matter that he’s skating in the long shadow of his cousins, being in the NHL is all he ever wanted and what he’s worked hard to achieve. He never expects to find love when he arrives in Boston, and it knocks him off his feet.

Robbie is killing time. Heading for his final year in college studying for a degree he doesn’t enjoy in preparation for a career he doesn’t want, he works part time in a coffee shop knowing his trust fund is waiting for him any time he wants it. He dislikes Austin on sight, but all too soon he’s won over by the gentle charm of the blue-eyed man. Glitter flies when these two meet.

When passion enters stage right, love isn’t far behind.


Because of it's short story status and my stance on no spoilers, there's not a lot I'm going to say about Lost in Boston, the beginning of a new series in the hockey world RJ Scott & VL Locey have created.  What I will say is I loved every page of it!  

I hesitate to say "get to know the Boston Rebels" as we've been aware of the team from the beginning since Tennant Rowe's big brother, Brady, plays for the Rebels.  For those who are new to this hockey universe, Tennant Rowe was the star and half of the featured couple where it all began in Changing Lines, Harrisburg Railers #1 as well as 3 of the Railers novellas.  However, Lost is the first in the Boston Rebels series and we meet Canadian Rowe cousin, Austin the Rebels newly drafted rookie.

From Austin getting lost in the city(hence the title Lost in Boston which I'm not taking for granted every one knows because it didn't connect for me until I started this sentence, what can I say?๐Ÿคท Summer heat is frying my brain๐Ÿ˜‰) where he meets the deliciously fun Robbie to his fears that he's not strong enough to be who is in the public eye unlike his above mentioned cousin Tennant, I just wanted to wrap him in huge Mama Bear hugs and let him know that I understand his fears and it will be okay either way.

Lost in Boston may be a short introduction to the authors' new series but it's definitely not short on fun and heart.  Can't wait to see what adventures the Rebels have to tell Scott & Locey and let us ride along on their journeys.

RATING:



Austin 
June 
It was just a party. 

A small family gathering— according to my mother— to celebrate my being drafted into the NHL. Nothing to worry about. Right. And I was Celine Dion. Whom I kind of secretly adored but kept it hidden because… hockey players didn’t listen to Celine Dion. They listen to Metallica and thrash. It was one of a few things I kept hidden because hockey players just didn’t. 

Blowing out a breath, I studied the fifty or more people packed into our little backyard in Liberty Village. Ninety-nine-point-nine percent were either hockey players, married to hockey players, or had been involved with hockey in some way. To say that hockey was the lifeblood of the Rowe family would’ve been spot-on and then some. 

Hockey ran through our veins. And no one had more of that elite blood than my older cousin, Tennant Madsen-Rowe who was here, with my other famous Rowe cousins Jamie and Brady. The sun was setting on Toronto. Shadows grew long as the party rolled along, but no one cast a longer shadow than Tennant. My father had groomed me to take his place as the most famous Rowe to ever play hockey. No pressure there. 

Ryker flopped down beside me in the glider. He was another cousin— by marriage or something— and we’d never met in person before.

“I have never talked this much hockey in my life, and that’s saying something.” Ryker grumped. 

“Yeah, it’s like air in the Rowe household don’t you know?” I tossed out, took a swig of my orange soda, and then burped. My gut was a tangled mess. If I didn’t draft high… well, I had to. My whole future rode on it. I couldn’t let Dad down. 

“Oh yeah, I’m familiar.” Ryker leaned back and stared at the big men and beautiful women milling around. “Nervous about tomorrow?” 

“I’ve reached the puking into my sneakers stage.” 

He chuckled. “Yeah, been there and puked that.” 

I smiled a little. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it to your wedding. I was in school and then had a tourney and—” 

He waved me off as Tennant laughed at something one of my twin sisters was saying. Chloe and Dawne were fourteen and thought Tennant Rowe was the coolest and best-looking thing ever. Poor guy had been trailed by teens since he had arrived. “No problem. Jacob wanted to fly up with me to this, but we’re breaking ground on a project and he had to oversee it.” 

“He seems nice. My dad keeps me informed about everything that happens with everyone in the States.” 

“Yeah, he is incredibly nice.” Ryker glanced down at his wedding band and a softness settled over his face. “Anyway, I know you’re feeling as if your whole world is hinging on the draft tomorrow, and in a way it is.” 

“Thanks!” Ugh, my gut was going to eat itself. 

He chuckled. “I’m kidding. Seriously, you’ll do fine. Boston has been looking for a generational player and are willing to trade big names to get you. You’ll do fine. Just a word from someone who came up in that big shadow.” He jerked his chin at Tennant, who was baby and husband-free as little Charlotte was teething and had a slight fever so they’d gone inside. “Just be you. Play your game your way. Don’t try to be Tennant because no one can be Ten other than Ten. You’ve got skills, crazy good skills. Focus on what you bring to the game. Just be Austin.” 

I stared at his profile for a long time. “Thank you. That actually kind of helps.” 

“Sure it did. I’m a freaking genius.” 

He laughed but I kind of thought that he was a freaking genius. “Would you mind if I kept you on speed dial for when I freak out?” 

“Totally hit me up whenever. We are related. Sort of. Somehow.” 

Poor guy. He had no clue how often I freaked out. I hoped his husband was as cool as he said he was because I could foresee lots of calls to Ryker over the next year or so.



The Boston Rebels were established in the roaring twenties as one of the Original Six teams in the fledgling new professional hockey league. Success came to them somewhat quickly as they won the championship in nineteen thirty-two by beating New York to become the first American team to bring home the cup. 

From the first out NHL captain, to the bright young star making his mark, the defenseman fighting addiction and finding out he’s a dad, to the goalie being stalked by a killer, meet a brand new team of hockey players from the authors of bestselling MM Hockey Romance’, RJ Scott & VL Locey.




Saturday's Series Spotlight

Arizona Raptors



RJ Scott
RJ Scott is a USA TODAY bestselling author of over 140 romance and suspense novels. From bodyguards to hockey stars, princes to millionaires, cowboys to military heroes to every-day heroes, she believes that love is love and every man deserves a happy ending.


VL Locey

USA Today Bestselling Author V.L. Locey – Penning LGBT hockey romance that skates into sinful pleasures.

V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, Torchwood and Dr. Who, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a pair of geese, far too many chickens, and two steers.

When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in one hand and a steamy romance novel in the other.



RJ Scott
FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE
B&N  /  INSTAGRAM  /  TUMBLR
BOOKBUB  /  KOBO  /  SMASHWORDS
iTUNES  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS
EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk

VL Locey
FACEBOOK  /  TWITTER  /  WEBSITE
B&N  /  INSTAGRAM  /  AUDIBLE
iTUNES  /  AMAZON  /  GOODREADS  



Lost in Boston #.5

Boston Rebels Series

Harrisburg Series

Owatonna U Series

Arizona Raptors Series


Friday, August 27, 2021

๐Ÿ“˜๐ŸŽฅFriday's Film Adaptation๐ŸŽฅ๐Ÿ“˜: The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler



Summary:

A dying millionaire hires private eye Philip Marlowe to handle the blackmailer of one of his two troublesome daughters, and Marlowe finds himself involved with more than extortion. Kidnapping, pornography, seduction, and murder are just a few of the complications he gets caught up in.

"Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid....He is the hero; he is everything. He must be a complete man and a common man and yet an unusual man.

This is the Code of the Private Eye as defined by Raymond Chandler in his 1944 essay 'The Simple Act of Murder.' Such a man was Philip Marlowe, private eye, an educated, heroic, streetwise, rugged individualist and the hero of Chandler's first novel, The Big Sleep. This work established Chandler as the master of the 'hard-boiled' detective novel, and his articulate and literary style of writing won him a large audience, which ranged from the man in the street to the most sophisticated intellectual.

Marlowe subsequently appeared in a series of extremely popular novels, among them The Lady in the Lake, The Long Goodbye, and Farewell, My Lovely." ~ Elizabeth Diefendorf, editor, The New York Public Library's Books of the Century, p. 112.

Selected as one of Time Magazine's All-Time 100 Novels, with the following review: "'I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn't care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be.' This sentence, from the first paragraph of The Big Sleep, marks the last time you can be fully confident that you know what's going on.

The first novel by Raymond Chandler at the age of 51.


ONE
It was about eleven o'clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark blue clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn't care who knew it. I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars.

The main hallway of the Sternwood place was two stories high. Over the entrance doors, which would have let in a troop of Indian elephants, there was a broad stained-glass panel showing a knight in dark armor rescuing a lady who was tied to a tree and didn't have any clothes on but some very long and convenient hair. The knight had pushed the vizor of his helmet back to be sociable, and he was fiddling with the knots on the ropes that tied the lady to the tree and not getting anywhere. I stood there and thought that if I lived in the house, I would sooner or later have to climb up there and help him. He didn't seem to be really trying.

There were French doors at the back of the hall, beyond them a wide sweep of emerald grass to a white garage, in front of which a slim dark young chauffeur in shiny black leggings was dusting a maroon Packard convertible. Beyond the garage were some decorative trees trimmed as carefully as poodle dogs. Beyond them a large greenhouse with a domed roof. Then more trees and beyond everything the solid, uneven, comfortable line of the foothills.

On the east side of the hall a free staircase, tile-paved, rose to a gallery with a wrought-iron railing and another piece of stained-glass romance. Large hard chairs with rounded red plush seats were backed into the vacant spaces of the wall round about. They didn't look as if anybody had ever sat in them. In the middle of the west wall there was a big empty fireplace with a brass screen in four hinged panels, and over the fireplace a marble mantel with cupids at the corners. Above the mantel there was a large oil portrait, and above the portrait two bullet-torn or moth-eaten cavalry pennants crossed in a glass frame. The portrait was a stiffly posed job of an officer in full regimentals of about the time of the Mexican war. The officer had a neat black imperial, black mustachios, hot hard coal-black eyes, and the general look of a man it would pay to get along with. I thought this might be General Sternwood's grandfather. It could hardly be the General himself, even though I had heard he was pretty far gone in years to have a couple of daughters still in the dangerous twenties.

I was still staring at the hot black eyes when a door opened far back under the stairs. It wasn't the butler coming back. It was a girl.

She was twenty or so, small and delicately put together, but she looked durable. She wore pale blue slacks and they looked well on her. She walked as if she were floating. Her hair was a fine tawny wave cut much shorter than the current fashion of pageboy tresses curled in at the bottom. Her eyes were slate-gray, and had almost no expression when they looked at me. She came over near me and smiled with her mouth and she had little sharp predatory teeth, as white as fresh orange pith and as shiny as porcelain. They glistened between her thin too taut lips. Her face lacked color and didn't look too healthy.

"Tall, aren't you?" she said.

"I didn't mean to be."

Her eyes rounded. She was puzzled. She was thinking. I could see, even on that short acquaintance, that thinking was always going to be a bother to her.

"Handsome too," she said. "And I bet you know it."

I grunted.

"What's your name?"

"Reilly," I said. "Doghouse Reilly."

"That's a funny name." She bit her lip and turned her head a little and looked at me along her eyes. Then she lowered her lashes until they almost cuddled her cheeks and slowly raised them again, like a theater curtain. I was to get to know that trick. That was supposed to make me roll over on my back with all four paws in the air.

"Are you a prizefighter?" she asked, when I didn't.

"Not exactly. I'm a sleuth."

"A--a--" She tossed her head angrily, and the rich color of it glistened in the rather dim light of the big hall. "You're making fun of me."

"Uh-uh."

"What?"

"Get on with you," I said. "You heard me."

"You didn't say anything. You're just a big tease." She put a thumb up and bit it. It was a curiously shaped thumb, thin and narrow like an extra finger, with no curve in the first joint. She bit it and sucked it slowly, turning it around in her mouth like a baby with a comforter.

"You're awfully tall," she said. Then she giggled with secret merriment. Then she turned her body slowly and lithely, without lifting her feet. Her hands dropped limp at her sides. She tilted herself towards me on her toes. She fell straight back into my arms. I had to catch her or let her crack her head on the tessellated floor. I caught her under her arms and she went rubber-legged on me instantly. I had to hold her close to hold her up. When her bead was against my chest she screwed it around and giggled at me.

"You're cute," she giggled. "I'm cute too."

I didn't say anything. So the butler chose that convenient moment to come back through the French doors and see me holding her.

It didn't seem to bother him. He was a tall, thin, silver man, sixty or close to it or a little past it. He had blue eyes as remote as eyes could be. His skin was smooth and bright and he moved like a man with very sound muscles. He walked slowly across the floor towards us and the girl jerked away from me. She flashed across the room to the foot of the stairs and went up them like a deer. She was gone before I could draw a long breath and let it out.

The butler said tonelessly: "The General will see you now, Mr. Marlowe."

I pushed my lower jaw up off my chest and nodded at him. "Who was that?"

"Miss Carmen Sternwood, sir."

"You ought to wean her. She looks old enough."

He looked at me with grave politeness and repeated what he had said.

TWO
We went out at the French doors and along a smooth red-flagged path that skirted the far side of the lawn from the garage. The boyish-looking chauffeur had a big black and chromium sedan out now and was dusting that. The path took us along to the side of the greenhouse and the butler opened a door for me and stood aside. It opened into a sort of vestibule that was about as warm as a slow oven. He came in after me, shut the outer door, opened an inner door and we went through that. Then it was really hot. The air was thick, wet, steamy and larded with the cloying smell of tropical orchids in bloom. The glass walls and roof were heavily misted and big drops of moisture splashed down on the plants. The light had an unreal greenish color, like light filtered through an aquarium tank. The plants filled the place, a forest of them, with nasty meaty leaves and stalks like the newly washed fingers of dead men. They smelled as overpowering as boiling alcohol under a blanket.

The butler did his best to get me through without being smacked in the face by the sodden leaves, and after a while we came to a clearing in the middle of the jungle, under the domed roof. Here, in a space of hexagonal flags, an old red Turkish rug was laid down and on the rug was a wheel chair, and in the wheel chair an old and obviously dying man watched us come with black eyes from which all fire had died long ago, but which still had the coal-black directness of the eyes in the portrait that hung above the mantel in the hall. The rest of his face was a leaden mask, with the bloodless lips and the sharp nose and the sunken temples and the outward-turning earlobes of approaching dissolution. His long narrow body was wrapped--in that heat--in a traveling rug and a faded red bathrobe. His thin clawlike hands were folded loosely on the rug, purple-nailed. A few locks of dry white hair clung to his scalp, like wild flowers fighting for life on a bare rock.

The butler stood in front of him and said: "This is Mr. Marlowe, General."

The old man didn't move or speak, or even nod. He just looked at me lifelessly. The butler pushed a damp wicker chair against the backs of my legs and I sat down. He took my hat with a deft scoop.

Then the old man dragged his voice up from the bottom of a well and said: "Brandy, Norris. How do you like your brandy, sir?"

"Any way at all," I said.

The butler went away among the abominable plants. The General spoke again, slowly, using his strength as carefully as an out-of-work show-girl uses her last good pair of stockings.

"I used to like mine with champagne. The champagne as cold as Valley Forge and about a third of a glass of brandy beneath it. You may take your coat off, sir. It's too hot in here for a man with blood in his veins."

I stood up and peeled off my coat and got a handkerchief out and mopped my face and neck and the backs of my wrists. St. Louis in August had nothing on that place. I sat down again and I felt automatically for a cigarette and then stopped. The old man caught the gesture and smiled faintly.

"You may smoke, sir. I like the smell of tobacco."

I lit the cigarette and blew a lungful at him and he sniffed at it like a terrier at a rathole. The faint smile pulled at the shadowed corners of his mouth.

"A nice state of affairs when a man has to indulge his vices by proxy," he said dryly. "You are looking at a very dull survival of a rather gaudy life, a cripple paralyzed in both legs and with only half of his lower belly. There's very little that I can eat and my sleep is so close to waking that it is hardly worth the name. I seem to exist largely on heat, like a newborn spider, and the orchids are an excuse for the heat. Do you like orchids?"

"Not particularly," I said.

The General half-closed his eyes. "They are nasty things. Their flesh is too much like the flesh of men. And their perfume has the rotten sweetness of a prostitute."

I stared at him with my mouth open. The soft wet heat was like a pall around us. The old man nodded, as if his neck was afraid of the weight of his head. Then the butler came pushing back through the jungle with a teawagon, mixed me a brandy and soda, swathed the copper ice bucket with a damp napkin, and went away softly among the orchids. A door opened and shut behind the jungle.

I sipped the drink. The old man licked his lips watching me, over and over again, drawing one lip slowly across the other with a funeral absorption, like an undertaker dry-washing his hands.

"Tell me about yourself, Mr. Marlowe. I suppose I have a right to ask?"

"Sure, but there's very little to tell. I'm thirty-three years old, went to college once and can still speak English if there's any demand for it. There isn't much in my trade. I worked for Mr. Wilde, the District Attorney, as an investigator once. His chief investigator, a man named Bernie Ohls, called me and told me you wanted to see me. I'm unmarried because I don't like policemen's wives."

"And a little bit of a cynic," the old man smiled. "You didn't like working for Wilde?"

"I was fired. For insubordination. I test very high on insubordination, General."

"I always did myself, sir. I'm glad to hear it. What do you know about my family?"

"I'm told you are a widower and have two young daughters, both pretty and both wild. One of them has been married three times, the last time to an ex-bootlegger who went in the trade by the name of Rusty Regan. That's all I heard, General."

"Did any of it strike you as peculiar?"

"The Rusty Regan part, maybe. But I always got along with bootleggers myself."

He smiled his faint economical smile. "It seems I do too. I'm very fond of Rusty. A big curly-headed Irishman from Clonmel, with sad eyes and a smile as wide as Wilshire Boulevard. The first time I saw him I thought he might be what you are probably thinking he was, an adventurer who happened to get himself wrapped up in some velvet."

"You must have liked him," I said. "You learned to talk the language."

He put his thin bloodless hands under the edge of the rug. I put my cigarette stub out and finished my drink.

"He was the breath of life to me--while he lasted. He spent hours with me, sweating like a pig, drinking brandy by the quart and telling me stories of the Irish revolution. He had been an officer in the I.R.A. He wasn't even legally in the United States. It was a ridiculous marriage of course, and it probably didn't last a month, as a marriage. I'm telling you the family secrets, Mr. Marlowe."

"They're still secrets," I said. "What happened to him?"

The old man looked at me woodenly. "He went away, a month ago. Abruptly, without a word to anyone. Without saying good-bye to me. That hurt a little, but he had been raised in a rough school. I'll hear from him one of these days. Meantime I am being blackmailed again."


Private eye Philip Marlowe investigates a society girl's involvement in the murder of a pornographer.

Release Date: August 23, 1946
Release Time: 116 minutes

Director: Howard Hawks

Cast:
Humphrey Bogart as Philip Marlowe
Lauren Bacall as Vivian Sternwood Rutledge
John Ridgely as Eddie Mars
Martha Vickers as Carmen Sternwood
Dorothy Malone as Acme Bookstore proprietress
Peggy Knudsen as Mona Mars
Regis Toomey as Chief Inspector Bernie Ohls
Charles Waldron as General Sternwood
Charles D. Brown as Norris
Bob Steele as Lash Canino
Elisha Cook, Jr. as Harry Jones
Louis Jean Heydt as Joe Brody
Sonia Darrin as Agnes Lowzier
Tommy Rafferty as Carol Lundgren (uncredited)

Quotes:
General Sternwood: How do you like your brandy, sir?
Marlowe: In a glass.
----
Vivian: I don't like your manners.
Marlowe: And I'm not crazy about yours. I didn't ask to see you. I don't mind if you don't like my manners, I don't like them myself. They are pretty bad. I grieve over them on long winter evenings. I don't mind your ritzing me drinking your lunch out of a bottle. But don't waste your time trying to cross-examine me.
----
Female Taxi Driver: If you can use me again sometime, call this number.
Marlowe: Day and night?
Female Taxi Driver: Uh, night's better. I work during the day.
----
Carmen Sternwood: Is he as cute as you are?
Marlowe: Nobody is.
----
Marlowe: My, my, my! Such a lot of guns around town and so few brains! You know, you're the second guy I've met today that seems to think a gat in the hand means the world by the tail.



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Author Bio:
Raymond Thornton Chandler was an American novelist and screenwriter.

In 1932, at age forty-four, Raymond Chandler decided to become a detective fiction writer after losing his job as an oil company executive during the Depression. His first short story, "Blackmailers Don't Shoot", was published in 1933 in Black Mask, a popular pulp magazine. His first novel, The Big Sleep, was published in 1939. In addition to his short stories, Chandler published just seven full novels during his lifetime (though an eighth in progress at his death was completed by Robert B. Parker). All but Playback have been realized into motion pictures, some several times. In the year before he died, he was elected president of the Mystery Writers of America. He died on March 26, 1959, in La Jolla, California.

Chandler had an immense stylistic influence on American popular literature, and is considered by many to be a founder, along with Dashiell Hammett, James M. Cain and other Black Mask writers, of the hard-boiled school of detective fiction. Chandler's Philip Marlowe, along with Hammett's Sam Spade, are considered by some to be synonymous with "private detective," both having been played on screen by Humphrey Bogart, whom many considered to be the quintessential Marlowe.

Some of Chandler's novels are considered to be important literary works, and three are often considered to be masterpieces: Farewell, My Lovely (1940), The Little Sister (1949), and The Long Goodbye (1953). The Long Goodbye is praised within an anthology of American crime stories as "arguably the first book since Hammett's The Glass Key, published more than twenty years earlier, to qualify as a serious and significant mainstream novel that just happened to possess elements of mystery".


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