Tags » Crime Noir
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It was the old bastard, all right; laying by the fireplace, contorted in an unnatural pose. The streaks of blood ran down from the mantelpiece, which he had likely grabbed in a desperate escape attempt.” A homage to my favorite noir writer of all times.
Private investigator Mike Winowsky has an immense love for both jazz and bourbon. In 1940s New York it often takes him to dangerous spots. For that he carries a .38 and a set of brass knuckles. 228 more words
When I wrote about L.A. Confidential, I confessed that I had never been to Los Angeles (well, other than Disneyland), and had a fascination with the city that could not possibly be the least bit reflective of the reality of L.A., born as it was by my knowingly incorrect assumption that the city is nothing but a strange, hypnotic amalgamation of Raymond Chandler novels, the romance of Old Hollywood, and David Lynch movies — in particular, … 3,928 more words