Well, I have handled some lousy cases in my time, an’ I have seen some sweet set-ups. I been bustin’ around playin’ against the mobs ever since there have been mobsters an’ there ain’t much for me to learn.But believe it or not this job is the lousiest, dirtiest bit of mayhem that’s ever happened my way. It’s so tough that it would make a hard-boiled murderer hand in his shootin’ irons an’ look around for the local prayer meetin’. Lemmy Caution is a Federal dick, a graduate of the school of hard fists, hard drinks and dubious wisecracks. He is investigating a counterfeiting case mixed with a suspect suicide that originated in New York and brings him in the opening scene to the hot desert outside Palm Springs. The period is somewhere around 1930, give or take a couple of years. He’s also got a really big chip on his shoulder: DAMES! According to his book, they are all devious, tricksy, dangerous, lying, impulsive, etc, etc etc. Lemmy even has a theme song he likes to whistle as he drives around the desert investigating one clue after another: Livin’ on the desert ...tswing Cowboy,Ridin’ on the desert ...tLove is sad an’ strange ...Hit up that banjo ...tsing Cowboy,Your girl’s got the jitters and the cattle’s got the mange.Cactus Lizzie ...ttgrieve Cowboy,I loved her plenty ...tan’ she give me the air,That Cactus Lizzie ...tshe got me dizzy,Oh hear me grievin’ ...t‘cause the dames don’t care. The plot is well above average, with missing stiffs, drugs, shootouts, poker games, bare nuckle fistfights, abductions, surprises and red herrings and of course a couple of hot dames right in the middle of it to justify the title. But what makes this pulpy crime story special (and what will probably turn off a lot of potential readers) is the cynical, unrepentantly mysoginistic, hilariously corny voice of Lemmy Caution as he regales us with a running commentary on the case progression. You can notice from the following extracts that Lemmy indeed has a bone to pick with them dames:“If there wasn’t any dames in the world there wouldn’t be no crime”“My old mother always usta tell me that there was only one thing worse than one dame an’ that is two dames.”“It ain’t the thing that dames do that worries me, it’s the things that they get guys to do for ‘em.”“I reckon that the French guy who said ‘cherchez la femme’ knew his onions. An’ I reckon every case I have ever handled has boiled down in the long run to ‘cherchez la femme’. But maybe that’s what makes life so interestin’.”When it comes to describe the women he meets, he is just as bad if not worse. Feminists should ritually burn his effigy like one of those Guy Fawkes scarecrows: “She has got curves that woulda made King Solomon sign off the roster an’ turn into a one-woman man, an’ she has got the sorta style that woulda made that Roman baby they called Juno look lika case of gallopin’ consumption. If Henry the Eighth coulda taken one peek at her ankles he woulda figured to have got himself born about six centuries later just so’s he coulda given Anne Boleyn a quick bum’s rush an’ made this Paulette top sergeant in the royal runaround squad.” And of course all of them dames fall head over heels for our tough gumshoe with the craggy face. Apparently his style is irresistible and declamations like this: “Baby, don’t get me annoyed. I ain’t got no warrant but I have got a very big hand an’ if I have any more hooey outa you I am goin’ to knock sparks outa that portion of your chassis that was made for slidin’ on.” ... inspire the women to deliver a groan inducing double entendre that seems copy – pasted from a Mae West bad script: “Come around some more when you’ve got the handcuffs ready” I could go on and on, since Lemmy lets go with both barrels on almost every page of the story with these goofy aphorisms, but I probably included enough to either warn off or lure in some new readers ... OK, one more, and then I promise I stop! “Take it nice an’ calm, Cleopatra,” I tell her, “because gettin’ excited or raisin’ hell around here is goin’ to be as much use to you as a red pepper on a gumboil. Sweet dame, you are all shot to hell, you are washed up like a dead fish in a waterspout.” This is the fourth or fifth time I read this story. When I first discovered Lemmy Caution I thought he was the bee’s knees, I really admired his style. In my defense, I was 12 or 13 at the time and I also used to like Chuck Norris action flicks. Thankfully, I grew up, and I also learn that the way to chat up girls doesn’t include insulting them or threatening to smack their behinds. Re-reading old childhood favorites is tricky stuff: you wonder what was wrong with your head at the time. I initally gave this five stars on reminiscences alone. Today, I wouldn’t say Cheyney is in the same class as Chandler or Hammett, but he still has some old time charm (even if what I used to consider cool is now humorous) and a deft hand at building a thrilling plot. So I will round three stars for the re-read with the original five and settle on four with a recommendation mainly to pulp aficionados.That’s all folks and follow Lemmy’s advice as you head for greener pastures: “Don’t do anything that you wouldn’t like your mother to know about.”
