Maxim Jakubowski > Quotes

“A man hauls in the fish he baits for and at the depth at which he fishes.”
― Maxim Jakubowski, The New Mammoth Book Of Pulp Fiction

“He went then to the big slate upon which, only as a reminder, he sometimes chalked his menus, scrawled: Anguilles au Gris, Vert, et Rouge
Anchois Robespierre
Oeufs de Rocs en Gelée
Veloute d’Eperlans Central Park
Agulhacreola au Sauce Nacre
Sylphides à la Crème de Lion Mann
Endive Belge au Goo
Grives, Becfigues, et Béguinettes
et Merles de Corse Bubu Bubu, avidly watching, swelled with pride. Etienne must indeed be in a magnificent mood thus to honor him in naming a brand new dish. Etienne cocked his head and grinned at Bubu’s glee, scrawled on: Hamburger 61st Street
Coots avec Leeks Navets Farcis Bleu
Ballotines de Oison Mercedes He stopped and was thoughtful,”
― Maxim Jakubowski, The New Mammoth Book Of Pulp Fiction

“It was one of those chilly California brights with blue sky and cold sunshine and here and there a cloud like Mr Big was popping Himself a cap down beyond the horizon. I dug it all: the sail of a lone early yacht out in the Bay like a tossed-away paper cup; the whitecaps flipping around out by Angel Island like they were stoned out of their minds; the top down on the 300-SL so we could smell salt and feel the icy bite of the wind. But beyond the tunnel on US 101, coming down towards Marin City, I felt a sudden sharp chill as if a cloud has passed between me and the sun, but none had; and then I dug for the first time what I was actually doing. Victor felt it, too, for he turned to me and said, “Must maintain cool, dad.” “I’m with it.” San Quentin Prison, out on the end of its peninsula, looked like a sprawled ugly dragon sunning itself on a rock; we pulled up near the East Gate and there were not even any birds singing. Just a bunch of quiet cats in black, Quakers or Mennonites or something, protesting capital punishment by their silent presence as they’d done ever since Chessman had gotten his out there. I felt dark frightened things move around inside me when I saw them.”
― Maxim Jakubowski, The New Mammoth Book Of Pulp Fiction

“Please tread carefully and keep away from the shadows; you are about to enter the abyss.”
― Maxim Jakubowski, The Mammoth Book of Jack the Ripper

“East Fifth Street, LA. Main Street used to be the tenderloin street of Los Angeles and I’d headed for it when I jumped off the freight, but I’d found that the worst district, the real Skid Row, was now on Fifth Street in the few blocks east of Main. The”
― Maxim Jakubowski, The New Mammoth Book Of Pulp Fiction

“Ed McBain (as Evan Hunter and Richard Marsten), Raymond Chandler, Cornell Woolrich, Andrew Vachss, Loren D. Estleman, Carroll John Daly, Brett Halliday, Raoul Whitfield, Mark Timlin, Richard Prather, Leigh Brackett, Erle Stanley Gardner (pre Perry Mason), James Ellroy, Clark Howard, Max Brand. In addition, rising paper costs prevented me from making this volume even heavier, as I had to withdraw material by Ed Gorman, James Reasoner, Ed Lacy, Frank Gruber, Loren D. Estleman, Derek Raymond, Robert Edmond Alter, Frederick C. Davis and Jonathan Craig – so look out for these names elsewhere. They are certainly worth a detour. But the”
― Maxim Jakubowski, The New Mammoth Book Of Pulp Fiction

“Whitey passed me the gun I’d made for him during the afternoon and followed it. It was a good gun, but not handy for housebreaking. I’d gone into a second-hand shop and picked up one of the best guns the Winchester people ever made – an 1897 model twelve-gauge shotgun. That’s the one with the hammer. The new hammerless pumps are quieter and maybe they work a little smoother. But those old hammer guns never hung up and there was never a question about ’em being ready for action. All you have to do is pull the hammer back and pull the trigger. I’d taken a hacksaw and cut the barrel off just in front of the pump grip. There were five shells in the barrel and another in the chamber, and all loaded with number one buck shot. That’s the size that loads sixteen in a shell, and for close-range work that’s just dandy. They’re big enough to blow a man to hell and back, and there’s enough of them to spread out and take in a lot of territory. It was the logical weapon for Whitey, because he didn’t know any more about a pistol than a cat knows about heaven. And he’d shot a rifle and shotgun a few times. And he was out for blood. It wasn’t that he’d been roughed up in my room at the time I killed Maury Cullen – because that didn’t bother him. That was just a piece of hard luck to him. When I’d been knocked out and my gun taken from me no doubt the barman had rolled me and found my address and had remembered it. Whitey had just happened to be calling when they came after me. It wasn’t that. It was the girl being killed that was getting him crazy. And he was getting crazy, no mistake. He was a little punchy anyway, from a few too many fights, and when he got excited it hit him. I whispered: “Now remember! I make the play, if there’s one made. Wait for me and back me up.”
― Maxim Jakubowski, The New Mammoth Book Of Pulp Fiction