This is hardboiled noir that is more thiller than detective story. It’s not really my thing, I like them more gum-shoe than this but it was still solid, and the 3 short stories were good, the last one was very good. For those new to pulp-fiction, the moral of the story is always don’t stray too far into the wild side, or I suppose moderation in all things. Unfortunately for our protagonists, they where jones’n for thrills despite the heat increasing all around them; like frogs slowly boiled from lukewarm water.
Marty: “You could get all tied up, just living the same life every day. You could be building a box around yourself without realizing it, and all at once you were in the box and somebody was puttying up the air holes and pretty soon you couldn’t breathe anymore. When that started to happen you had to kick like hell until the box fell apart.” Or “He felt cleaner now, but some of the griminess seemed to have lodged itself beneath his skin. As though the filth were a part of him, he thought. As though he’d absorbed it and it was a permanent acquisition.
Meg: “But now she was more concerned with a different sort of excitement. The show was driving her mad, not because she needed a man’s embrace but because it was so exotic, so forbidden. There was a genuinely evil aspect to it, and this sense of evil was driving her wild.”
Lily & Cassie: “Just wait,” Cassie was saying now, her lips close to Lily’s ear. “Just wait. I’m going to show you everything, Lily. Everything there is to know. Baby, you’ll dig it. I know you will.” “Maybe.” “And you’re blonde all the way, aren’t you? Hell, don’t answer, baby. Like I saw it myself.” “Yeah.” “Well, I’m a redhead all the way. You like?” “Sure, Cassie.” Cassie stopped, turned Lily around. “Come on,” she said. “I’m like so crazy for it I can’t stand it. Give me a kiss, Lily.” “Here in the street?” “Nobody’s looking.” “Well, sure.”
Weaver: “The something was a horrible thing, but he had done it, and they had put his picture in the newspapers and had broadcast his name over the radio. They called him Dracula, and they called him the Cannibal Killer, but now, for the first time, they knew who he was. Better to be loathed as a fiend than to be thoroughly ignored, better to be hated than not to be known at all. One act of horror had given direction to his life, had elevated him from nobody to somebody.”
So when does “thrill seeking” become evil? How do you know when you’ve gone too far? Ask the frogs.