Our Man in Europe, now BELIZE, Dave Delacroix: "PALOOKAVILLE!"(Ap'res Raymond Chandler classic Crime stories/Film Noir Movies)
"Palookaville!"...
...I was working, office sink mirror, on my Mullet (haircut), my neglected foot-dangling a tad askew. I needed to exercise, hit the office bottle. I hadn't seen VELMA in a while. NOBODY-lately, no high-end corpse having got murdered for a discreet "P.I." (A Shamus). This is bad for business: GUMSHOES without SOLES. U don't know the meaning of heartbreak! The LEAN murder season. Murderers OR serial killers R devoid of compassion.
As for that lady suspect with a stolen diamond necklace/that absent Gigolo- dude in a Tuxedo, the chauffer A.W.O.L. with the big shots Rolls-Royce? And/or lipstick on your collar? (Thank U VELMA!) Even unemployed I felt like I needed a Chinatown laundry; a Palookaville-one way ticket stub before I hit downtown? L.A.P.D. B/W's crowding my Laurel canyon bungalow: "Come out PUNK! We got ya dun for rights!?" Like everyone in L.A. County (Jail) I was innocent! I wasn't there yet but it WOULD BE; Innocents in History have been burnt at the stake?
Some say that a STIFF (Dead frick U murdered) is heavier than a broken heart. Throw him in a Packards trunk, off the pier, South Bay, L.A., Malibu canyons or Las Vegas desert surrounds which make Arlington Cemetery seem small & - I suppose - sadly less renown. Use a trowel? U'll find a STIFF. Dead Men don't dance in Tartan Kilts (Forget Plaid/That was last season.) Murderers OR their victims (A CASINO-FREE-BUFFET WACK SOME DUDE-LUNCHEON) never sing FALSETTO. The former, they just self-confess/mumble on the road to Hell, the latter stay silent/OMERTA in the rictus of death.
As for the TORCHER (Razzie-Night Club singer with the everlasting fishnet stocking thighs), another VELMA, ZELDA, WANDA-WANDA-WANDA! (whatever) sitting now in my humble outta office, Cocaine-sniffling, handing me an envelope stuffed with dead Presidents, should I take the Case? -with wonder-bra "grand Tetons" enough to stampede a businessmen's-convention Lunch? And fully aware that U can take the Boy out of L.A., but U can't take the L.A. out of the Boy; what's a P.I./Sleuth-Boy to do other than Sinatra-CROON: "L.A.: The Long Goodbye".
...As for P.I. (Gumshoe) Client-Confidential initial Questionnaire/U can fill in the form?... 'Did U kill him? Did U drive him off a cliff, Pacific Palisades? It's IN the NEWS, that Packard, driven off the pier, that lipstick smear upon his dead lips? Did U KILL HIM!? OR just put your lips together & just blow? A sweet sad tomato with TETONS that quivered when U shot him in his TEST-TACKLES, threw the .38-Speacial off the Palisades cliff, a-hangman's scarf thrown arrogantly around your neck, kissed "arrivederci" to your latest fool...And just walked on by?
...THIS GIG (a SHAMUS) ain't for just anyone, the crunch Fedora, Gabardine-belted, BOB MITCHUM/ out of your past; a resident leer, wise cracks on hand, a loser, a fool ...in someone else's "Film Noir"?... (Movie Subtitles FLAIL!) Clean hands? In Murder, nobody in a Tatan Kilt gets to dance clean-away
"Did U kill him?"
"NO! My lover, the chauffer!"
"Is he dead too?"
"I can explain that!"
At which point, Sergeant Nalty/Uniforms (L.A.P.D.) burst through my office door!
(Singing:) "Lauren Macall, Lauren Macall. She was a sweet sad tomato but her tears they flowed like wine."
c.2026. Dave Delacroix.
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