SHE KNEW WHO TO CALL WHEN SHE FOUND HERSELF IN DANGER...
5-Star rating Amazon & Goodreads!
I don't know why the dames always call me. My head is as bald as the 8-ball I always seem to end up behind. The whole darned shebang turned out to be a hellish merry-go-round of gunmen, sex-fiends, and quick-on-the-trigger cops.
"Sam Dakkers," I said.
"He's hitting me, Sam" she whispered so quietly that I had to strain to hear. "We met at a bar and he brought me home. He tried to undress me and I was pushing him off. He hit me so hard I almost fell out of the bed. That was when I saw the old man sitting near us. He was sitting in a chair, and he didn't have anything on, and he was in a—a sort of a big bag made of plastic."
It seemed so crazy . . . A dead man inside a plastic bag? ... I couldn't believe her . . .
But when I got there, I realized she was telling the truth—there was the man in the bag.
It was SCREAM STREET all the way for the both of us!
In this gripping classic of 1950s noir, you will meet:
Sam Dakkers, a big-hearted, cue-ball headed bail bondsman in a dark and dirty world, who never understood why the dames kept throwing themselves at him.
Joan Astra, a gal with only one vice: gambling; and it almost won her a slab in the morgue.
Louie Pap, whose shape was almost human, but his instincts were those of an ape.
Pete Lennix, who to keep from getting killed, had to shut everyone else up—permanently!
Dr. Morrison, the doctor who couldn't tell if a man was acting crazy or had really gone bonkers.
Pierre Wentworth, the executive who exchanged his "gray flannel suit" for a plastic one.
