'40-'50s Detective Fiction

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In my line of work, I spend too much time in dark alleys alone. And the hoods always come in pairs. At least pairs. So I put up my Colt Detective Special, and dusted off an old friend. It's a Browning Hi-Power I picked up during the War. Took it down to Smitty, who put on a bigger safety lever so I can use the damn thing. A Brit commando taught me to only load 12 rounds in the mags, they work better that way.

And, when I need to stop a car, I reach in the Desk for the Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum. THat thing will split and engine block on a Ford, or so I've heard. Never had to do that myself...

And if it gets real deep, I've got a Greener double barrel 12 gauge, cut down to a nice 14 inches, and a Thompson I smuggled home after the War.
 
The right tool - - -

Sometimes I like the big, solid feel of the .45 I brought back from the Pacific. It worked for a couple of sons of Nippon, and later it worked down on the river. But nowadays, I mostly pack a little Remington .380 clipped under my belt in a soft holster. I like its black wood stocks with the two inlaid white stars. I bought it from a GI who said it got lost when the Third Army galloped into Germany. I dunno . . . .



;)
 
"The night was dark and heavy with rain. This part of the city looked like the cesspool it was. Every so often one of the less fortunate denizens of this dark dreary scene was caught under the light of a solitary street light as they scurried from one place of refuge to another. None of them saw me in the dim office light as I sat there watching the world go by.

The bottle of rye in front of me was more empty than full. My glass was still damp from the last slug I had downed. As I sat there cleaning my heavy GI .45 Automatic I thought of the last time it spoke. "No-neck" Tommy Barnes and two of his goons would never terrorize another dame like they tried with Peggy.

My heart always felt funny when I thought about her. Blonde, sultry, great gams and a voice that made men stop drinking and look. She had a talent that few singers had and was going places now that "No-neck" was not around to control her time.

We had met a few years ago in one of the many dives that sprang up after men came back from the European and the Pacific wars. Dives which generally featured cheap talent and even cheaper whiskey. But Peggy was different. She had class. She had style. She had talent. You knew she was going somewhere if she could just get that one chance. And now without Tommy to hold her back that big producer who was trying to meet her was going to put her on the fast track to the big time.

And where she was going there was no room for a mug like me. Big, rough, quick with my hands and my heater. We both knew she was going somewhere I couldn't go, but I pretended to be happy for her. I was happy for her, but I knew I was losing that pearl that all men hope to find and keep to themselves. I wondered if she'd ever think of me late at night and wonder where I was and what I was doing.

I poured myself another drink and silently toasted the short time we had together. Tomorrow there would be another case, another dame who needed help, another goon who needed killing. But there would never be another Peggy. The rye would help me forget that for tonight at least.

As I finished putting my .45 back together a shadow fell across the door to my office. The outline and the tenative knock told me it was a dame. The last thing I needed was company, but I wasn't rich enough to turn down any job right now. As I slid the big Colt under a newspaper I called out, "Yeah? Come in.".

As she came into the light I sat up straighter in my old chair. She was a redhead, tall, lean, and even though her nervousness filled the room like old perfume she moved with the grace of a jungle cat. Suddenly she spoke, "I need some help.".

"That's what I do, sis. I help people. Call me Frosty. What's yer name?"

"I'm Trish Barnes. I think you knew my brother Tommy."

Alarms started going off in my head. That old lop-sided grin found it's way back to my mug. There was nothing like danger to make a man forget about his problems."

"What can I do for you, sis?"

(to be continued)
 
It was an out fit meant strictly for business...
 

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FPrice, Good one ....and what happens next? :D

Dr. Rob - :D Great Pic..

.. you forgot the typewriter, and smokes. There is always a manual typewriter and smokes... :)

I need a Sam Spade book or something....maybe I'll listen to my radio show of "The Shadow" [ psst- Cracker Barrel has these old radio shows for sale].
 
A S&W .44 Triplelock, shooting whatever "improved" load Mr. Keith was loading into his around that time, and a Colt Detective Special in an ankle holster for backup. Plus a Thompson M1921 for serious work.
Or...
A pair of Colt Super .38s, nickel-finished with fancy stocks, of course, and an Auto 5/Model 11 with an extended magazine.
Or...
A S&W Heavy Duty .38/44 on a belt holster, with an M&P with a shortened barrel and bobbed hammer as a backup. These would both serve to back up the M1918 BAR, of course.
 
I've been reading a set of stories about Phillip Marlowe written by other authors... one had Marlowe keep a Luger in his glovebox. A Luger?

Hmmmmmmmmmmm.
 
The Luger might be correct, depending on when the story took place. Following World War One tons of them were brought back by returning soldiers, and they became quite popular. Same thing happened after World War Two. I forget the name, but I seem to remember a detective flick around 1947 that featured Dick Powel in which he had a Luger. Impressed my young mind no end.
 
Every Luger I recall seeing in film was in the hands of the bad guy. Maybe Peter Lorre could carry one, but not Marlowe.

In that story Marlowe shoots an aging tinsel town head of security that packs an 1878 Colt New Frontier with fat yellowed ivory grips in a shoulder rig. Of course he drills him in the shoulder and he goes down in a heap.

There, a literary one shot stop with a 9mm and ball ammo. :D

The story was set in 1935.
 
Why oh why didn't someone make a 357 Thompson.
Click to expand...
Probably because those pesky rims would play havoc in the drum. :neener:

There were however, a very few Colt manufactured Thompsons produced in .38 Super!
Now that would be the Cat's Meow.
Or would that be the Bee's Knees?
I always get those two confused.
 
If I were a detective back in those days, I'd be carrying either a Colt Detective Special or Police Positive, with a 1911 in the glove box of the car. In the trunk I'd have a nice pump shotgun.

That should cover it.
 
On my belt I carry a Smith 4" Heavy Duty. Some tell me it's too much gun, but I like something heavy when lead starts flying my way. I learned that lesson as a kid in Belleau Wood On my ankle I have a real sweet Colt 38 belly gun with a bobbed hammer. Sometimes a guy needs a little extra. In the glove compartment of my Ford I have a Webley that I got off of a dead Hun officer when I was in the Argonne and there's a Remington 12 guage pump gun * in my trunk. I watched the leather necks use those smoothbore cannons on many a German in France. What those suckers can do to a man has to be seen to be believed. If it worked for them it'll work for me. I have a couple 32 Smiths that I keep stashed around my office and home. You never know when you might need some quick firepower.

Like I said, there's some guys in my line of work who think I'm nuts for having so many heaters. I like to think that I'm just careful. Now when it come to dames.....well I'm not as careful when it comes to being prepared for what might be around the next corner. If I was I would have told the blonde in the blue dress to get lost when she sat down next to me as I was eating breakfast at the Southtown Diner.

*The Remington shotgun is a Remingtom Model 10 trenchgun. The USMC carried both the Winchester 1897 and the Remington Model 10 in the trenches. Our hero would have been with the 2nd Inf Div in France. The only infantry division to have two Army Infantry Regiments and two Marine regiments. Hey I'm in my late thirties so he is too.
 
S&W 3rd Model HE .44SPL 5" bbl. in a shoulder holster---maybe a 1917 .45ACP or a 1950 Target in either caliber.....

Detective Special or Chief's Special .38SPL w/ HBWC's loaded backward over a little extra Bullseye...

Winchester Model 12 or Remington Model 10 in the trunk for "social occasions"...


Of course, if I wanted to "cowboy up"....

Colt SAA 5 1/2" in .44-40 tucked in the waistband or a spring-clip shoulder holster...

Remington .41 Derringer in my pocket (ammo was still available then)...

Winchester '94 in .44-40 in the truck for "regulatin' unpleasantness"...

Sam Spade....meet Wyatt Earp...:evil:
 
In "lady In The Lake" an old Sherrif named Patton shoots a 38/44 heavy Duty out of a crooked cop's mitt with a 'Colt Frontier .45' The old sheriff says something like "boy I been shootin' longer than you've been alive, you shouldn't have given me a chance."

That was the second time the New Frontier six shooter was used in a Marlowe story, and the second time a touch of the old West met hard boiled.
 
IIRC, Mike Hammer carried a 1911 in 45ACP. Once he took his pocketknife and sliced off the noses of some FMJ slugs to make soft-points. I wish I had that much strength in my fingers. :what:
 
Oldies but Goodies

Geez youse guys must be old geezers like me as what you's sayin brings back memories of the Shadow, Jack Armstrong the All American Boy, while mixing the newly invented pound of white margerine with the package of orange color.

I am a Smith man for revolvers and a National Match Gold Cup man for autos but was given two cases of Fitz grips for old Colts so my ears perk up when old Colts are mentioned. I just checked out some old Humphrey Bogart movies on a CD that I could not have dreamed of when a kid during WW2 and when the movie was made.

I like my J frame 2 incher and the sound of a squeeking door.

Fitz
 
It's a lonely life....

and a man has to take friends as he can find them. Or make them.

For normal walking around purposes, there's an old Colt pocket pistol in .32 Automatic in my jacket pocket. It's not the biggest gun on the block, but I know how to use it. Just ask Gino Olivetti, if you could.

When I'm working a serious case, I have a Smith & Wesson Registered Model; given to me by an appreciative client after I extricated his son from a mess of his own making. Not a bad kid, just no comprehension of right and wrong. The old man was so happy to get him back alive and not in prison that no one noticed the small scar just to the outboard side of the kid's right eye. If the old man had done it when the kid was about twelve years younger... well, I wouldn't have the revolver, would I?

I have a GI automatic, too. Another gift; this one from a gent who was a serious officer in WW 1. I shoot it from time to time. Sometimes carry it instead of the Registered Model. When I'm comtemplating going into serious 'indian country' it comforts me.

And as long as I'm being talkative, there's my pappy's old deer gun in the trunk of the '36 Ford coupe. It's a handy little Remington in .35 caliber. It's not the longest range rifle I've ever fired, but it shoots far enough for life in the big city.

That's what it takes to get me through. That and a bottle of Scotch.

And just once; just once I'd like to have Veronica Lake come strolling into my office looking for a man to solve her problems.
 
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