A Swell-Looking Babe by Jim Thompson

By Jim Thompson

The Manton seems like a good inn. Dusty Rhodes feels like a selfless younger guy operating as a bellhop. And the girl in 1004 appears like an angel. yet occasionally seems to be can kill, as Jim Thompson demonstrates during this imaginative and prescient of the crime novel as gothic.

First released in 1954


"The Oedipus advanced, Thompson-style.

Young university drop-out invoice "Dusty" Rhodes is operating as a bellboy on the Manton lodge until eventually he can get his existence located so he can return to college. however the cash is sweet and the activity is straightforward and Dusty has his ailing previous father to aid. He loves his dad yet doesn't comprehend the place the outdated guy spends the entire cash Dusty provides him. Then the swell-looking babe, a gray-haired older lady, tests into the inn and Dusty can't cease pondering how attractive she is and what kind of she reminds him of his deceased mom.
Another inn visitor occurs to be the neighborhood mob boss who Dusty owes a prefer to and dad's legal professional, a wily little man, retains popping up.

Everybody wishes whatever, and in Thompson's books you recognize they'll get what they deserve. I get pleasure from his books simply because Thompson might delve into taboo matters, which was once rather his uniqueness, in a manner that slot in with the pulp writing of the time whereas nonetheless writing essentially sufficient to surprise sleek readers. In his novels he went again to the topic of madness time and again whereas giving every one personality their very own explanation for their madness and their very own warped perceptions."

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The hedge fell away to a broken-down stone wall bordering a field left to run wild. The house was thirty or forty yards off the lane: one of the Famine cottages that still litter Ireland, emptied in the nineteenth century by death or emigration and never reclaimed. One look added another layer to my feeling that I wanted to be very far away from whatever was going on here. The whole field should have been alive with focused, unhurried movementuniforms working their way across the grass with their heads bent, Technical Bureau crew in white coveralls busy with cameras and rulers and print dust, morgue guys unloading their stretcher.

I decided I liked this guy. Cassandra Maddox, he said, glancing up. Yes, sir, I said. He was average height, stocky but fit, with good shoulders and close-cut brown hair. Id been expecting someone so nondescript he was practically invisible, maybe the Cancer Man from The X Files, but this guy had rough, blunt features and wide blue eyes, and the kind of presence that leaves heat streaks on the air where hes been. He wasnt my type, but I was pretty sure he got a lot of female attention. Frank. Sir is for desk jockeys.

It always meant he was about to come out, spectacularly casually, with something totally outrageous. What, Frank, I said. Well, Frank began, getting comfortable against the rocks and folding his arms behind his head, weve got a unique opportunity here, havent we? Shame to waste it. We do? Sam said. We do? I said. Oh, yeah. Jesus, yeah. That risky grin was starting at the corners of Franks mouth. Weve got the chance, he said, taking his time, weve got the chance to investigate a murder case from the inside.

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