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Sunday, October 31, 2010

pulp art of the day

Friday, October 29, 2010

excerpt from some of my favorite pulps i didn't write

Doc Savage Magazine #001- "The Man of Bronze" by Lester Dent March/1933
(republished as a paperback in October/1964 by Bantam Books as #001)
{Bantam Cover by James Bama}
High                                                                                                                                                               Savage: #001- "The Man of Bronze"
II -- A Message from the Dead
Falling rain strewed the outer side of the windowpane with water. Far below -- very pallid in the soaking murk -- were streetlights. Over on the Hudson River, a steamer was tooting a foghorn. The frightened, mooing horn was hardly audible inside the room.
Some blocks away, the skyscraper under construction loomed a darksome pile, crowned with a spidery labyrinth of steel girders. Only the vaguest outlines of it were discernible.
Impossible, of course, to glimpse the strange crimson-fingered servant of death in that wilderness of metal!
Doc Savage said slowly, "I was far away when my father died."
He did not explain where he had been -- did not mention his "Fortress of Solitude", his rendezvous built on a rocky island deep in the Arctic regions. He had been there.
It was to this spot that Doc retired periodically to brush up on the newest developments in Science, Psychology, Medicine, Engineering. This was the secret of his universal knowledge, for his periods of concentration there were long and intense.
The "Fortress of Solitude" had been his father's recommendation. And no one on Earth knew the location of the retreat. Once there, nothing could interrupt Doc's studies and experiments.
Without taking his golden eyes from the wet window, Doc asked, "Was there anything strange about my father's death?"
"We're not certain," Renny muttered and set his thin lips in an expression of ominousness.
"I, for one, am certain!" snapped Littlejohn. He settled more firmly on his nose the glasses which had the extremely thick left lens.
"What do you mean, Johnny?" Doc Savage asked.
"I am positive your father was murdered!" Johnny's gauntness and his studious scientist look gave him a profoundly serious expression.
Doc Savage swung slowly from the window. His bronze face had not changed expression. But under his brown business coat, tensing muscles had made his arms inches farther around!
"Why do you say that, Johnny?"
Johnny hesitated. His right eye narrowed, the left remained wide and a little blank behind the thick spectacle lens. He shrugged.
"Only a hunch," he admitted … then added, almost shouting: "But I'm right about it! I know I am!"
That was Johnny's way. He had absolute faith in what he called his "hunches". And nearly always he was right. But on occasions when he was wrong, though, he was very wrong indeed.                                                           

pulp art of the day

excerpt from my book The screw that refused to tighten by Jason L. Brown part 1

How I'd gotten there I couldn't figure , but there I was back in that warehouse where it all happened .  See when you become a cop they try to prepare you for sending someone to the big sleep . The fact is, that's the reason most people become cops, the chance to kill a bad guy or two and become a hero . Not me though I wanted the companionship ,the feeling of trust in your fellow officers ,a brotherhood, that's what I craved. It was all stolen from me though and it is that night that has haunted my every thought. So there I was in that dark abandoned warehouse wind screaming out side. One lonely light swinging from the breeze coming through the broken window, making it hard to see. My partner standing there with a bean-shooter to a kids head. The whole scene was playing out just as it did before but this time I was powerless to do anything but watch. I was stuck like an invisible witness, just watching the whole thing unravel. ` I felt sweat form on my head as I raised my gun and leveled it at Franky .Panic forming a knot in my gut. I heard myself say " Put down the gun Franky , I have to take you in." "It doesn't have to be this way George." He said " Don't you see those people had to die. They were bad people, all of them . They had to be punished." He'd gone nuts. Over the last three months he'd murdered thirteen people. All bad ,or so he thought . Two of them though had been kids . This kid he had now couldn't have been older than ten . Christ his balls probably haven't even dropped yet. I couldn't let him continue ,  he was killing people and that was wrong. No matter how much I wanted it be different I knew what was coming next and I couldn't change a thing. Instead I felt my thumb pull down the hammer and my grip tighten on my gun ."Don't make me do this ." I said. By this time my panic had hit with full force and I could hardly breath. "Sorry Jonzey the boy has to die there's no other way."As he said this I could see his finger slowly close over the trigger. From somewhere there was a man screaming in sorrow .That somewhere was deep in my soul. I was desperate to change what was about to happen ,but I couldn't . My head pounded with the force of a steam engine gone out of control . I looked down and saw that my finger was also on the trigger and like his my finger was also closing, only mine was faster..... There was a sudden crash and with a jolt I woke ,........

term of the week

to be on  the nut - to be broke