The Barbarous Coast by Ross MacDonald (English) Paperback Book

Description: The Barbarous Coast by Ross MacDonald The beautiful, high-diving blonde had Hollywood dreams and stars in her eyes but now she seems to have disappeared without a trace. Hired by her hotheaded husband and her rummy "uncle," Lew Archer sniffs around Malibu and finds the stink of blackmail, blood-money, and murder on every pricey silk shirt. Beset by dirty cops, a bumptious boxer turned silver screen pretty boy and a Hollywood mogul with a dark past, Archer discovers the secret of a grisly murder that just won't stay hidden.Lew Archer navigates through the watery, violent world of wealth and privilege, in this electrifying story of obsession gone mad. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description The beautiful, high-diving blonde had Hollywood dreams and stars in her eyes but now she seems to have disappeared without a trace. Hired by her hotheaded husband and her rummy "uncle," Lew Archer sniffs around Malibu and finds the stink of blackmail, blood-money, and murder on every pricey silk shirt. Beset by dirty cops, a bumptious boxer turned silver screen pretty boy and a Hollywood mogul with a dark past, Archer discovers the secret of a grisly murder that just won't stay hidden.Lew Archer navigates through the watery, violent world of wealth and privilege, in this electrifying story of obsession gone mad. Author Biography Ross MacDonalds illustrations have appeared in many magazines, including the "New Yorker, Vanity Fair, Newsweek", and "Time". He is also the author and illustrator of several childrens books, including "Another Perfect Day", which was a "Publishers Weekly" Best Book; "Achoo! Bang! Crash! The Noisy Alphabet", which was a "Publishers Weekly" Best Book and a "Nick Jr. Magazine" Best Book; and, most recently, "Bad Baby". Mr. MacDonald lives with his family in Connecticut. Visit his website at www.Ross-MacDonald.com. Long Description The beautiful, high-diving blonde had Hollywood dreams and stars in her eyes but now she seems to have disappeared without a trace. Hired by her hotheaded husband and her rummy "uncle," Lew Archer sniffs around Malibu and finds the stink of blackmail, blood-money, and murder on every pricey silk shirt. Beset by dirty cops, a bumptious boxer turned silver screen pretty boy and a Hollywood mogul with a dark past, Archer discovers the secret of a grisly murder that just wont stay hidden. Lew Archer navigates through the watery, violent world of wealth and privilege, in this electrifying story of obsession gone mad. Review Quote "Ross Macdonald writes like a son-of-a-bitch." Anthony Boucher"Not since the novels of Nathanael West has the theme of American innocence grinding to a stop at the polluted waters of the Pacific so consistently reverberated through a body of writing." Detroit News "Macdonald makes a routine story of ocean-side murder among the rich take on a hard-edged, glistening solidity." AudioFile Excerpt from Book Chapter 1THE Channel Club lay on a shelf of rock overlooking the sea, toward the southern end of the beach called Malibu. Above its long brown buildings, terraced gardens climbed like a richly carpeted stairway to the highway. The grounds were surrounded by a high wire fence topped with three barbed strands and masked with oleanders.I stopped in front of the gate and sounded my horn. A man wearing a blue uniform and an official-looking peaked cap came out of the stone gatehouse. His hair was black and bushy below the cap, sprinkled with gray like iron filings. In spite of his frayed ears and hammered-in nose, his head had the combination of softness and strength you see in old Indian faces. His skin was dark."I seen you coming," he said amiably. "You didden have to honk, it hurts the ears.""Sorry.""Its all right." He shuffled forward, his belly overhanging the belt that supported his holster, and leaned a confidential arm on the car door. "Whats your business, mister?""Mr. Bassett called me. He didnt state his business. The name is Archer.""Yah, sure, he is expecting you. You can drive right on down. Hes in his office."He turned to the reinforced wire gate, jangling his keyring. A man came out of the oleanders and ran past my car. He was a big young man in a blue suit, hatless, with flying pink hair. He ran almost noiselessly on his toes toward the opening gate.The guard moved quickly for a man of his age. He whirled and got an arm around the young mans middle. The young man struggled in his grip, forcing the guard back against the gatepost. He said something guttural and inarticulate. His shoulder jerked, and he knocked the guards cap off.The guard leaned against the gatepost and fumbled for his gun. His eyes were small and dirty like the eyes of a potato. Blood began to drip from the end of his nose and spotted his blue shirt where it curved out over his belly. His revolver came up in his hand. I got out of my car.The young man stood where he was, his head turned sideways, halfway through the gate. His profile was like something chopped out of raw planking, with a glaring blue eye set in its corner. He said:"Im going to see Bassett. You cant stop me.""A slug in the guts will stop you," the guard said in a reasonable way. "You move, I shoot. This is private property.""Tell Bassett I want to see him.""I already told him. He dont want to see you." The guard shuffled forward, his left shoulder leading, the gun riding steady in his right hand. "Now pick up my hat and hand it to me and git."The young man stood still for a while. Then he stooped and picked up the cap and brushed at it ineffectually before he handed it back."Im sorry. I didnt mean to hit you. Ive nothing against you.""I got something against you, boy." The guard snatched the cap out of his hands. "Now beat it before I knock your block off."I touched the young mans shoulder, which was broad and packed with muscle. "You better do what he says."He turned to me, running his hand along the side of his jaw. His jaw was heavy and pugnacious. In spite of this, his light eyebrows and uncertain mouth made his face seem formless. He sneered at me very youngly:"Are you another one of Bassetts muscle boys?""I dont know Bassett.""I heard you ask for him.""I do know this. Run around calling people names and pushing in where youre not wanted, and youll end up with a flat profile. Or worse."He closed his right fist and looked from it to my face. I shifted my weight a little, ready to block and counter."Is that supposed to be a threat?" he said."Its a friendly warning. I dont know whats eating you. My advice is go away and forget it--""Not without seeing Bassett.""And, for Gods sake, keep your hands off old men.""I apologized for that." But he flushed guiltily. The guard came up behind him and poked him with the revolver. "Apology not accepted. I used to could handle two like you with one arm tied behind me. Now are you going to git or do I have to show you?""Ill go," the young man said over his shoulder. "Only, you cant keep me off the public highway. And sooner or later he has to come out.""Whats your beef with Bassett?" I said."I dont care to discuss it with a stranger. Ill discuss it with him." He looked at me for a long moment, biting his lower lip. "Would you tell him Ive got to see him? That its very important to me?""I guess I can tell him that. Who do I say the message is from?""George Wall. Im from Toronto." He paused. "Its about my wife. Tell him I wont leave until he sees me.""Thats what you think," the guard said. "March now, take a walk."George Wall retreated up the road, moving slowly to show his independence. He dragged his long morning shadow around a curve and out of sight. The guard put his gun away and wiped his bloody nose with the back of his hand. Then he licked his hand, as though he couldnt afford to waste the protein."The guys a cycle-path what they call them," he said. "Mr. Bassett dont know him, even.""Is he what Bassett wants to see me about?""Maybe, I dunno." His arms and shoulders moved in a sinuous shrug."How long has he been hanging around?""Ever since I come onto the gate. For all I know, he spent the night in the bushes. I ought to have him picked up, but Mr. Bassett says no. Mr. Bassett is too softhearted for his own good. Handle him yourself, he says, we dont want trouble with law.""You handled him.""You bet you. Time was, I could take on two like him, like I said." He flexed the muscle in his right arm and palpated it admiringly. He gave me a gentle smile. "I was a fighter one time--pretty good fighter. Tony Torres? You ever hear my name? The Fresno Gamecock?""Ive heard it. You went six with Armstrong.""Yes." He nodded solemnly. "I was an old man already, thirty-five, thirty-six. My legs was gone. He cut my legs off from under me or I could of lasted ten. I felt fine, only my legs. You know that? You saw the fight?""I heard it on the radio. I was a kid in school, I couldnt make the price.""What do you know?" he said with dreamy pleasure. You heard it on the radio."chapter 2I LEFT my car on the asphalt parking-lot in front of the main building. A Christmas tree painted brilliant red hung upside-down over the entrance. It was a flat-roofed structure of fieldstone and wood. Its Neutraesque low lines and simplicity of design kept me from seeing how big it was until I was inside. Through the inner glass door of the vestibule I could see the fifty-yard swimming-pool contained in its U-shaped wings. The ocean end opened on bright blue space.The door was locked. The only human being in sight was a black boy bisected by narrow white trunks. He was sweeping the floor of the pool with a long-handled underwater vacuum. I tapped on the door with a coin.After a while he heard me and came trotting. His dark, intelligent eyes surveying me through the glass seemed to divide the world into two groups: the rich, and the not so rich. I qualified for the second group, it seemed. He said when he opened the door:"If youre selling, mister, the timing could be better. This is the off-season, anyway, and Mr. Bassetts in a rotten mood. He just got through chopping me out. It isnt my fault they threw the tropical fish in the swimming-pool.""Who did?""The people last night. The chlorine water killed them, poor little beggars, so I got to suck them out.""The people?""The tropical fish. They scooped em out of the aquarium and chunked em in the pool. People go out on a party and get drunk, they forget all the ordinary decencies of life. So Mr. Bassett takes it out on me.""Dont hold it against him. My clients are always in a rotten mood when they call me in.""You an undertaker or something?""Something.""I just wondered." A white smile lit his face. "I got an aunt in the undertaking business. I cant see it myself. Too creepy. But she enjoys it.""Good. Is Bassett the owner here?""Naw, just the manager. The way he talks, youd think he owns it, but it belongs to the members."I followed his wedge-shaped lifeguards back along the gallery, through shifting green lights reflected from the pool. He knocked on a gray door with a MANAGER sign. A high voice answered the knock. It creaked along my spine like chalk on a damp blackboard:"Who is it, please?""Archer," I said to the lifeguard."Mr. Archer to see you, sir.""Very well. One moment."The lifeguard winked at me and trotted away, his feet slapping the tiles. The lock snicked, and the door was opened slightly. A face appeared in the crack, just below the level of my own. Its eyes were pale and set too wide apart; they bulged a little like the eyes of a fish. The thin, spinsterly mouth emitted a sigh:"I am glad to see you. Do come in."He relocked the door behind me and waved me to a chair in front of his desk. The gesture was exaggerated by nerves. He sat down at the desk, opened a pigskin pouch, and began to stuff a big-pot briar with dark flakes of English tobacco. This and his Harris tweed jacket, his Oxford slacks, his thick-soled brown brogues, his Eastern-seaboard accent, were all of a piece. In spite of the neat dye job on his brown hair, and the unnatural youth which high color lent his face, I placed his age close to sixty.I looked around the office. It was windowless, lit by hidden fluorescence and ventilated by an air-conditioning system. The furniture was dark and heavy. The walls were hung with photographs of yachts under full sail, divers in the air, tennis-players congratulating each other with forced smiles on their faces. There were several books on the desk, held upright between elephant bookends made of polished black stone.Bassett applied a jet lighter to his pipe and laid down a blue smoke screen, through which he said:"I understand, Mr. Archer, that youre a qualified bodyguard.""I suppose Im qualified. I dont often take on that kind of work.""But I understood-- Why not?""It means living at close quart Details ISBN0307279030 Author Ross MacDonald Short Title BARBAROUS COAST Pages 247 Publisher Vintage Crime/Black Lizard Series Vintage Crime/Black Lizard Language English ISBN-10 0307279030 ISBN-13 9780307279033 Media Book Format Paperback DEWEY FIC Year 2007 Publication Date 2007-12-31 Residence US Imprint Vintage Crime/Black Lizard DOI 10.1604/9780307279033 Series Number 6 Audience General/Trade We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:12637589;

Price: 48.91 AUD

Location: Melbourne

End Time: 2024-12-17T22:45:04.000Z

Shipping Cost: 0 AUD