BULLETS, BROADS, BLACKMAIL & BOMBS >> The Real World

This column officially turns one year old this week, with 167 old paperbacks reviewed. I’ve loved writing about them, no matter how bad some were. Over the last 52 weeks, we’ve lost three great writers who were featured: Mickey Spillane, Richard Prather and Donald Hamilton – all sorely missed. I hope Elmore Leonard and Donald E. Westlake are healthy. Why couldn’t it be Jackie Collins or Tom Clancy?

Anyway, for this first-year anniversary column, I’m still covering spies, private eyes and naked thighs … but in the nonfiction world.

LADIES OF THE NIGHT by Susan Hall – Hookers, plain and simple: That’s what this 1973 book is all about. Straight from the girls’ mouths, it’s incredibly frank and honest, and not a case of titillation for cheap thrills.

The first two girls tell why they work for pimps; these are girls with some serious issues. Kitty has problems with her pimp all the time, but will rush back to him once her money dries up. She also talks about the hassles she gets from the cops and customers. Since it’s all from the ladies’ POV, it makes a great counterpoint to films like AMERICAN PIMP and the book by Iceberg Slim.

Then it moves into the world of massage parlors, with a exact exchange from a girl named Sherry and her trick. Sherry seems to be the most on the ball in this book, but still a lost cause, thinking that working in a parlor is safer and that her Italian boyfriend will take her away from the world.

Whorehouse madams also are covered, presented with two different archetypes. One is a lesbian who finds it better for her house that her girls are gay, since they are not the problem straights are. The other is Pamela, who seems to have a great sense of business, but still gets busted by the cops. This part of LADIES also features photographs from a madam’s book, giving a brief history of each girl working in the house.

The book closes out with three freelancers, each of whom think that working on their own is the safest. Again, these girls are totally delusional, not realizing that their future is not going to improve in a job like this. Hall’s book is peppered throughout with photographs by Bob Adelman and is well worth searching out.

The funny thing is, even though it’s from the early ’70s, it’s still pretty on-target. I grabbed it for a quarter two years ago.

HELLS ANGELS: INTO THE ABYSS by Yves Lavigne – There are two great books about the Hells Angels. Of course, one is Hunter S. Thompson’s eyewitness account back in the ’60s, but that was from an outsider’s point of view, never getting into the workings of the actual group.

Then there’s this 1996 book, which tells about Anthony Tait, a deep undercover agent for the FBI. Actually, Tait never was an FBI agent, but after a year of being in the group, he felt it was time to go to the cops and tell them all he knew. An actual agent takes notice, wanting Tait to turn state’s evidence. He figures since Tait is already on the inside and trusted, why not use him?

This book does not sugarcoat anything. There are plenty of graphic descriptions of events in the Hells Angels’ history, some directly transcribed from the taped conversations of Tait and others. It’s a facisnating read, to say the least, as we’re taken from the very early stages of Tait’s involvement with a local motorcycle gang to the high reaches of the Angels’ inner circle. Tait was so “in,” he was buddy-buddy with one of the most famous Angels of all: Sonny Barger. For those who’ve seen GIMME SHELTER, you know who Sonny is.

This is great reading that had me fascinated throughout, from the drug deals to the petty bullshit the group would complain about. You see the Angels for what they are, rather than the myths they try to purport to this day. I should point out I met Barger a few years ago when he was doing a book tour for his autobiography; I found him to be extremely captivating and can see why he commanded such respect.

BLYE, PRIVATE EYE by Nicholas Pileggi – Like taking a needle to a balloon, this 1976 book from GOODFELLAS coscreenwriter Pileggi does more to demystify detectives than any other. Irwin Blye, P.I. is no Mike Hammer or even a Mike Shayne. You’ll find out most detectives are closer to Blye than their fictional counterparts, and how much tedium exists in the real private investigator world – namely, taking statements and double-checking up on police reports.

We travel along with Blye as he is in the process of working on three different cases at the same time: a divorce case, an insurance claim of a woman burned by boiling water and a man trying to prove he’s not a rapist. Blye does not cherry-pick his cases, looking at them as just a job and never getting personally involved.

I have one word to describe this book: authentic. In his whole career up to 1976, Blye never pulled his gun out, except at the range. He’s also happily married with children. I mean, from the sound of it, this guy could blend into a crowd and you would never think he is a private eye. And that’s exactly how Blye likes it.

Later on, we learn about his colorful childhood growing up around Times Square, witnessing the good ol’ days – nudge nudge, wink wink – of cops, then how he first became an investigator at an insurance firm before graduating to self-employment.

If you’re a fan of any detective fiction, do yourself a favor and grab this book. Sure, you’ll look at those novels with clearer eyes afterward, but that’s why they call it fiction.

Next time: Color me diverse. –Bruce Grossman

Buy it at Amazon.

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