The pretty-boy movie star. The fat producer. The buxom blackmailer. The grubby undertaker. These four people never would have associated with one another runder ordinary circumstances. But they were drawn together in a shady swindle that promised to net a handsome profit. It was a neat little deal and everything worked out exactly as planned—until private eye Johnny Liddell showed up on the scene. That was the day the movie star was murdered. He made a pretty corpse. The first of four. It started out as a dog of a case-with Johnny Liddell keeping tabs on a drunken movie star for a fat producer. But it picked up interest when the actor was found dead in a phony auto accident. Then, two blondes and one brunette later (as Liddell figured time), somebody put a bullet through the producer's fat skull.A killer seemed bent on giving the morgue a little extra business. Three more customers, to be exact, and one of them was named Johnny Liddell.

She was a gorgeous - and mysterious - girl from New York, who had taken a low-paying job in a small-town night club. When they fished her out of the local river she had nothing on. It didn’t matter. She was past caring. Johnny Liddell cared, though. The girl was his client and it didn’t make sense. Why would she strip, pile her clothes neatly on the pier, and then take the plunge? A waste, Liddell thought mournfully. A great waste. Then he cheered up. Any case that began with a killer and a naked woman was bound to produce more of the same . . .

The girl's hand shook violently. She spilled some of the liquor on the table. "They cut his throat," she said. Just like Eve's. They're looking for me right now." Johnny Liddell walked over, standing close. "Who's looking for you, baby?" She was breathing heavily. "You won't let them get me, will you?" The detective shook his head. The blonde slid her arms around his neck, found his mouth with hers. He felt her body pressed hard against his. "i'll make it worth your while," she whispered. "I know you will," he told her.

191 page paperback. Written with the authority of a machine gun. For those who like their fiction tough and fast, this a a MUST.

He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, his arms above his head, his long, bony fingers curled like claws. His teeth were bared in a horrible fixed grin, his eyes stared unblinkingly. Two thin wires suspended each of his thumbs to a corner of the door frame … mute evidence that his death had neither been quick or merciful.

No. D333. A Jimmy Liddell Mystery. Second printing.

The woman’s body undulated. Her motions became frantic. Wildly, she tore off her clothes … The others followed. Nude, danced to the frenzied drum … This was New Orleans. Johnny Liddell was no tourist. He had come here to investigate a disappearance. The beating he got by a goon squad, the double-cross from a gorgeous blonde, and the session as target for someone’s shooting practice—weren’t exactly like being handed the keys to the city. But before he was through, Johnny’s tour of the town led him through a ring of blackmail, murder, and the forced prostitution of some of the most beautiful society women in the city.

A MYSTERY HOUSE RELEASE: Liddell leaned back on the couch, lit a cigarette. After a few moments, the blonde re-appeared in the bedroom door. "Jackpot! He was there." Liddell pulled himself out of his seat. "How fast can you get dressed?" The blonde grinned at him. "That depends." "On what ?" "On how fast you want me to get dressed." She raised her hand to her neck, fumbled with the zipper. With a quick motion, she unzipped the front of the gown. Her full, tip-tilted breasts spilled out. "There's really no hurry. Monti can't get away until midnight. He'll meet us then." Liddell walked closer to her. He could smell the faint perfume of her body. He slipped his arm around her waist, covered her mouth with his. Her body melted against his, almost unbearably hot.

A case of corpses. They piled up so fast that private eye Johnny Liddell figured he was ahead if he found them while they were still warm. It started when he was hired as a baby-sitter to a wildcat. She was blonde and beautiful, and stacked better than a deck of marked cards. And she had a cool $200,000 worth of hot diamonds. There was just one hitch. She used bourbon instead of perfume.

A gorgeous gal with an insatiable appetite for love . . . A gossip columnist who scooped the world with his own obituary . . . An innocent young girl forced into a degrading racket . . . Plus other assorted chacters involved in mayhem and murder, in a collection of sizzling stories featuring Johnny Liddell, the wise-cracking, free-wheeling, quick-fisted private detective with the nasty habit the mobsters hate - he keeps on breathing! Contents: > \*Lead ache > \*Frame > \*Return engagement > \*The dead grin > \*A package for Mr. Big > \*A game of murder > \*Morgue-star final > \*Gory hallelujah!

Private Eye Johyyn Liddell had it all figured out. But the way it added up, there was only one possible killer: himself!

She called herself Denny Lyons and she was everything men dream of on long, lonely nights... She had it all, from the white-gold hair that framed her expensive face, to the graceful, slender ankles—and all those little extras in-between... Even before she opened her lovely mouth to sing, she had her audience entranced. And when she sang, her low, smoky voice curled itself around your spine, drifted slowly up into your chest, and stayed there. And hurt... She had everything—including big ideas. She was headed straight for the top and she through she knew just how to get there... But she was wrong. Because her big beautiful career came to a sudden violent end—when she did...

When he broke into the racket, Eddie Marlon knew if you hit pay dirt you roll around in it. On the way up he stepped on some - network people, song pluggers, smoke-eyed girl vocalist who'd do anything for a hit record. The kids who made him thought he was the living end. What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them - or Eddie.

Her name was Celeste Pierce and she was Marilyn Monroe and Jayne Mansfield all rolled into one. In short, she was this year's Hollywood sensation - meaning that the movie magazine without her picture was as rare as the war novel without four-letter words. But what Celeste was before she became the find-of-the-year wouldn't look quite so well in print, as Murray Carter - who printed a little periodical called BARE FACTS - politely told her. Just before he became the late Murray Carter.

ONE-The redheaded secretary lay crumpled on the office floor, her blouse ripped to the waist. Blood trickled from her mouth.TWO-The redheaded divorcee sprawled across the bed, the black silk sheet baring her lovely body - and her gaping throat.THREE-The black-haired B-girl lay broken across the steering wheel of the bomb-shattered car. Her open eyes stared sightlessly at the tilted floor.AND OUT!Each had walked into a trap meant for private eye Johnny Liddell, set by the crime syndicate out to get him. Each was a score Johnny had to settle - if he could live long enough to see the end of three brutal bouts with murder!

"Kiely of the Dispatch, Liddell. A reporter of mine, Larry Jansen, had been murdered. I want you to find the killer." "Okay," Liddell sighed into the phone, replacing the receiver. He stared into the slanted green eyes of the girl, patter her on the knee, and sighed again, "Don’t go away. I’ll be right back." But several murders - a trip to Vegas - assorted racketeers - and a couple of dolls - kept Johnny a little longer than he expected. It started with murder - but that was only the beginning . . .

It wasn’t his case…his girl…or his problem…but Johnny Liddell had a personal interest in this little caper. He didn’t ask to be the Feds’ “receiver” on a pass of inside info on the smuggling racket, but he was. He didn’t ask to have a couple of hoods beat the living daylights out of him to get the info back, but they did. As a matter of fact, for the first time in his life, Johnny Liddell wasn’t asking for trouble. But when a lovely doll invited him to see her later, and murder turned later into never again, Johnny asked in—in to the bloody end.

Las Palmas was built on the Nevada desert, ruled over by The Boys, a collection of hoods who couldn't go home. A killer was on the loose, without permission, and Johnny Liddell was called in to teach him some manners-for $10,000! Of course money wouldn't keep you off the slab and it didn't take Johnny long to realize he was being set up for the next kill.

A hurry-up call from L.A. brought Johnny Liddell 3,000 miles to the sprawling Beverly Hills estate of T.V. star Dirk Messner. New York's shrewdest private eye found the handsome playboy in the middle of a press conference. The reporters were asking a lot of questions. Messner didn't feel like talking—and from the looks of the gaping hole in his chest, he wouldn't feel like anything . . . ever again.

Front Cover: "Sizzling cases of private-eye Johnny Liddell who has a passion for redheads and a talent for trouble." Contains the stories: \-Dead Set \-Dead Drunk \-Dead Reckoning \-Dead Run \-Dead Wrong \-Dead End \-The Killing \-A Grave Matter!

Johnny Liddell was traveling with a fast crowd - the kind that kept the bars open twenty-four hours at day and played quick games of musical beds. Liddell joined the fun, but someone in the crowd was too fast for him - fast enough to almost get away with murder.

AN EXPERT IN HIS FIELD... Lopez smiled. "Violence is not in my line. I'm a lover, not a killer." "That's just what we want. A lover." It was a billion dollar set-up. And everything depended on Lopez' special talent - getting anything he wanted from any woman. The stakes were too high to let anyone get in the way. One man had already been murdered. Liddell took over where the dead man left off, not knowing that he might be reserving his own slab in the morgue.

It wasn't just the set-up that bugged Liddell—two murders, a blackmail, and a messy scandal. It was the girl. A girl he could really go for—and she was mixed up with both murders, the blackmail, and especially the scandal.

The blonde didn't have to tell Liddell that she made the circuit. One look, and he could see she was a fast operator. Johnny Liddell dialed "0" for information, but all she was selling was her party line...

The tall blonde marched into the office, straight toward the man sitting behind the desk. "Are you Johnny Liddell?" The man nodded. That was his first mistake – and his last. The blonde opened her purse and without batting her big blue eyes she began showering him with hot kisses – from a snub-nosed .38.

PAPERBACK ORIGINAL FIRST EDITION, Dell #2522, published February 1964. First Printing, so stated, no previous hardcover. Cover art by R. Lesser. Author’s 24th of 30 Private Investigator Johnny Liddell mystery novels. Cover “The blonde walked over to Liddell. “How will I ever be able to show you how grateful I am?” Liddell grinned at her. “We’ll think of something.”” Original 40 cover price. Paperback, 158 pages, 16 cm.

Never Mix Pleasure With Murder She had jet black hair, almond eyes and a very business-like derringer jabbed against Liddell's ribs. "Why the joy ride?" Liddel asked. "You could have blasted me in my room." The girl smiled. "Our policy is not to leave too many bodies around. They are sometimes embarrassing to explain."

When a private eye, out of his depth, gets framed for murder in the sleazy Barbary Coast of Carsonette City in Southern California and is, with the eager assistance of his estranged wife, doomed to spend his life in the loony bin, he asks his partner to call in another private eye, Johnny Liddell. This is the twenty-seventh book in the Johnny Liddell Mystery Series by Frank Kane (1912-1968).

"Maid in Paris" is an enchanting literary journey that unveils the captivating story of Isabelle, a young woman who finds herself entangled in the bustling heart of Paris. Authored with meticulous attention to detail, the book is a harmonious blend of vivid imagery, heartfelt emotions, and immersive storytelling. Set against the romantic backdrop of Paris, the novel follows Isabelle, a spirited and determined protagonist, as she navigates the intricate world of a modern-day maid. Through her eyes, readers are transported into the luxurious homes and hidden corners of the city, each page brimming with evocative descriptions that paint the cityscape with a touch of magic.

Rocky Nelson was a dumb boxer, but his written expose of the fight racket was powerful enough to blast the syndicate wide open, and the bosses knew it. So for life insurance, Rocky got Johnny Liddell to lock the document in his office safe. But they busted the safe—and then Rocky... Johnny knew it was murder, but he couldn't prove it. The only clue he had was a stage-struck redhead—and her disappearing act had stopped the show...

Armchair Fiction presents extra large editions of classic mystery-crime double novels. The first tale is Frank Kane’s terrific Johnny Liddell thriller, “The Mourning After.” The Strip—Sunset Boulevard—the famed expanse of restaurants and strip joints that make New York’s 52nd Street look like nursery school. Here, right in the heart of L.A., bookies and call girls gather nightly, with little interference from the law. Here, at Maury’s on The Strip, Johnny Liddell sat at a ringside table, watching clothes peel from the featured dancer. In Hollywood they say, “Once you’ve seen one naked body, you’ve seen ‘em all.” Liddell wasn’t nearsighted, but he’d never seen anything like this… But a hurry-up call from L.A. had brought Liddell 3,000 miles out to California to the Beverly Hills estate of TV star Dirk Messner. New York’s shrewdest private eye found the playboy in the middle of a press conference. The reporters were asking a lot of questions, but Messner didn’t feel like talking—and from the looks of the gaping hole in his chest, he wouldn’t ever be talking again. The second tale is a classic, Mary Roberts Rinehart’s “The Confession.” Would a haunted house give up its brutal secret? It had all seemed so innocent. The elderly Emily Benton was well thought of—the last person to be suspected of wrongdoing. She had generously allowed Agnes Blakiston and her faithful servant to live rent-free in the Benton home for the summer. But Agnes had not wanted to stay in the aging structure and soon came to regret it, sensing that something was terribly amiss. At night the phone would mysteriously ring and at times there was evidence of strange, unseen visitors. These cryptic events finally led to the ultimate Was the Benton house haunted? Before long, Agnes Blakiston became oppressed by a sense of terror. Investigating the source of her fear, she gradually learned a deadly secret—a twenty-year-old secret so terrible that Miss Emily would rather die than reveal it.

Three Johnny Liddell mystery novels in one ebook! DUE OR DIE The Boys who couldn’t go home ruled the air-conditioned oasis called Las Palmas. They'd built a beautiful new city there on the Nevada desert. It had the latest model of a roulette wheel, double-duty strippers and a modern police force that couldn’t locate a fat man in a phone booth. Las Palmas could also point with pride to the fact that next to New York and Chicago, it sent the syndicate the biggest take of all. But there was trouble in paradise—a killer was on the loose and he’d neglected to get permission from the syndicate to move in. So the Boys called in Johnny Liddell to teach a murderer manners—for ten thousand dollars a lesson. Money isn’t cold cash won’t keep you warm in the morgue. Johnny Liddell was learning that as he realized he was being set up for the next kill.... THE MOURNING AFTER A hurry-up call from L.A. brought Johnny Liddell 3,000 miles to the sprawling Beverly Hills estate of T.V. star Dirk Messner. New York's shrewdest private eye found the handsome playboy in the middle of a press conference. The reporters were asking a lot of questions. Messner didn't feel like talking—and from the looks of the gaping hole in his chest, he wouldn't feel like anything . . . ever again. DEAD RITE “Where are you going, Johnny?” “Home. What’s there to stay for?” For the first time Ann Connell's beautiful face became lined with panic. “No. You can’t go. You can’t leave me here alone. I need you here. For protection . . .” “You know something? I don’t know who would need protection more. Those big eyes and that low-cut dress bit are pretty lethal.” The girl licked at her lips. “Johnny, don’t dislike me.” She drew him toward the couch. “I owe you something, for getting you into this. I want to make it up to you.” \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\_ "Frank Kane's Johnny Liddell private eye series has always been a favorite of mine. Coming out of an era when there were umpteen private eye series, the Liddell stories have always been easy to read, filled with action, and cynical without being dark. It's not really pulpy or noir, but it's a terrific series nonetheless and well worth reading." -Amazon review

Three Johnny Liddell thrillers in one ebook! CRIME OF THEIR LIFE Johnny Liddell was traveling with a fast crowd - the kind that kept the bars open twenty-four hours at day and played quick games of musical beds. Liddell joined the fun, but someone in the crowd was too fast for him - fast enough to almost get away with murder. RING-A-DING-DING The blonde didn't have to tell Liddell that she made the circuit. One look, and he could see she was a fast operator. Johnny Liddell dialed "0" for information, but all she was selling was her party line... HEARSE CLASS MALE Lopez smiled. "Violence is not in my line. I'm a lover, not a killer." "That's just what we want. A lover." It was a billion dollar set-up. And everything depended on Lopez' special talent—getting anything he wanted from any woman. The stakes were too high to let anyone get in the way. One man had already been murdered. Liddell took over where the dead man left off, not knowing that he might be reserving his own slab in the morgue.