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 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!

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.

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!

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.

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."

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...