A Shroud Has No Pockets, by Horace McCoy: Gangsters and Femme Fatales

Memories flood in. Happiness to hold this supple volume with its black dust jacket in your hands. Joy to see Horace McCoy's name on the cover. Pleasure of diving back into these good old stories of violence and corruption. Gallimard had the good idea to reissue A shroud has no pocketswhich dates from 1937. It is the author's second novel (we owe him the terrible and desperate We finish the horses well et I should have stayed at home). The full range is there.

There is the honest journalist who slams the door because he is refused an article on shenanigans in baseball. There are the femme fatales, all more or less in love with him (“He said to himself that she had extraordinarily red lips, that he had never seen them so red”). Gangsters are on the prowl. The threat looms. Mike Dolan is this brave little soldier who takes on the bad guys and goes out of his way to denounce the scandals that are plaguing the town of Colton. What better…