It’s the sort of prose that translates seamlessly into film. Hunks of things pelted us while we tried to keep from being knocked over by the concussion.” “Reno reached back for one of the bombs, hopped out to the sidewalk, paid no attention to a streak of blood that suddenly appeared in the middle of his left cheek, and heaved his piece of stuffed pipe at the brick building’s door… A sheet of flame was followed by deafening noise. Bullets bit chunks out of the car’s curtains.” “Men crawled all over me, opening the valise, helping themselves to the contents, bombs made of short sections of two-inch pipe, packed in sawdust in the bag. For example, during one of the story’s many raids on a criminal hive: Hammett narrates the violence in precise, clean prose. As one (unnamed) man tasked with cleaning up an “ugly city of forty thousand people,” the Continental Op takes the only logical path, manipulating Poisonville’s powerful gangs into tearing each other apart.
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