Richard S. Prather (1921–2007)

In some ways, the story of Tony Romero, the protagonist of The Peddler, is similar to the later story of Tony Montana of the Scarface movie. It is the story of a nobody from a nowhere background determined to rise up in the ranks of criminal organized crime with a quickness that demonstrates his keen determination. Here, the criminal organization is not peddling drugs, but human flesh.

Here, Romero meets Maria Casino, who had known from high school days, and finds that she is working in one show more of the houses in San Francisco and is amazed by how much dough flows through the houses to the crime bosses. He saw her as she hurried out of the Green Room and "Something about her stirred memory in his brain and he walked slowly after her, watching the black skirt swirl above her rounded calves, the slow, liquid ripple of her hips." After having dinner, he queries about why she only got half the dough from her tricks and finds out that there were guys who ran the show, Sharkey and Angelo.

Romero finds that Maria is working a party later that night and he knows some of the players there and finagles an introduction. When he gets to the party (after spending the evening sweating about whether she would come through with his invite), he thinks that it was one of those places that smelled like money. "It made him think of fat guys getting their pink faces patted in barber shops, and slant-eyed women with gold douche bags." He also meets a slinky brunette, Ginny, Sharkey's wife. "[S]he was a hot one. She couldn't be more than twenty-five or twenty-six, and she was built like a burlesque stripper."

Soon, Romero meets the boss (Sharkey) and works his way into the organization. He sets up an argument with one of the chieftains and soon takes over his district and eventually Romero takes on the boss himself and ousts him to take over and run all the houses in the city. No one is fooled that Romero is anything but ambitious and that anything he does is by accident. He is moving up the ladder. He wants the money and the power.

Of course, there is always another boss (Angelo) and, in taking over so quickly, Romero finds himself blackmailed and then eventually forced to leave the city and ousted from power. Angelo is a snake in the grass and the real power no matter who is running the houses.

Although the plot itself is not terribly complicated, it is a well-written and engrossing story that captures the reader immediately. It is a story of blind ambition that knows no bounds and Prather does an excellent job of capturing the psyche of Romero. show less

Back in the 1950s, Richard S. Prather’s novels featuring Shell Scott, a white-blonde ex-Marine turned private eye, was wildly popular. The character was unrepentantly sexist, racist, and probably every other kind of –ist you could name. The books were filled with luscious broads, not-too-bright bad guys, flying bullets, and dead bodies, many of them delivered into that condition by Scott himself. The hero was endearingly goofy and not the sharpest crayon in the box, but he was generally show more smarter than the bad guys, most of whom had appropriately colorful names like Young Egg Foo, Garlic, and Three-Eyes.

“Strip for Murder” was the eighth book in the series, and many critics consider it the one in which Prather really hit his stride. It’s a full-out loopy adventure that takes place largely at a nudist colony, and the title character, who also narrates, takes full advantage of the ogling opportunities there before managing to escape the bad guys in a hot-air balloon which eventually fetches up on the roof of Los Angeles’ city hall, with the waggish detective clad in an all-over suntan and nothing else.

Don’t try to analyze this, or any of the Prather offerings, and leave your politically-correct outrage at the door. Just give yourself over to a couple of hours following a guy who tools around 1950s L.A. in a yellow Cadillac convertible and makes cracks like “she wore a V-necked white blouse as if she were the gal who’d invented cleavage”. show less

“And listen you, I’m older than I look.”

“Then she shut the door and I thought about sitting down on the grass and rolling around howling, and I thought about jumping up and running back and crashing through the door, but what I did was go out to the Cad and lean my head against the cool steering wheel for a couple seconds, then shiver spasmodically and put the buggy in gear thinking that Jules Osborne should have told me more about Diane, and offered me at least twenty thousand show more dollars.” — Hot-Rock Rumble

This is a terrific trio of Shell Scott stories from Richard Prather. Prather’s Shell Scott series reads like a slightly mellower version of Spillane’s Mike Hammer, but with a wry sense of humor. Between the luscious tomatoes and pulp violence there is quite a bit of humor in Prather’s narrative, the hard-bitten detective Shell Scott his voice. Three For the Shroud is a trio of shorter Shell Scott stories, but if you’re collecting these wildly popular books from yesteryear, don’t skip it, because it’s a blast.

Blood Ballot is the first of the stories and might be the best, but only by a hair. Shell is working for Senator Paul Hershey in this one, trying to protect him from the corrupt Blake, who is attempting to get the goods on Hershey so he can smear him in the press and make his boy a shoe-in this election. Blake plays rough, and there are two strikingly different hot tomatoes for Shell to deal with in Lorry Weston and Martita Delgado. Evidence in a safe everybody wants and a kidnapping come into play before Shell wraps this one up. Great fun.

The second tale, Dead Giveaway, is quirkier and funnier, and is also good fun. When a mousey girl named Ilona walks into Shell’s office looking for her missing husband, her story leads him to the conclusion that someone is out to kill her. Shell soon has his hands full with more than one Ilona, as he goes from girly show to girly show trying to figure out what’s going on. It’s a tough job, but somebody’s got do it. A snazzy redhead mistakes Shell for a doctor in this one and it’s hilarious! Will Shell survive the Hungarian Hurricane? Will a big inheritance turn an ugly duckling into a swan? You’ll have to read it to find out, but the middle story is not to be taken too seriously, it’s just good fun.

The third tale in the trilogy, Hot-Rock Rumble, is on a par with Blood Ballot. Shell’s trying to recover a stolen necklace from a guy’s mistress so she doesn’t start talking to his wife. She seems like jailbait to Scott, but he barely makes it out of her place with his, er, integrity intact once he meets her and experiences her charms. A little stoolie Shell knows points him to a tomato named Lois who has an entire carnival in her walk, and dresses the color of drinks — Shell can’t wait to see the champagne number. When someone turns up dead in Shell’s Caddie, however, Scott has to tackle a guy as big as a circus to avenge them, and get out from under a murder charge.

Two terrific pulp stories with a very good one sandwiched between them, it’s hard to go wrong on this one if you like Shell Scott, and why wouldn’t you? show less

“From the sea’s edge fifty yards or so away I could hear the boom of surf, and the tangy bracing scent of the ocean was exhilarating in my nostrils.”


First appearing in the December 1954 edition of Manhunt, Richard S. Prather’s short story, Crime of Passion, features his creation, Shell Scott, and it’s a hoot. Heavy on the humor and light on the mystery, this one is a better supplemental story for Shell Scott fans than it is an introduction to Prather’s wonderful — and show more incredibly lucrative — P.I. creation. Scott had a lot in common with Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer, but Prather also played the noir for laughs — though not to the screwball level Craig Rice did — and it’s that blend which made Shell Scott a household name. Prather had sold over 40 million copies by the time he passed, and anyone who’s read a Shell Scott novel knows why.

Perhaps the best way to think of Shell Scott, for those either of a certain age, or with a lot of pop culture knowledge, is to imagine that stocky little cartoon guy from those old Hawaiian Punch commercials. The difference is that Scott had a gun, and he got involved in some pretty tough little noir detective stories. There was always humor though, sometimes self-deprecating; combined with Prather’s smooth writing style, it was a surefire winner with the public, who gobbled up Prather’s Shell Scott stories nearly as fast as they gobbled up Spillane’s Mike Hammer tales.

This little bauble is a hoot from beginning to end. Shell’s trying to get through the front door of a swanky Malibu house by the sea, because he’s been invited by Dolly. The knockout blonde who answers the door initially is disappointed Shell isn’t who she’s expecting, and she gives him the brushoff. Not to be discouraged from a Hawaiian luau full of laughter and scantily-clad pretty girls — like the blonde who answered the door — Shell keeps trying. But the next person he encounters is no more friendly:

“He was built like a .45 automatic, and he was loaded.”

It really is a wild party, and once Shell finally gets inside, he runs into the blonde again:

“Saying she wore clothes would be, perhaps, an overstatement, since she was bare-foot and wore a red and black and green sarong that hugged her waist and hips the way I’d have liked to.”

Shell quickly gets revenge for being poked, only to discover the guy’s the host of the shindig, so he heads down to the beach, where the fun is really in high gear:

“Well, if everybody here was crazy, this was no time for me to be sane.”

Shell’s having a great time, until he discovers something a bit gruesome down there at the pig roast. Shell tries to sober up long enough — even putting off a gorgeous redhead, which goes against his nature — to get the cops out there.

While it’s nothing much, it’s also a blast that’ll put a smile on your face. As a mystery, Crime of Passion is almost gossamer. As a piece of humor, it works better if you’re familiar with Shell Scott — as readers of Manhunt would have been. Those unfamiliar with the Shell Scott mystery novels who pick this up because of the title, are going to be in for a huge disappointment. I can easily see three stars at best for someone reading this cold, without any background or context. For fans of Shell Scott, however, and the wonderful and unique blend of grit and guffaws perfected by Richard S. Prather, this short story is a sheer delight. show less