Dirty deeds writ clean. He makes it look so easy. A collection of short stories and a couple of novellas (Nightmare Town was, I think, later rewritten as the full-length novel Red Harvest - which has a whole fascinating back history of being the basis for at least half a dozen films with different titles.) All satisfying and gritty and spare of word. This is available on Amazon for Kindle for $.99.
Quotes:
The man stood for a time where he had halted - just within the door to one side - a grotesque statue modelled of mud. Short, sturdy-bodied, with massive sagging shoulders. Nothing of clothing or hair showed through his husk of clay, and little of face and hands. The marshal’s revolver in his hand, clean and dry, took on by virtue of that discordant immaculateness an exaggerated deadliness.
...she was madder than you’d think anybody could get on short notice.
She didn’t have any words I hadn’t heard before, but she fitted them together in combinations that were new to me.
The girl looked at the place where he stood as if no one stood there, as if, in fact, no one had ever stood there, turned her small back on him, and walked very precisely down the street.
Why, he wondered, whenever there was some special reason for gravity, did he always find himself becoming flippant?
She made proud sentences for herself while she spoke other sentences, or listened to them.
Margaret’s throat had some swollen thing in it. Fog blurred everything but the charging red face. An unvoiced whimper shook her breast. She wanted to run to him as to a lover. She wanted to run from him as from a ravisher. She stood very still in her doorway, smiling demurely with dry, hot mouth.
After all, if a man says a thing often enough, he is very likely to acquire some sort of faith in it sooner or later.
I don’t like eloquence: if it isn’t effective enough to pierce your hide, it’s tiresome; and if it is effective enough, then it muddles your thoughts.