Joe Puma - La série

A corrupt P.I. will do anything to make a buck and save his own skin Joe Puma didn't kill Albert Target, but he is happy the pimp is dead. A small-time creep whose niche was recruiting wannabe actresses, Target perjured himself for Puma's sake, and the detective was afraid he might decide to talk. The cops know that Puma's crooked, but they can't prove a thing. He's a slick operator with an itchy trigger finger and a flimsy moral code--two things he'll need if his next case is to end as happily as his last. Fallen starlet Jean Roland comes to Puma with a plan to blackmail her lesbian lover's father--a dangerous scheme that would put Puma off if Roland weren't the most stunning woman in Los Angeles. Joe Puma likes money and he likes being alive, but he likes women even more. He'd die for a girl like Jean Roland--but he'd prefer it if someone else died first.

One of our call girls is missing It sounded like a joke, but the old dame was scared stiff when one of her girls didn’t show up for work that night. And this one was her prettiest - and most profitable. ''Find her, shamus,'' she said. ''And fast!'' ''My pleasure,'' I said. My name is Joe Puma. I call myself a detective and I get a hundred bucks a day. The girl’s name was Jean Talsman. She called herself an entertainer and she got a hundred bucks a night. The job had delightful possibilities - until some joker started making corpses out of the customers, and I found a few dealers in sudden death camped on my own doorstep.

N'étant pas un fana du catch, je n'ai jamais entendu parler d'Adonis Divin. C'est pourtant ce nom-là qu'il me balance en se présentant à mon bureau, par une matinée brumeuse. Il a un profil pur et net de médaille grecque et il me déplaît d'emblée. Pourtant, si j'étais une femme, je sauterais à pieds joints par-dessus mon bureau pour tomber dans ses bras.

She was slim and she was stacked and the gold of her hair matched the gold of her bank account. In a word, she had everything. The trouble was she was too eager to give it away. The money too. I’m Joe Puma. I was hired to investigate some crackpot cult she was playing around with. The crackpots were mixed up with thugs, the blonde got mixed up in murder and I got mixed up with the blonde. And somewhere a mixed-up killer was waiting to strike again.

Don’t Mention Murder It was a vulgar word in the swank millionaire town of San Valdesto. But knocking off a few citizens here and there seemed more than a grave social error to a tough-minded detective like Joe Puma. It made him sore when he discovered the natives would rather protect a well-bred killer than put up with a low-brow private eye. So he taught them a lesson and his red-blooded tactics set the town’s blue blood to boiling. The Wayward Widow. . . another mad whirl on a murder-go round with that damsel-chasing knight in amour - Joe Puma.

- Qu'est-ce que vous diriez de passe la nuit ici ? - Moyennant finance, dis-je; pour vous servir de garde de corps ? - Naturellement ! répliqua-t-elle, glaciale; vous n'aurez qu'à pousser un des lits jumeaux dans l'alcôve... - En farfouillant sous les couvertures, ma main tomba sur quelque chose de tiède et de satine. - Vous m'en demandez trop ! murmura-t-elle.