Coming toward me a guy who looked like a girl and a girl who looked like a guy altered their course to join one group. The girl got right into things and the guy squealed with pleasure whenever she said something clever.
Maybe there were ten groups, maybe fifteen. If it hadn’t been raining there might have been more. Nobody talked about the same thing. Occasionally someone would drop out of one crowd and driver over to another.
But they all had something in common. The same thing you find in a slaughterhouse. The lump of vomit in the center of each crowd was a Judas sheep trying to lead the rest to the ax. Then they’d go back and get more. The sheep were asking for it too. They were a seedy bunch in shapeless clothes, heavy with the smell of the rot they had asked for and gotten. They had a jackal look of discontent and cowardice, a hungry look that said you kill while we loot, then all will be well with the world.
Mickey Spillane, One Lonely Night
That was written in 1951, and he’s describing communists meeting in a park. Sure sounds like modern day occupiers. There really is nothing new under the sun. They’re just more mainstream now, which means Mike Hammer didn’t finish off enough of them.
One Lonely Night harkens back to a time when men were men and dames were dames. Spillanes Mike Hammer carried a “rod” and says what he’d like to do with a commie general.
There was only one catch I could think of. Someplace was another MVD laddie, a real one. I’d have to be careful of him. At least careful that he didn’t see me first, because when I met up with that stinkpot I was going to split him right down the middle with a .45!
I find that refreshing. Hammer is the good guy, and commies are the bad guys. Which is how it ought to be. And of course, there’s Hammer’s secretary, Velda.
Velda. Lovely, lovely Velda. She waited for me by the door and when I walked up to her I watched her lips purse into a ripe, momentary kiss. The rows and rows of eyes that had been following me jumped ahead to this vision in a low-cut dress who threw a challenge with every motion of her body. The eyes swept from her black pumps to legs and body and shoulders that were almost too good to be real and staggered when they met a face that was beauty capable of the extremes of every emotion. Her head moved just enough to swirl her black page-boy hair and the look she sent back to all those good people and their white-haired guardian of the law was something to be remembered. For one long second she had the judge’s eye and outraged justice flinched before outraged love.
This stuff’s like an escape, from the madness the left has foisted upon the nation. What the heck has happened to this country, when the commies are the good guys and Hammer would be a bad guy. But wait, maybe I’m slipping into good old days mode. There is also this, from the commies in the park scene. A soldier wanted to kick some commie ass.
“Uh-huh.” The cop steered him out of the crowd. I heard him say, “That’s just what they want. It makes heroes of ‘em when the papers get it. We still got ways of taking care of ‘em, don’t worry. Every night this happens and I get in a few licks.”
Sounds like the papers were sympathizers back then. Maybe things have been a certain way for a long long time now.