HOLLYWOOD IN THE 1920s, WHERE THE GLITZ AND GLAMOR OF THE SILENT MOVIE ERA CONCEALS DARK AND DANGEROUS SECRETS, AND ONE OLD COWBOY USES FRONTIER CUNNING AND GUN-SKILL TO UNCOVER THE TRUTH AND DELIVER JUSTICE IN THIS COLLECTION OF HARD-BOILED MYSTERY STORIES.
From Lucas Hallam’s first appearance in Hallam—where a cowboy who has outlived the days of the Old West becomes a gun-toting private eye and stuntman in the early days of motion pictures in California—to Hollywood Flesh—where Hallam’s most recent case is starting to give him nightmares—Hallam is told as a larger-than-life character.
He tangles with killers, solves mysteries, battles against grievous transgressions, and enjoys memorable moments with his friends while working as a riding extra in a colorful portrait of Hollywood during one of its golden ages.
In each short story, readers will begin questioning … Will Hallam win over evil by the end … or has he finally reached the end of the trail?
Hallam Collection: A Lucas Hallam Short Fiction Collection includes Hallam, The Blue Burro, Pictures in the Stars, Medicine Tongue, Ladysmith, and Hollywood Flesh.
The newcomer was big, too, but he wore a pin-striped suit and a pulled-down Panama instead of cowboy clothes.
He stopped in front of Hallam, looked him up and down in disbelief, and said, "You're a private dick?"
"I'm Lucas Hallam, if that's who you're lookin’ for." Hallam felt an instant dislike for this man, but he kept his voice flat and impassive.
The man jerked a thumb over his beefy shoulder. "Somebody wants to see you, Hallam."
"Question is, do I want to see this somebody?"
The man stiffened. He wasn't used to people asking questions. "You wanna see him if you know what's good for you, Tex," he snapped.
Hallam rubbed his jaw, squinted toward the long black car. He could see a figure sitting in the back seat. "Maybe your boss should do his own askin'," he said slowly.
"Why, you moth-eaten old bastard—" the man hissed. His hand shot out and clamped down on Hallam's shoulder. "You'll come when I tell you to come, you—"
Hallam hit him in the stomach with his left and jerked his shoulder loose. His right swept around as the man gasped and took a step backward. The blow cracked into his jaw and knocked him sprawling. With a growled curse, he reached under his coat and grabbed an automatic out of a shoulder rig.
Just as the gun came clear, the man froze, the point of Hallam's Bowie knife resting easily just under his chin. The blade barely pricked the skin, but it was enough to stop any threat the man wanted to make.
Hallam smiled down at him.
"This ain't a prop, son," Hallam said so softly the man could barely hear him. "You go to movin' too much, it'll slice your head right off. Now take that gun out real slow and put it on the ground."