The hero is one Mack Bolan – sometimes
know as the Executioner.
Not to be confused with Marc Bolan obviously. "You’re not really going out in public in those shoes are you Marc?"
Mack Bolan is the creation of Don Pendleton
– and if online sources are to be believe he’s appeared in 600 novels. Pendleton sold the rights somewhere along the
line, and a crew of lesser scribes evidently took over.
Don Pendleton |
Mack Bolan gets around: Cambodia, Soho,
Beirut, and does a lot of killing with a very big gun. To be fair most of the really violent action of
Hollywood Hell takes place in Topanga
and Pasadena, and the writer (who isn’t named, though somebody called Mike
Newton is given “special thanks” on the copyright page) doesn’t put a whole lot
of effort into giving a sense of place, but there is one strangely evocative
description – of walking in Hollywood – almost certainly on Hollywood
Boulevard:
“The hunter (that
would be Bolan) parked his rental car upwind, deciding to walk. He noted there seemed to be no continuity among
the people he encountered in this neighborhood of sleazy bars and
businesses. Along the short block’s walk
he met a human of every race and gender.
“Men
in stylish business suits looked sheepish or defensive as they caught his eye:
the punks, decked out in leather with their spiky hair dyed every color of the
rainbow, tended toward defiance seasoned with a dash of apathy. A macho body-builder type paraded past him,
hand in hand with his diminutive bearded lover.
“Across the street
a stoned guitarist played for the amusement of some black youths dressed in street-gang
colors, and a wino occupied the vacant doorway next to his objective, grumbling
fitfully in alcoholic slumber.”
All of which
sounds vaguely appealing, like a cultural and ethnic rainbow coalition, where everybody’s
learned to just get along, which might be the very reason so many waifs and
strays end up on Hollywood Boulevard, although Mack Bolan takes a different
view.
I walk along
Hollywood Boulevard all the time and of course I see waifs and strays, and
sometimes their interactions with cops, which in general seem to be a lot less
antagonistic than you might imagine. I
remember seeing one tough-looking kid, maybe in his late teens, being asked by
a cop, “How long you been out here?”
The kid replied, “Been
out this time for ten days. Been on the
street since I was 12.”
In Hollywood just
about everybody knows how to deliver a good line.
And because I’m
one of those scavengers who picks up unconsidered trifles when he walks the
street, I found this:
It’s a piece of
rather expensive cardboard packaging, dense with layers of writing by different
hands, not all the words legible, some of it a birthday greeting to Ringo
Starr, some a description of street life of Hollywood waifs and strays. The best I can make out says: - “I want my
best Hollywood house now - my safe place 2 sleep” – “How many guys have my phones” – “Pinup
poster girl & everyone keeps stealing my stuff” – there’s also something I can’t
quite make out about sleeping outside and finding the sprinklers suddenly
turned on.
It’s better
written, more moving, more eloquent than anything to be found in Hollywood Hell.
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