Speed dating locations los angeles

The best part of your hard-boiled adventures? The Los Angeles locations you refer to are all real. Which is just what I did. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark blue clocks on them.

I was everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars. This is widely believed to be based on Greystone Mansion in Beverly Hills, a room, 46, square-foot Tudor Revival mansion built in by oil tycoon Edward L.

Doheny as a gift to his son. Then more trees and beyond everything the solid, uneven, comfortable line of the foothills. It seems that one A. You take the case. Half an hour of it made me need my lunch. Pictured above is the old Hollywood library, located at the northwest corner of Hollywood Blvd and Ivar.

A library has occupied this spot since , when original Hollywood developer Daeida Beveridge donated land for a Carnegie-funded building.

The original building was moved to West Hollywood, where it was later demolished. A building entrance adjoined it on one side… …and on the other was a glittering credit jewelry establishment. Here it is in Over the years, numerous show biz-related offices have been located in the building, and it was even featured in Pretty Woman. The shoeshine stand is the real deal, opened in by Kermit Young and in continuous operation ever since. Then, strangely, nervous-looking men keep coming in, receiving parcels from the back room, then leaving in a hurry.

You decide to follow one of them. I got to my feet, tipped my hat to the blonde and went out after him. He walked west, swinging his cane in a small tight arc just above his right shoe. He was easy to follow. We went a block and a half. At the Highland Avenue traffic signal I pulled up beside him and let him see me.

He gave me a casual, then a suddenly sharpened side glance, and quickly turned away. We crossed Highland with the green light and made another block. He stretched his long legs and had twenty yards on me at the corner. A hundred feet up the hill… …he stopped and hooked his cane over his arm and fumbled a leather cigarette case out of an inner pocket.

He put a cigarette in his mouth, dropped his match, looked back when he picked it up, saw me watching him from the corner, and straightened up as if somebody had booted him from behind.

He almost raised dust going up the block, walking with long gawky strides and jabbing his cane into the sidewalk. He turned left again. He had at least half a block on me when I reached the place where he had turned…This was a narrow tree-lined street with a retaining wall on one side and three bungalow courts on the other.

Here, you see the customer nervously discard his parcel and flee. You open it and find a book full of smutty pictures — Geiger is operating a pornography lending library, an illegal activity at the time. Time to dig up a description of Geiger from fellow bookstore owners in the area. The first [bookstore] I came to was on the north side, a large lower floor devoted to stationery and office supplies, a mass of books on the mezzanine.

Marlowe is almost definitely referencing the now defunct Pickwick Bookshop, located just down the street from the Outpost Building. Continuously in operation as a bookstore from , it became Pickwick in when it was purchased by a Russian immigrant named Louis Epstein.

I crossed the street and walked two blocks east to the other [bookstore]. This was more like it, a narrowed cluttered little shop stacked with books from floor to ceiling and four or five browsers taking their time putting thumb marks on the new jackets. Alas, this is no more: Here, the clerk gives you a description of Geiger: Would weigh about a hundred and sixty pounds. Fat face, Charlie Chan moustache, thick soft neck.

His left eye is glass. Big cops in slickers that shone like gun barrels had a lot of fun carrying giggling girls across the bad places. A cream-colored coupe stopped in front of the store…The coupe went west on the boulevard, which forced me to make a left turn and a lot of enemies… I was two blocks behind the coupe before I got in the groove.

I caught sight of him two or three times and then made him turning north into Laurel Canyon Drive. Halfway up the grade he turned left and took a curving ribbon of wet concrete which was called Laverne Terrace [from the description, a dead ringer for the very real Gould Avenue].

It was a narrow street with a high bank on one side… …and a scattering of cabin-like houses built down the slope on the other side, so that their roofs were not very much above road level. You stop and watch as Geiger enters his house…but which is it? Though there are several homes along the block that potentially fit the time period… …none match the exact description. Waiting outside the house, you suddenly see Carmen Sternwood enter.

Then — two gunshots and a scream. You rush inside to find Carmen drugged and naked, Geiger dead, and someone fleeing out the back steps. No mention is made of Geiger. You head down to the Hall of Justice to meet Ohls. Ohls made the run in three quarters of an hour. At the end of that time we skidded to a stop in front of a faded stucco arch and I took my feet out of the floorboards and we got out.

A long pier railed with white two-by-fours stretched seaward from the arch. A knot of people leaned out at the far end and a motorcycle officer stood under the arch keeping another group of people from going out on the pier.

What the hell is going on? The woman working the desk is acting mighty suspicious, but claims Geiger has just gone out of town. I went out of the store and west on the boulevard to the corner and north on the street to the alley which ran behind the stores. You decide to follow the truck. We did the same…I saw the truck two blocks away when we got to Franklin.

We had it in sight to Vine… …and across Vine and all the way to Western. There was a lot of traffic and the freshfaced [driver] tailed from too far back. I was telling him about that without mincing words when the truck, now far ahead, turned north again. The street at which it turned was called Brittany Place.

At the apartment, you find the books being moved into an apartment belonging to one Joe Brody. You head to your office to sort things out. The cab took me downtown…to my office building. I had a room and a half on the seventh floor at the back. Opened in , it served as a branch for the bank, as well as rental office space.

Two fires in the s left it abandoned by the s. Only in the last few years has their been any talk of restoration, most recently as an upscale hotel with a nightclub in the old bank vault. The family chauffeur found out about it and murdered Geiger at his house. You square things with the police, and head home: Unless, of course, Eddie killed Rusty for stealing his girl… The Cypress Club was at the far end of [Las Olindas], a rambling frame mansion that had once been the summer residence of a rich man named De Cazens, and later had been a hotel.

It was now a big dark outwardly shabby place in a thick grove of wind-twisted Monterey cypresses, which gave it its name. It had enormous scrolled porches, turrets all over the place, stained-glass trims around the big windows, big empty stables at the back, a general air of nostalgic decay. Eddie Mars had left the outside much as he had found it, instead of making it over to look like an MGM set. At the club, Eddie offers you little by way of clues.

You run into Vivian, and sense something peculiar in the air between her and Eddie. A yellow window shone here and there, but most of the houses were dark. A smell of kelp came in off the water and lay on the fog. The tires sang on the moist concrete of the boulevard. The world was a wet emptiness. We were close to Del Rey before she spoke to me for the first time since we left the drugstore. Her voice had a muffled sound, as if something was throbbing deep under it.

I want to look at the water. I turned the car and slid down a slope…interurban tracks to the right, a low straggle of light far off beyond the tracks, and then very far off a glitter of pier lights and a haze in the sky over a city. The road…reached a paved strip of waterfront highway that bordered an open and uncluttered beach. Cars were parked along the sidewalk, facing out to sea, dark.

The lights of the beach club were a few hundred yards away. The beach club described is most likely the Westport Beach Club of Playa Del Rey, dating to at least the early s and now gone.


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Total 1 comments.
#1 30.09.2018 в 03:24 Sirwhitedragon:
I do not remember where I already saw a similar article!