Mel Thune’s last romance went south. So much so that he swore off women for the indefinite future; and decided to vacate LA, heading in a similar direction, for Phoenix. Only when he gains his turn at a bus station’s ticket counter, he’s a buck short of the fare. And that is enough to trigger a very different type of journey; one of murder, money, mayhem—and, yes—romance.

A little man, behind him in the ticket line, hears Thune’s desired destination and proffers a solution. He’s headed to The Valley of the Sun himself and needs a driver. It’s a proposition with too much appeal to scrutinize in foresight, but leads to a narrow escape when Albert Wilson, the car’s owner, is murdered before their road trip has barely begun. Thune escapes and finds himself holding a cache of blackmail files and $2500 in cold, hard cash. Whoever killed Wilson no doubt wants those files and Thune too, just as soon as they figure out who he is and where they can find him.

The titular dame, about to figure big in Thune’s future, is a knockout named Angel, whose role he can’t quite figure fits into the messy fix he’s in. And besides his doubts about her motives and interest in a blackmail ring, he can’t help being enamored with her, despite his recent pledge to swear off the female persuasion.

Added to the novel’s other attributes—engaging characters, solid plot, and plenty of action—Chute writes like a boilermaker, making the journey that much more intoxicating. For instance: “It hadn’t rained for months and Los Angeles was taking it hard. Traffic was noisy and irritable. Homeward-bound cars bucked and braked, and meek little men, who wouldn’t have cursed a cat, were fluent in expressing hate for drivers who barred their way.”

Verne Chute (1898–1986) cut his teeth in the pulp’s short story racket, everything from western to crime to SF; and moved on to novels and children’s books.