Shell is in Mexico City staying at the Hotel del Prado, on a little R 'n R with his local Mexican pal Amador Montalba, when he meets fellow Americans, Dr. This novel pretty much covers the bases if you're looking for some dandy pulp action to fill a rainy weekend. This time he's down in Mexico City, in way over his head with bad guys and dangerous dames thanks to a blackmail plot that leads to a kidnapped scientist, a crooked cop, a bevy of communist spies and a kinky communist ringmaster who gets his kicks from torture. First published in 1954 and later revised for publication in 1961 this is classic Shell Scott. Prather to deliver a breezy, sex and violence filled caper, and Pattern For Panic is no exception. Exactly how he got there makes for one of the more entertaining vintage private eye novels I've read in a long while. Yup, that's our pal Shell Scott, Private Eye on the road to Acapulco by way of a cutie in a house of ill-repute. I guessed her age at maybe twenty, and like many Mexican women she had, in addition to those other dandy things, a healthy mass of black hair and hot dark eyes. She was dressed in a snug-fitting green satin housecoat, and high-heeled pumps. The curves were distributed on a foundation which couldn't quite be called plump, but would never get her a job in the States as a high-fashion model. She was at most a couple of inches over five feet tall, which is a foot shorter than I am, but she had as many dangerous curves as the road to Acapulco. In less than thirty seconds a cute little gal came in: mine.
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