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Part One ’50s Noir and Anticommunism I had to sell out my own girl—SO WOULD YOU! I was under the toughest orders a guy could get! I stood by and watched my brother slugged . . . I started a riot that ran red with terror . . . I learned every dirty rule in their book—and had to use them—because I was a communist—but “I WAS A COMMUNIST FOR THE F.B.I.” —Warner Bros. publicity for I Was a Communist for the F.B.I. I was mad. I was a killer and was looking forward to killing . . . every one of them from bottom to top and especially the one at the top even if I had to go to the Kremlin to do it. The time for that wouldn’t be now. . . . But some day, maybe, some day I’d stand on the steps of the Kremlin with a gun in my fist and I’d yell for them to come out and if they wouldn’t I’d go in and get them and when I had lined them up against the wall I’d start shooting until all I had left was a row of corpses that bled on the cold floors and in whose thick red blood would be the promise of a peace that would stick for more generations than I’d live to see. —Mickey Spillane, One Lonely Night ...

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