Philip Marlowe

"There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot, dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of their carving knife and study their husband's necks."

I'd give a great deal to write with but a mere fraction of Raymond Chandler's skill. Man oh man.