Because of the forces of political correctness, we have lost an entire vocabulary once used to describe a certain kind of woman, whether tagged as dames, broads or dolls.

Drinking hard and talking tough, these women made their own way, took no guff and managed to keep their hearts untarnished. As permanent residents of Noir-ville, these broads provided the raw material for a generation of actresses who flirted with the seamy side of modernity, including Barbara Stanwyck, Joan Crawford and Lauren Bacall, the only woman who could best Bogart and make him like it.

Unfortunately, the storied life of grift and con has passed into history, and we only have fiction to remind us of a time when a woman could live by her wits, her gams and the ability to finesse a pool cue.

Luckily, though, Elmore Leonard is with us still, and he conjures up the scent of peroxide and Evening in Paris through the person of Honey Deal, the protagonist of his 40th novel.

Set in Detroit at the end of World War II, Leonard, a Motown native, evokes a city that was riding high on the postwar prosperity of chrome bumpers, fender skirts and a straight V-8.

Detroit -- now, sadly, the poster child of urban blight -- was once the epitome of a particularly American success story, when overtime pay, union dues and easy credit combined to give factory workers a gateway into the middle class and attracted a lot of people who were willing to separate them from their money.

Screenwriting teachers often advise their students to write characters that actors would love to play and Leonard has written roles that are juicy, interesting and ripe for adaptation.

The best role here belongs to Detroit itself, which was entering its last great boom. The city shimmers like a cheap cocktail dress. It's a carnival of pent-up desire and newfound prosperity with boats docking on Belle Isle, art galleries springing up to sell fakes and black market art and restaurants competing for swank and pull.

In the same way that looking at old photos evokes a celebratory past, Leonard has recreated a Detroit that can only now, sadly, be glimpsed through its negative images.

Honey surrounds herself with a bunch of mugs -- rowdy, loud, and reckless men -- who nevertheless understand that the opportunity to score, to find the big break, can now happen as easily to them as to some Grosse Pointe mark. She is through with her husband, one Walter Schoen, who is convinced he is the secret twin of Heinrich Himmler, Hitler's chief patsy and wingman for the Final Solution.

Despite his delusions -- which admittedly have a certain entertainment value -- Honey's assessment of her ex is that he was the most boring man on the planet.

She's glad to be rid of him but then Carl Webster shows up, a U.S. marshal and a recurring character in Leonard's earlier novels. An Oklahoman, he's come to Detroit replete in ten-gallon hat and cowboy boots to track down two escaped prisoners of war.

There's also a spy ring that includes a Ukrainian siren and a cross-dressing manservant who add to the complications of the chase.

The plot is thin but moves along like a Cadillac road trip; it's such a smooth ride that you may forget where you're going, but as they used to say, getting there is half the fun.

After years of reviewing sympathetic characters and finely drawn epiphanies, it's frankly a relief to read an author who realizes that a good time can be had by a plot line that doesn't involve self-reflection and neurotic doubt. We're the good guys, they're the bad guys. End of story.

Throw in some sex, a little snappy dialogue, and Nazis from Central Casting, and you've got yourself a great summer read. Cut the cards and deal, Honey.