Sam Spade's San Francisco

This apartment's legendary for the sake of fiction, so let it be imaginary: where Spade retreats for a drink, gives up the girl, and likely, still stares down on … Leavenworth today. A plaque marks the building as a Literary Landmark, but don't just turn up. Let the poor guy who still lives there alone, and sleuth around the links for some photos of the interior instead. [link]

This relaxed yet done-up-to-the-nines bar where Spade takes a drink is the perfect place to collect on that check from the dangerous dame who's hired you; two … top-shelf martinis with gratuity can set you back $30. They're also likely to get you so soused, you'll start to forget how much is proper to tip, who did that marvelous painting above you (no one slipped you anything -- it's Maxfield Parrish), and if the lady who followed you to the luxe marble bathroom (shared with the Palace Hotel) is about to kiss you or kill you. [link]

Already beloved by Gridskipper, this, one of San Francisco's original boutique hotels, lavishes on the hip -- free wifi and in-room condoms & conveniences -- … with old school touches: exposed brick, rattling windows from the Cable Car. The Dashiell Hammett Suite is done up to look like Spade & Archer's office, which could go the way of kitsch a little quick for more than a night. [link]

The distinguishing feature of this nouveau dive bar is pure aura & setting: sharing a block with a massage parlor and the infamous corner "where Bush Street roofs … Stockton before slipping downhill." Have a few of the robust house Manhattans and gimlets, and don't you slip, too. Beware the women in the dark up on the second floor. That smoke is actually from cigarettes. [link]

Right on Dashiell Hammett Alley, owner Melissa Wagner has crafted an oasis of cool, from the over-the-top film posters & framed LPs to the mint green metal carts … bearing hair goodies. And the tunes, wow. Plus she and ace stylist Shelly know the difference a decade makes in cutting a bob (a 1920s Louise Brooks is not 1930s Tallulah Bankhead), and they'll help you rock the perfect chignon or up-do for an afternoon of seduction and crime. [link]

On the one hand, this is noir kitsch, complete with takeaway Brigid O'Shaughnessy (the dame that knocked off Spade's partner just a few blocks from here) commemorative … glasses with every Bloody Mary. On the other, Mr. Hammett did actually dine here, and so did his fictional other, on pork chops and sliced tomatoes. Show up for a late afternoon scotch served neat, or sneak past the tourists posing with the Falcon (if it's back yet; it seems to wander off occasionally) for hot jazz at night. [link]

Open at the end of the week only (when you're playing hooky anyway), Kayo's got shelves packed floor-to-ceiling with pulp. The atmosphere is airy and easy -- not at all … the musty warren of yore one may expect -- and the classic SF neighborhood does good by its collection, spanning hardboiled to exploitation to Beat history and back again. Plus a helping of 1960s and 1970s smut rags, of course. A real neighborhood joint, with a crew who stops by to chat Capote with you as you browse. [link]