The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps
- Автор: Anderson Lars, Barr Randolph
- Год: 2007
- Язык: английский
- Год: Vintage Books
- ISBN: 978-0-307-28048-0
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps». Краткое содержание книги:
Weighing in at over a thousand pages, containing over forty-seven stories and two novels, this book is big baby, bigger and more powerful than a freight train — a bullet couldn’t pass through it. Here are the best stories and every major writer who ever appeared in celebrated Pulps like Black Mask, Dime Detective, Detective Fiction Weekly, and more. These are the classic tales that created the genre and gave birth to hard-hitting detectives who smoke criminals like packs of cigarettes; sultry dames whose looks are as lethal as a dagger to the chest; and gin-soaked hideouts where conversations are just preludes to murder. This is crime fiction at its gritty best.
I jumped up.
“I sure do,” I answered. “You should have told me before. I have those engagements myself sometimes.” And I gave him leer for leer. In another minute I had shaken hands with him and watched the door shut tight; and the moment the latch clicked, I was sliding across the hall to the elevator, where I rang the bell and kept my finger on it till I heard the bang of the metal door below. Even then I wasn’t comfortable.
“Anybody on the switchboard downstairs?” I asked the boy as he opened the door for me.
“Nobody, sir. Just me,” he replied.
I nodded. I was safe there, anyhow. And if Jobson went out or anybody came in to keep an appointment, I could spot them from that little alcove.
“Listen, son,” I said, as we gently parachuted down to bottom, “they seem to give you a lot of jobs to tend to around here.”
“They do that, all right,” the boy grumbled. He opened the door. I passed out and waited for him.
“I guess an extra ten spot wouldn’t look bad to you, hah?” I said as he settled down by the board.
He eyed me funny.
“Well...” he murmured. I patted him on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry; nothing like that, buddy. I just want to take your switchboard job off your hands a few minutes.” I pulled my hat over one eye and set my jaw in the proper fashion, and the kid got it right away.
“You’re a dick!” he whispered, all eyes. Then his glance dropped to the roll that was coming out of my pocket, and he slipped off his seat and gave me the switchboard. I pulled on the earphones and waited. I know how to run a board; a good dick has to know a lot of things. Even being an expert window-washer comes in handy because — but you’ve read all about that.
Then came the first call. Mrs. Winslow’s maid wanted those lamb chops right away, and wanted them in a loud voice; and then in a lower voice she added: “bring them around yourself, Tony dear, if you can.” Then came the second call on the heels of that one, and Hattie Somebody and I learned all about what the doctor thought of Jessie’s kidneys. He didn’t think they were so hot, Jessie was glad to tell us; and I was beginning to be afraid I’d pulled a boner — that either Jobson was going out or somebody was coming calling (in which case I’d hear the ring for the elevator) when a third call was put in.
“Duval 8390.” That was Jobson’s deep voice; there was no mistaking it.
I plugged in, passed on the call, and waited. Not long. I heard a receiver come off. Then:
“Hello.” A woman’s voice.
“Is this Miss Kelly?”
“Yes.”
“This is Jobson. You know — Jobson.”
“Yes.” Short, noncommittal.
“I wanted to know is... is you know... there?”
“No, he isn’t.”
“Well, get ahold of him right away. Right away, you understand?”
“Yes.”
“And tell him not to come around here. It’s dangerous. You understand?”
“Yes.”
“Tell him to meet me at the hotel there. At that room — what’s the number?”
“311.”
“311. In about an hour. You understand?”
“Yes. I’ll tell him.” Her receiver went down, and his after it. I pulled out the plugs, and plugged in central.
“Listen, operator,” I said when she answered. “Give me the address of Duval 8390, like a good girl, will you? I know it’s a hotel.”
“Sorry, sir,” came the mechanical answer, “but we’re not allowed—”
“I know, I know, honey,” I cut in; “but be big hearted just for once, will you? You see, I just got a tip that my wife and another chap—”
I heard her giggle. A moment’s wait. Then:
“Duvaal, a-it — thrrree — noine — O, is the Stopover Inn, sir, on the Eastern Highway.”
I let out a noiseless whistle. I don’t think I even thanked her. I was thinking just one thing. I was thinking that I was going to earn that ten grand — if I ever got it.
For the Stopover Inn, on the Eastern Highway, was the hangout of the Lewis gang!
I canned the whistle, hopped up, and patted the boy on the head.
“Nice boy,” I said; “you’ll be a millionaire some day,” and passed him the ten. Then I went back to my room, packed my bag with things I didn’t need and was on my way.
The Stopover Inn is about ten miles out, and when I swung around the last corner, a flivver was just drawing up and I saw Jobson get out. I tore on past, interested in the scenery across the road, drove on for another mile, and then turned back.
I parked my car near Jobson’s, got out, dragged out my suitcase, and walked into the small dirty lobby. There was just a dumb-looking, pimpled-face boy behind the desk, and I was glad of that.
“Room,” I snapped. “Top floor, where I won’t get the traffic so much. I’ve got a lot of heavy sleeping to do.” One glance had already told me there were only three floors to the place; ten rooms to a floor, five front, five back.
The boy stared at me stupidly.
“You got to wait for Miss Kelly to get back,” he drawled without moving his lips; why use your lips when your nose will do? “She’s upstairs.”
But Miss Kelly was just whom I didn’t want to see, she or anybody else who might ask questions, aloud or to themselves. I wanted to hold that off as long as I could. I glanced at the keyboard at my side. 311’s key was missing from its hook; but most of the other keys were there.
“Baloney,” says I, like I meant it. “I’m not waiting for Miss Kelly or anybody else. I just come in from five hundred miles.” Luckily my car was turned the right way if they investigated. I glared at him. “I don’t want Miss Kelly, I want sleep! You understand? Here!” I made a dive for the key of 313, which was near me. “Show me a room!”
But the boy’s hand was on the rack nearly as soon as mine.
“That room’s taken,” he said, mighty quick for him. “I’ll show you a room.” He took the key of 317 and came out from behind the desk. He almost fell over my suitcase as he shambled towards the stairs. I picked up the valise and followed his shuffling steps.
The two flights of stairs were narrow, dark and dirty, and so was the corridor at the head of the second flight. But both stairs and corridors were carpeted so thick you couldn’t hear your own footfalls; which had its uses and had its drawbacks. The boy showed me my room, a narrow back room with one window, and started off again. He was so dumb he didn’t even fool with the shades till I came across with a tip.
“Here,” I said, as I slipped him a quarter; “and I don’t want to be disturbed. I’m sleeping through twenty-four hours.” I slammed the door and noisily locked it, and gave him two minutes before I softly turned the key again, opened the door and stepped outside.
It was always night in that windowless corridor, but it wasn’t any Gay White Way. One gas-jet burned in the middle, and even that looked pretty discouraged. I locked my door from the outside, and walked down the hall — I didn’t have to tiptoe on that thick carpet — to the last back corner room, number 311.
There were two voices inside, a woman’s and a man’s; but I didn’t stop to listen. I moved back to the room beside it, number 313. I listened there a second; then I pulled out a pass key.
Yes, it was unoccupied. A regular cheap hotel room, that was mostly bed. The bed used to be brass. You could tell that by the bits that glittered here and there over the rough rusty iron. There was one window that faced a large but mangy orchard in back, and one stiff-backed chair. I noiselessly pulled the chair over to the door that connected with 311, but which was locked with its keyhole stuffed. Then I sat down and waited.