The Black Lizard Big Book of Black Mask Stories
- Автор: Adams Cleve F., Babcock Dwight V.
- Год: 2010
- Язык: английский
- Год: A Vintage Crime/Black Lizard
- ISBN: 978-0-307-45543-7
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «The Black Lizard Big Book of Black Mask Stories». Краткое содержание книги:
Black Mask was the apotheosis of noir. It was the magazine where the first hardboiled detective story, which was written by Carroll John Daly appeared. It was the slum in which such American literary titans like Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler got their start, and it was the home of stories with titles like “Murder Is Bad Luck,” “Ten Carets of Lead,” and “Drop Dead Twice.” Collected here is best of the best, the hardest of the hardboiled, and the darkest of the dark of America’s finest crime fiction. This masterpiece collection represents a high watermark of America’s underbelly. Crime writing gets no better than this.
REQUIRE YOUR IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE IN MATTER OF VITAL IMPORTANCE STOP SECRECY ESSENTIAL STOP DISASTER IMMINENT IN OAHU IN FORTY EIGHT HOURS UNLESS YOU AND I STOP IT COME AT ONCE EXPLAIN WHEN SEE YOU WIRE INSTRUCTIONS SIGNED COLONEL JOHN VENNER US MEDCORPS SCHOFIELD BARRACKS
Nick blinked again and frowned. The plane was empty except for himself. The IISNC operated steamships among the islands, and due to the fact that Molokai held the leper colony, it was not included among the normal stops for tourists. But the company also operated several twin-motored clippers of the old Pan-American type, and one of these had flown him out, and a second — which he now rode — had been wirelessed for, to fly him back.
From northern Molokai to southern Oahu where Honolulu sat upon the sea was no great shakes of a trip, a matter of hours, and they were due to come in at any time. He folded the message and put it away and then watched out the plane window for the sight of Diamond Head rising precipitantly from the sea.
Dr. Nicholas Adams, chief of the field staffs of the Cardwell Institute through the western Pacific — if you wanted to get formal about it — was no malihini to the Hawaiian Island. No stranger. He knew that his identity was well known in Honolulu, as it was in various other places such as Singapore, Shanghai, Manila and Batavia, indeed in any portion of the western Pacific where there was disease. But he could not help wondering who the devil Colonel John Venner was, and how the devil Venner had known that he was on Molokai.
As for the message itself, it was intriguing, but at the same time, it was extremely dubious. The only disaster which could be imminent in Oahu was of the same ilk as had struck it once before — those Japanese planes winging death out of the sky in the dawn. And if Venner had come by such inside information, of what use was a non-military medico like Nick Adams going to be in averting it? It was more the Army and Navy’s job.
So, obviously, it was not a Japanese attack which Venner meant. It was something else. Nick made no attempt to fathom what, because he could only conjecture, and rather wildly at that.
Probably Venner had got in touch with the Cardwell Institute labs on Bishop Street in Honolulu and learned from Paul Cameron — the local head of the organization in Oahu — that Nick Adams was at Molokai. Then Venner had wirelessed.
In any case, he had got Nick’s goat, and Nick had replied by wireless when and how and where he would be arriving. He assumed that Colonel Venner would meet him and break this strain of curious impatience which held him.
From the window of the plane, Nick finally made out Koko Head, and then beyond that, the majesty of Diamond Head. An Army patrol plane, looking sleek and deadly, had picked them up some time before, established their identity and sent them on. Thus forewarned, no other planes interrupted their flight, but Nick hoped that each of the ground crews who undoubtedly had an A.A. gun trained on them would also recognize the inter-island plane, a good Hawaiian fixture, and not be too precipitous.
They glided lower, and the Aloha Tower by the Matson pier flashed by. Honolulu sat in the sun peacefully, and the blue sea broke white along the shore from Waikiki to Fort Kamehameha. Then they were down, gliding to a perfect landing on the sea and taxiing up to the ramp of the Inter-Island airport.
When Nick reached the waiting-room, there was no sign of any Army man waiting for him. There was only one man there, an Oriental of one sort or another — it was difficult to tell Japanese from Chinese — and Nick ignored him and stepped out to see if Colonel Venner might be waiting in a car at the parking space.
“Dr. Adams, sah?”
Nick turned, blank-faced. From Hawaii west, you always blank-faced when you were surprised. It was a trick of the Asiatics, friend and foe alike. He said, “Yes?”
“This humble person begs your forgiveness,” said the man who had spoken, the same Oriental, “but I have been sent to meet you. Colonel Venner is occupied. He asked me to pick you up. Will you honor me, sah?”
Nick found himself bordering on a reaction of wariness. The stranger was a Chinese, a long lean-cheeked Cassius sort of Chinese, with teeth that were almost as yellow as his skin. It was not only that the man’s dark eyes were dishonest, they were sinister. They were like onyx jewels, touched with a cold glitter, nor were they shifty — they met his own directly, hard and uncompromising. But the fellow’s hands intrigued Nick even more. They were fine hands for a strangler. From wrist to finger base, the measured distance must have been six full inches, and the tapering fingers, delicately manicured, were weirdly long and graceful, the left pinkie wearing an opal set in gold.
“I’m Nicholas Adams,” Nick said. “Who are you?”
“This worthless one is known as H. H. Sze,” replied the Chinese. He pronounced his surname T’see. “I am an officer with the Commission of Health in Honolulu, Doctor.”
“And you came for me?” Nick said.
“Forgive me, yes.” Mr. Sze did not have a semblance of expression on his face. “Colonel Venner asked me to get you. This is my car. I shall take you to him at once.”
“What’s it all about?” Nick said. “Go ahead. Get in.”
“Forgive me — after you, sah,” Mr. Sze replied. His striped seersucker suit looked as if it had been slept in. It needed a starching badly. He waited for Nick to sit in the car, then got in himself, on the edge of the seat, his face always blank, his hands on the wheel, lightly, as if he held them ready to move.
“This humble one must apologize for any celerity,” Mr. Sze said. He drove off and took the Waiana Road. “Forgive me, we do not have much time. I will explain quickly.”
“Do,” Nick said. He lighted his pipe unhurriedly and watched Mr. Sze.
“It is an epidemic, and you are needed, sah,” Mr. Sze said smoothly. “I believe you and the commissioner are old friends?”
“Yes,” Nick said. “How is he?”
“Commissioner Hartly is in the most beautiful health, and had honored this humble one in conveying his personal profound wishes for your own health, and his gratification at your presence so close to us. He and Colonel Venner dispatched me this morning to take you from the plane. It is so very, very urgent, you see.”
“Very interesting,” Nick said. He was positive Mr. Sze was lying through his teeth. “What seems to be the trouble?”
“Beriberi,” said Mr. Sze. “It is sweeping through the pineapple estates north of Wright Field like a pestilence. It is very bad. The honorable commissioner said that the most sagacious Dr. Adams would know what to do—”
“Contagious, eh?”
“The Kanakas are sick and dying,” Mr. Sze said. “The Kahunas do nothing.” His voice was very dramatic, although his face remained as blank as stone. “Forgive me — like a sweeping pestilence—”
“You certainly like to be forgiven, don’t you?”
“Forgive me, a habit of speech—”
Nick pointed the stem of his pipe at Mr. Sze. “You are a very extraordinary health officer, Mr. Sze.”
“Thank you, sah,” Mr. Sze said, bowing his head. “I am only a humble servant—”
“And I didn’t mean it as a compliment,” Nick said coldly. “You can go back and tell the commissioner that beriberi is not contagious. It is a painful disease which comes from the eating of polished rice and a lack of vitamin B. Or were you confused in the press of things?”
Mr. Sze said nothing at all. He did not look nonplussed. Resigned if anything. The trouble was you couldn’t tell how he looked. He had learned the poker face trick so exceptionally well, it was the only face he wore.
The car was slowing down, and the outskirts of the low-lying town of Waiana began to show themselves ahead.