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.
“Me!” said Eddie. “They can’t do nothing to me. I’m a Gorgon. Why, kid, I have an alibi that—”
“Would roast me,” she cut in, and her voice was hard again. “I tell you, Eddie, if you press that trigger—”
A soft voice broke in from the little hallway.
“Race Williams will shoot suddenly from his right jacket pocket, and be a very much honored newspaper hero.” And as my finger half closed, the mellow voice went on, “No, no — Williams. I am sure things should be done more amicably. The gun, Eddie — on the floor — at once!” And in a sudden change of tone that was as metallic as a cheap phonograph, “Drop that gun — Edward!”
Eddie’s gun smacked to the floor, like you’d knocked it from his hand with a crowbar. Mine came from my pocket and pounded against the chest of Eddie Gorgon. For the time I had forgotten that knock upon the door. Now — I didn’t turn. I didn’t need to. Some one stood in the doorway, and that some one undoubtedly had me covered.
Chapter XI
The Third Gorgon
The voice behind me went on — soft, persuasive, almost like a woman’s, but with a sinister meaning to it that belied the words themselves.
“That’s a good boy — a fine boy. You are impetuous, Eddie — and I am afraid you have been drinking. You will stand back — so — close to the wall.” Eddie moved as if a hand directed him. “And you, Florence, will lay your gun there upon the table. Mr. Williams, of course, will keep his. It is his trade. I am afraid he is not so susceptible to suggestion. But I am sure he is not so religiously fanatical as to object if I paraphrase even so great a book as the Bible. ‘Those that live by the sword shall perish by the sword.’ Which, I suppose, if we had a more modern version would go for guns too.”
Feet moved now — slow moving feet. Both Eddie Gorgon and The Flame were unarmed. Eddie Gorgon was leaning against the wall, breathing heavily, but not watching me. Rather, the slow moving feet — and I could just see the shadow cast upon the floor.
I swung quickly and faced the man. Maybe I knew — and maybe I didn’t. Here was the man who hobnobbed with greatness. Here was the man whom a few felt, and fewer mentioned, as the secret power of Joe Gorgon. The man who called judges by their first names, and political leaders by their last. One who had written books on civil and criminal law, though he had never practiced law. But I’ll give you the eyeful as I caught it.
In the first place, he was not armed. There was a thin, Malacca cane over his left arm, a gray glove upon his right hand, and its mate clutched in the fingers of that hand. His muffler, slightly open at the neck, disclosed the whiteness of a boiled shirt. And his braided trouser legs added assurance to the impression that he was in evening dress. But his face got you, and the eyes in that face held you — held you in spite of the shadow thrown on them by his black felt hat.
His face was as white as marble, and his eyes such a deep dark blue that at first glance you’d almost think they were black. There was not a single bit of color in his face and his nose was sharp and straight, his lips a single, thin red line. His eyes didn’t blink when they looked at me. They just regarded me fixedly; too alive to be compared to glass. Watched me from between heavy lashes that didn’t flicker. The whole outline of his face and perfection of his features couldn’t be compared to a portrait because of the unnatural whiteness of his skin — and the living fire of his eyes.
I hadn’t seen him often — few saw him often. And his picture never graced the papers. But somehow I knew that I was looking into the granitelike countenance of the Third Gorgon, Doctor Michelle Gorgon.
None of us spoke for a moment. Eddie leaned against the wall and stared at the man who, through some freak of Nature, was his brother. The Flame looked at him too, studied him, I think. Maybe I was wrong, but I did get the impression that she had never seen him before — despite the fact that he had called her Florence.
And the Third Gorgon spoke.
“I am not sure,” he said very slowly, “but I feel that at least one of you, and perhaps all of you, owe me a debt of gratitude. But we’ll skip that. It savors too much of our criminal courts. Plenty of knowledge but not enough evidence.” He paused a moment, sniffed at the air, let those flickerless eyes rest on his brother, and half bowed to me.
“We must bow to you, Williams, as the physical dominance in this room — perhaps, thanks to me. Fine wines warm a man’s blood and make more active his brain. Poor liquor, even when taken by another, nauseates me. I know you, of course — have read about you and seen your picture in the papers. I understand you do not go in for murder.” A moment’s pause, and his head cocked sideways as he put those eyes on me. “That... that is true?”
“It depends on what you call murder.” Somehow I couldn’t feel exactly at ease with this guy.
He shook his head.
“Ah, no. No — not at all. My ideas of murder are not entirely expounded in my books. They are private thoughts and opinions which must be withheld for the public good. And I will not say murder in the legal sense, for if I’ve followed your exploits correctly you have not obtained your ethics from the criminal code.”
“Well — get to the point. What’s on your chest?”
His thin lips dropped slightly, and just for the fraction of a second those eyelids flickered before he spoke.
“You disappoint me, Williams. You really disappoint me.” And with a sudden snap, “I am speaking of the putrid condition of the air, caused by the presence of my brother. Will you stand in the way of his departure? In plain words — he is unarmed. Are you bent on murdering him?”
“There’s the police.” Maybe I was sparring for time. “He attempted my life, you know.”
“Come... come, my dear Williams.” Doctor Gorgon seemed annoyed, and then he smiled — only his lips moving. “But you joke.” He turned and looked at The Flame. He stepped close to her. For a minute he stood so — then his hand went beneath his coat, and despite the fact that he was sideways to me I half raised my gun. But when he withdrew his hand it held nothing more dangerous than a pair of nose glasses attached to a very thin black ribbon.
He placed the glasses upon his nose, leaned forward and stooped — for he was close to a head above The Flame. Then he raised his hand and removed his hat.
If The Flame resented his attitude she did not show it. I saw her little head bob up — those brown eyes, hard and cold, stare back into his. Then he turned to Eddie Gorgon, half impatiently.
“You may go, Eddie.” And with a raise of his hand as Eddie started to say something sulkily, “Tut... tut, boy. He shan’t kill you, you know. And if he intended to, he would hardly do it in my presence.” And when Eddie still held his ground, “That will be all, Edward. Not by the window, you scamp.” He crossed the room quickly this time, patted Eddie on the back as he half pushed him toward the door. “I am sure that Williams realizes there is a lady present and will not object to your leaving us.”
I didn’t object. Maybe I realized there would have been nothing to do. That is, nothing to do but lay a chunk of lead in Eddie’s carcass or call the police. But one thing I did get, and that was that Eddie Gorgon feared that affected “Edward” of his brother’s more than even my gun.
“Affected.” Well — I’ll withdraw that word. No— Damn it. One thing that Doctor Gorgon got over to me, even if I don’t get it over to others, was his sincerity — or perhaps, just his own belief in himself. He sure was the white haired boy, though now that his hat was off, there was just the glimmer of gray in the jet blackness of his hair. The first few strands of it, which hung near his forehead.