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.
Gus Monkly nodded. “The right’ll do it,” he said. “And we’ll both be sittin’ pretty and waitin’ for a crack at the champ. We won’t wait too long, at that. He’ll be coming. How do you feel?”
The slugger grinned. “I feel swell,” he returned. “How are they bettin’?”
Gus grunted. “Three to one — with you on the short end. But that’s because Bolley took the nigger. You’ll get him, Big Boy.”
Pardo nodded again. “I feel swell,” he said.
Gus grinned. “You stick with Connors and Eddie — all the time until tomorrow night,” he said slowly. “We don’t want no accidents.”
The Giant sat up and blinked at his manager. He asked hoarsely:
“What kind of accidents?”
Gus slapped him playfully across the back of his big head.
“You might meet up with a blonde,” he kidded. “You stick with Connors and Eddie.”
The big slugger chuckled. He rubbed his broken nose with big knuckles.
“Hell,” he breathed, “with the blondes!”
Gus nodded and went away from the dressing room. In the gym he spotted Connors, went to his side.
“Stay close to the big boy,” he ordered. “Keep him here, or at the hotel — or at a picture show.”
Connors nodded. “I’ll watch him,” he said. “I’m layin’ coin on him.”
Gus went down the stairs and into the street. It had started to snow. He turned towards Ninth Avenue. What he wanted was a drink. And he didn’t want it at Cotti’s place. If he could keep clear of Hurry Lassen, until after tomorrow night—
He smiled a little. It would be easy, after that. He’d get Pardo out of sight, out of the city. They could lay low. He knew a few tricks that would throw Hurry off the track, if he tried to trace them. And then they’d sign the big contract, the money contract. Or maybe, if things got too tough, he’d sell Pardo. With the big shot in sight he might get two hundred grand. Two hundred grand! Gus wet his thin lips with the tip of his tongue. That was money — big money.
He reached Eighth Avenue, walked northward a square, turned westward again. Halfway between Ninth and Tenth he stopped and lighted a cigarette. When he got near the corner of Tenth he looked across the street and saw the cheap hotel run by the brother of Lou Berryman. He smiled grimly.
He crossed back of a cab that was going speedily towards the Hudson. There was a lot of noise in the street, which was in the lower fifties. The hotel had signs in front, but no names on them. It was an old building with a dingy entrance. Gus went inside and walked towards a small desk. There was no one behind it. He heard footfalls on the stairs that rose from the rear of the small lobby.
There was a wash-room near the stairs — he stepped into it. The footfalls grew louder; human weight on the steps made them creak. A voice said:
“You won’t be back for the fight, Lou?”
Gus swore softly. He recognized the voice of Al Berryman, Lou’s brother. It had a peculiar grating quality.
Lou replied thickly: “Hell, no! And if you’re wise—”
The words died. Gus got his body flat against a wall of the wash-room and waited. The footfalls were growing fainter now; they died away completely. Gus stepped into the poorly lighted lobby and saw the back of his chief second. A small bag dangled from Berryman’s right hand. He moved away and his brother came back into the hotel. Gus slipped into the wash-room again. He could hear Al moving around behind the desk.
He waited almost ten minutes, then went down the stairs which he had descended before, and moved over damp concrete towards the basement steps. They led up to the street level, not far from the entrance.
He was almost beside the grilled gate at the front basement entrance, when he heard the sound behind him. It was a faint sound, a swishing sound. There was the brief noise of breath sucked in quickly.
Gus Monkly bent his head forward, dropped to his knees. His body was pivoting; his right hand was reaching for his automatic, when the crashes sounded. There were two of them. They filled the basement with their roar.
The manager swore brokenly, got hands before his eyes, pitched to one side. He lay motionlessly, with his body huddled. A figure came close to him, breathing quickly. There was the faint odor of cheap perfume. Then the figure was gone.
He heard shouts from the top of the steps, near the wash-room. A car door slammed, in the street. There was the sound of an engine running at high speed through the gears. Al Berryman’s grating voice sounded again:
“What’s wrong — down there?”
Gus Monkly got slowly to his feet. He went outside, went up the stairs that led to the street level. A tan taxi was speeding towards Ninth Avenue. A small boy stared at him with wide eyes.
Across the street were two men; they had stopped and were looking at him. Gus narrowed his eyes on them for several seconds. He said to the boy:
“Who got in — that cab, Kid?”
The boy looked cold. The two men across the street walked on towards the Hudson. Gus handed the boy a quarter and brushed off his brown coat.
“See who got in — the cab?” he asked again.
The boy spoke in a high-pitched voice.
“A lady,” he said. “She was nice.”
Gus straightened up and swore softly. “Yeah?” he muttered. “A lady, eh?”
The boy narrowed dark eyes on Gus’s small ones. He nodded his head.
“Guess you don’t know that,” he said with sarcasm. “Guess you didn’t hurt her.”
The manager stared at the boy. “Hurt her?” he repeated.
The boy scowled at him. “She had a hurt arm,” he said, raising his voice a little. “She was holding it, an’ she didn’t move it any.”
Gus Monkly looked towards Ninth Avenue and muttered something beneath his breath. The boy said:
“There was a lot of noise—”
The manager grinned at the boy. He spoke in a cheerful tone.
“She didn’t want to be kissed, Kid — some gals are like that. She got away — and maybe she bumped her arm against the door.”
He went towards the entrance of the hotel, and met Al Berryman on the way in. Al was taller than his brother, and thinner.
“What happened?” he asked in his grating voice. “You use that gun?”
Gus stared at him stupidly. “What’s wrong with you — drinking again?” he asked. “What gun?”
Al looked up and down Gus’s overcoat. He narrowed bloodshot eyes.
“You’re all dirty,” he said. “I heard two shots.”
Gus brushed at his coat with both hands. “The damn taxis,” he said. “They never clean ’em.”
Al Berryman went past Gus and reached the street. He looked east and west, stood with a hand in his right pocket. Then he moved out of sight. Gus looked through the opened door at the snow, went a few feet and closed it. He moved to the desk and thought about the blonde, Edna. It had been dark down below. She had fired two shots. Had they been meant for Lou Berryman — or himself? Or had the slugs been intended for some other person?
Gus listened to Al coming up the stairs. When the hotel owner came up to him his face was white. He said shakily:
“Look at — this!”
There was a piece of lead in the palm of his right hand. It had flattened out against something that had left a rusty color on it. Gus said slowly:
“What is it, Al?”
Al Berryman swore fiercely at him. “You don’t know!” he sneered.
Gus said in a calm voice: “Where’s Lou — I want to see him. Right away.”
Al Berryman walked back a few feet towards the counter, but he kept his face turned towards Gus. His right hand moved inside the pocket.
“You don’t know where Lou is, eh?” he said mockingly.
Gus shook his head. “He said he might have to go to Chi in a hurry,” he replied. “Said your sister got hit by a truck. I was tryin’ to find out if he went.”