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.
The referee gave instructions that both sluggers knew by heart. And Gus Monkly sat in an aisle chair, just back of Pardo’s stool, staring towards the ring — and thinking about Hurry Lassen.
The referee turned away. The fighters went to their corners. Gus Monkly stared across the ring, turned his eyes on the chairs. He didn’t see the blonde girl or Hurry. He didn’t see any of the mob. And that bothered him. His nerves were jumpy. The stools were being swung through the ropes; the handlers were climbing out of the ring. The gong clanged.
Bolley came out fast and swung a left that missed the Giant’s chin by inches. Pardo was short with a choppy right to the body. Bolley tried another right that Pardo smothered with his glove. They went into a clinch. Pardo seemed stronger than Bolley, though he weighed only two pounds more. He shoved the red-haired fighter away from him and shot out a straight right. It caught Bolley over the left eye and knocked him off balance. The crowd roared.
Gus leaned forward in his chair and shouted hoarsely:
“Get in there! Watch yourself—”
Pardo moved forward and shot another right. Bolley twisted to one side. He was hurt and holding his guard high. Gus shouted:
“To his belly, Giant — to his belly!”
Pardo tried a short left to the head. He missed. Bolley got in close and hung on. There was red over his left eye. Gus glanced towards Connors and saw the Irishman signaling Pardo to shove the red-haired fighter away, and work on his stomach. But Giant didn’t seem to see Connors. Gus muttered:
“He’s too — dumb—”
The referee broke them. Bolley backed away and brushed his left eye with the back of his right glove. Pardo followed him up and shot two lefts to the head, neither of which landed.
Bolley stepped in and landed a hard left to the body. Pardo lowered his guard and Bolley feinted with his right, shot a hard left to the mouth. Pardo shook his head and started to back away. Bolley came in fast and brought up an uppercut that just missed Pardo’s chin.
Gus leaned forward and shouted hoarsely. His words were drowned in the roar of the crowd.
“Get inside — get in close, Big Boy!”
Bolley landed two lefts to the body and missed a hard right to the head. Pardo crouched and shot out a straight right. It caught Bolley high on the forehead, knocked him back, off balance. The red-haired slugger’s face was streaked with red from his cut eye. He covered up and backed away as Pardo went after him slowly. The gong clanged.
Gus muttered to himself: “The palooka’s slow — but Red’s gettin’ tired already. If Pardo can get in a right—”
He watched Bolley drop to his stool. The Giant was standing in his corner and grinning at Gus. The manager swore at him as Connors jerked him down. A voice at Gus’s side said:
“Got a winner, Gus?”
The manager stiffened, turned. The blonde was across the aisle now. She was going to her seat. Beside her was Burke. He didn’t look at Gus. Edna looked pale, but there was a smile on her thin face.
On the opposite side of the ring a man was sliding past people to his seat. He was a small man. Little Andy.
Gus Monkly smiled with his thin lips. Three of the mob were present. But Hurry wasn’t in sight. The semifinal had been a good scrap; most of the crowd had come in time to see it. But this mob was arriving late. Why?
The bell clanged for the second round. Pardo was out before Bolley had left his stool. There was a white line over the red-haired slugger’s bad eye. Bolley came out in a crouch, and started weaving almost immediately. The crowd jeered. Pardo shot a swinging left, and Bolley got his head underneath it. He came in close and pawed at the Giant with both hands. Pardo shot a short right. His mouth was bleeding slightly; there was a half grin on his face. Bolley tried a right and left, fell into a clinch. Pardo broke away, and Bolley caught him on the head with a light left.
Pardo walked in and started throwing rights and lefts to the body. The crowd roared; Gus leaned forward in his chair. Bolley tried to get into a clinch but the Giant shoved him away. He drove a hard left to the body, and when Bolley sagged forward he stepped back and landed a heavy left to the face. Bolley was on the ropes now, crowded against them by Pardo. The crowd was howling fiercely, remembering the way the Giant had finished Mike Connell.
Bolley bent forward and tried to clinch. Suddenly he shoved Pardo away from him and snapped out a hard left. It caught Pardo with his arms out, knocked him back. Bolley leaped forward and brought one up from the floor. It missed Pardo’s chin by an inch.
Gus Monkly saw the expression on his slugger’s face — saw the grin fade, the eyes narrow. Pardo was facing the ropes almost directly in front of his manager. Gus caught one flashing glimpse of Pardo’s eyes — sensing the kill punch. And then the Giant shot the right. It had everything behind it — straight from the shoulder.
The gloved fist caught Bolley flush on the jaw, off balance. There was a screaming roar from the crowd — then silence. Bolley slumped forward. He hit resin heavily — there was no movement to his body. Pardo backed away, looked towards Gus. He started to grin, then turned towards his corner. Connors waved him off — he went to a neutral corner. The referee started the count.
Gus stood up and shouted hoarsely. At ten Bolley had not moved a muscle. He was out cold. The Garden was filled with sound as Johnny Parks pointed towards Giant Pardo. Gus caught a glimpse of Connors waving his arms wildly. Men were climbing into the ring — handlers of the fighters. Pardo came out from the neutral corner as Bolley’s seconds lifted him from the resin. He raised his gloved hands — the crowd shouted wildly. Gus stared at the ring — there were a half dozen humans inside the ropes now. More were climbing in. He saw Humphrey swing a leg over the ropes. A photographer climbed inside. Connors turned and grinned broadly at Gus.
“What a right!” he shouted hoarsely. “What a—”
His voice was drowned by the shouts of the crowd. A hand gripped Gus’s left shoulder. He swung around. Burke was standing back of him. There was a faint smile on his face.
“You win, Gus,” he said. “But it’s — like this—”
A flashlight boomed; the din of the crowd was dying. From the balcony there came a sudden hush. Gus kept his eyes on Burke.
“It’s like this, Burke,” he said, “you’d better be careful—”
Burke grinned and turned away. Gus looked across the aisle, failed to see the blonde Edna. He turned his face towards the ring. There was a crowd in the center of it, but the figure of Giant Pardo did not tower above the other humans. He saw the referee bending down. Connors swung towards the ropes, his face white and twisted.
“Gus!” he shouted. “Come — up here!”
Gus Monkly reached the corner that had been his fighter’s. He swung through the ropes. A uniformed cop stared at him. He saw Doc Bailey bending down, shoved his way to the doctor’s side.
Giant Pardo lay on his back. His eyes were wide open. His great arms were flung wide. There was a half smile on his face. His chest was soaked with water — his dark hair wet with it. Over his heart was a small reddish brown spot. A thin stream of blood had streaked down from it, towards his trunks.
Bailey looked at Gus. He shook his head slowly. There was a darker color around the skin of the heart. Bailey said quietly:
“He’s dead, Monkly. Shot through the heart.”
Gus Monkly stared at the wide eyes of Pardo. He straightened a little. He said slowly:
“Through the heart — but that would mean a sweet piece—”
Bailey said: “Powder burns on the skin. The murderer was in the ring, Monkly. He was inside — the ropes!”