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 straightened; his eyes met the blue, staring ones of Connors. The second said fiercely:
“They got him—”
Gus reached out strong fingers and gripped Connors’s right wrist. He said in a hard, low voice:
“Take it easy. Don’t talk—”
There were several officers in the ring now. They were moving about, questioning seconds, officials, photographers. A handsome man in evening dress, with a black mustache he touched nervously, came close to Gus.
“You were — Pardo’s manager?” he asked. “I’m Watterman, police commissioner. Your man — was he ever threatened?”
Gus shook his head. His eyes held little expression. He looked at the immaculate police commissioner, but did not see him. Watterman said:
“Keep everybody inside the ropes, you officers. Monkly — recognize anyone here that might have reason for murdering your fighter?”
Gus shook his head and said: “No. But how could he have been shot—”
Bailey spoke up. “There was a lot of confusion. Eight or ten persons — perhaps a dozen were in the ring. There was a flashlight explosion—”
Colter, in charge of the Garden, was standing beside Bailey. He said in a grim tone:
“We don’t allow photographers in the ring, unless it’s a championship fight. There was no permission given for a photographer—”
Watterman said grimly: “Where’s that picture man?”
He turned away from Gus. The manager went over to the ropes and leaned against them. He looked towards the spot where he had seen Little Andy. The man wasn’t there now. He hadn’t seen Hurry Lassen at all. Connors came to his side and swore bitterly.
“Poor damn kid!” he muttered. “He might have been — champ—”
Gus said in a hard voice: “He wouldn’t have been. Rawlton would have kayoed him. But he was in a sweet spot—”
He checked himself, turned his back to the crowd milling around in the seats. Those in the mezzanine and balcony were not making for the exits. They were staring down at the ring. Humphrey’s voice sounded above the buzz in the Garden.
“The winner — Pardo — one minute and ten seconds — in the second round—”
A voice boomed down from the balcony: “What’s the matter — with Pardo?”
Bailey came to Gus’s side. “The camera’s still there — but there’s no photographer,” he said grimly. “It was a frame-up. They used the flash to kill the gun color, if there was any. And the sound to kill the sound. Maxim-silencer. Thirty-eight, probably. The murderer stepped close to him — let him have it. Got clear in the confusion. Probably two of them. You sure you don’t know anything about—”
Gus Monkly narrowed his beady eyes and looked beyond Bailey, towards the figure of the dead fighter. He said in a dull, low voice:
“Me — I don’t know — a thing. Not a damn thing, Bailey!”
Chapter VI
They sat in the room at the Manger. It was almost dawn; they had been released by the police an hour ago. There had been many questions — but the answers had been unimportant. Gus Monkly smoked a cigarette, and kept his eyes half closed. Connors lay on the bed and swore softly at intervals. It was raining outside; the drops beat against the window.
Gus said slowly and in a voice that showed no emotion:
“He did what he said — he’d do. Only he did it quicker — than we figured. He got the big boy, but that don’t count so much. I made that kid what he was. The champ would have dropped him — he’d have worked the sticks for a while — and then some doll would have grabbed what coin he had left. He’d have ended up opening oysters, where I found him. That don’t count. But something else — does count—”
Connors said bitterly: “He was a good kid. Dumb but good. I hate the guys that finished him. If you’re going after them—”
Gus nodded his head slowly. “I ain’t yellow,” he said. “I’m going after them — just once. It’ll be that way. Just once.”
“He was dumb — but he was tryin’,” Connors said fiercely. “God — I hate ’em for that.”
The manager nodded his head again. “Two hundred grand—” he breathed. “They took it away from me, Connors. They killed to do it. Because I wouldn’t let ’em cut in. Two hundred grand!”
Connors sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
“That blonde — she tried to get you, in the basement of Berryman’s hotel. That might have given them a chance — with you out of the way. But why didn’t they try again — for you?”
Gus said slowly: “Maybe Hurry didn’t know about that. He’s got plenty of coin. He wants to hurt me, break me. I was square with him. But I walked out too soon. He needed me. He wanted to get even, get square. And he did.”
The manager stood up and looked down at Connors. The Irish handler’s blue eyes were narrowed on his. There was hatred in them. Gus said steadily:
“I guess you’re right, Connors — Pardo was tryin’. He was a good kid. We got to square things up. He was a scrapper, but they didn’t give him a chance. We’ve got to take one — to square things.”
Connors said nothing. The manager went over to the window.
“Maybe the mob made a break for it — maybe they didn’t. I’ve got a hunch they’re sittin’ tight — and waiting for me to come to them. Figuring I’ll come to them. Or maybe they think I’m yellow — like Lou Berryman.”
“He didn’t have a chance!” Connors breathed bitterly. “The dirty rats—”
Gus shook his head slowly. “You’ve got to take it easy, Connors,” he warned. “They’re killers. And they’re cold. You’ve got to be the same way.”
Connors said in a calmer voice: “You could turn ’em up — tell the bulls what you know.”
Gus Monkly laughed harshly. “Where’s the proof?” he asked. “Hurry’s got enough coin to beat a dozen charges like this one. Burke was talking to me when Pardo got the dose. The blonde had been sitting right across from me. Little Andy was on the other side of the ring. They’d all have alibis. And I didn’t see Hurry. He’d have one — and it would be air-tight. Turn ’em up? Not a chance.”
Connors swore. “And they might remember something on you,” he said.
Gus nodded. “They would,” he replied. “No, that ain’t the way, Connors. The thing is to just walk in on ’em. Maybe we can walk out — maybe not. Maybe we can do the job right.”
The phone bell rang. Gus looked towards the table on which it rested. He said grimly:
“The bulls — pretty sure.”
He went over and lifted the receiver. He made his voice sound sleepy.
“Yeah,” he said. “Monkly.”
His body got straight — he sucked in his breath sharply. Then he relaxed. He listened for a few seconds. Once he said: “No,” in a husky voice. After a half minute he said: “Yeah — I know the spot. In thirty minutes. But if you’re lying, Edna—” He hung up abruptly.
When he faced Connors there was a twisted smile on his thin lips. He touched the half-moon scar gently.
“The blonde — Edna,” he said. “She’s waitin’ for me, downtown. She’s alone — and she’s got something big to say. She swears to God it’s all right. Hurry’s crossed her up. What she’s got to say will mean a lot to me. If I don’t come down — I’m on the spot. If I do come down, she’s got a line that’ll help me beat it. That’s all.”
Connors said in a half whisper: “It’s a plant. They’ll gun you out. They’re getting yellow.”
“Just the same — I’m going down.” Gus’s voice was steady. “I knew a moll once that lied all her life — and then told one truth. It helped. Edna’s tricky as hell. Maybe she’s got that way with Hurry. It’s a gambling chance.”