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.
“You’re on the short end,” Connors muttered. “I’m riding down with you.”
Gus smiled a little with his eyes. “You’re twenty-one,” he said. “It might help.”
Connors read a morning paper as the cab moved eastward towards the Hudson. He said grimly:
“Its all over the paper — the kill story. The bulls are running around in circles. Watterman was at the ringside, and he’s raising hell. They haven’t picked up anyone who remembers what the man that climbed into the ring with the camera looked like. A handler named Lester, workin’ with Bolley — he thinks he saw a flash. Another guy says he saw a short, thickset bird standing close to Pardo, just before the flash went off.”
“The coppers won’t get anywhere,” Gus said softly. “There was too much excitement. Maybe even the big boy didn’t see the killer. There wouldn’t be much flash — and with that flashlight racket and the cheering — the sound of the gun—”
Connors tossed the paper on the floor of the cab. It had stopped raining, and was getting colder. Gus looked down at the large-sized picture of Pardo, posed in his fighting togs.
“Two hundred grand — maybe more!” he breathed fiercely.
Connors said slowly: “How do we — work this, Gus?”
The fight manager shrugged. “It’s a small hotel,” he said. “Edna’s aunt runs it. She wouldn’t let any of the mob hang out there, six months ago. But she may have changed her mind. There’s one entrance — one exit. I’ve used ’em both — the place was raided for booze once, when I was inside. There’s a small bar in the back room. The aunt isn’t inside much of the time. A fat bird named Lippe keeps things going. He’s dumb, and handy with a blackjack.”
Connors said slowly: “A rod can beat a blackjack, any time.”
Gus shook his head. “That isn’t our line,” he stated. “Let me do the gabbing. I’ve got a hunch that Edna’s on the level this time. Give her a chance — it may help.”
Connors kept his left hand inside the pocket of his brown coat and swore softly.
“We’re both going to get finished, maybe,” he said in a peculiarly dull voice.
Gus said: “Yeah — maybe. We ain’t there yet. You can drop out, Connors. You ain’t mixed up in this too much. You can ease out.”
The handler swore again. “Giant was a good kid,” he repeated. “They never gave him a break. The bulls won’t do anything. I want this chance.”
The cab turned southward on Tenth Avenue. When it turned westward again, a few squares distant, Gus tapped on the glass that separated the driver from the rear of the cab.
“Pull in,” he ordered. “This is right.”
When the cab was a half block distant Gus led the way across the street. There was slush under-foot; Connors slipped once and swore grimly. Gus said with irony in his voice:
“Careful — don’t get hurt!”
He turned in abruptly at the entrance, narrow and dark, of a three-story brown house. The brick was dirty and in need of repair. There was a bell at one side of the entrance — he pressed it.
There was the sound of a lock snapping. The door opened a little. Gus said quietly, steadily:
“It’s Gus, Lips. Edna called me.”
There was a muttered sound from beyond the door. It opened a little more. Gus sighed and squeezed through the opening. The fat one started to close the door, but Gus said slowly:
“Wait — I got one good guy with me.”
The fat man muttered again. Connors slid inside. Gus took his Colt from a coat pocket and pressed it against the fat man’s side. The hallway was almost dark.
“You go first, Lips,” he said. “I hate to see you get quiet. Take us to Edna.”
Lippe said huskily. “This is — a hell of a note. Pullin’ a rod on me!”
Gus said: “I ain’t using it, Lips. It’s just — for fun.”
The fat man led the way towards the back room. He went inside with Gus close behind him. Connors stayed near Monkly. The room was small, lighted by one hanging bulb. There was a small bar. At one end of it was a dirty tray, with two empty, tall glasses on it. There were two tables in the room — they had white surfaces that glistened in the light.
Edna sat beside one of the tables. Her back was to the door that led to the narrow passage going towards the rear. One arm rested on the table, the other rigidly at her side. She looked shorter, heavier than ever. Her face was strangely thin — there was a bluish bruise over her right eye. She wore a dark suit, and her face seemed very pale. She smiled a little.
“Hello, Gus,” she said. “Come on over. Sit down.”
Gus smiled with his thin lips. “Take a look back of the bar, Connors,” he said. “Lips — you go over there and sit down. Keep your hands in sight.”
He pointed towards the other table. The bartender swore and did as he was told. The girl narrowed her eyes on Connors. She said bitterly:
“Hell — there’s no one here. Just Lips and myself. And Lips is wise to everything.”
Gus said: “Sure, Edna.”
He went close to her, pulled out a chair and placed it so that it faced the doorway through which they had come. He could see the rear exit without turning his head. He put the gun in his right coat pocket and said to Connors: “All right?”
Connors said: “All right, Gus. I’ll stick here by the bar.”
Gus nodded. He smiled at the girl. Lippe was making a heavy noise as he breathed. Gus said:
“Well — get started whining, Edna.”
She shook her head. There was an empty glass in front of her.
“How about a drink?” she asked in a shaken voice, and moved her left arm a little.
Gus shook his head. “Not doing it — right now,” he stated. “Pretty rotten with your left hand, eh?”
She widened her eyes a little. There wasn’t as much rouge on her lips as usual. They looked gray. She said:
“I don’t get you, Gus.”
He smiled. “You didn’t get me,” he corrected. “But you made too much noise, in that basement. You tried damn’ hard.”
She looked puzzled. Her right arm moved a little, above the elbow.
“I don’t get you, Gus,” she said again.
The fight manager said nothing. His eyes were narrowed on hers. She shrugged, said slowly:
“Something went wrong, Gus. I got the dirty end. No man can kick me around.”
She raised her left-hand fingers and touched the bruise on her forehead. She said bitterly:
“Damn Hurry — I’d see him burn for what—”
She stopped. Gus smiled and said: “You could almost play the Palace, Kid. You can almost act.”
She stiffened in the chair. Her voice dropped; she looked beyond Gus, towards Connors.
“I told you to come — alone,” she said.
Gus Monkly nodded. “And I didn’t,” he replied. “What about it?”
She shivered a little. His tone was hard, and his eyes were hard.
“It’s all — right,” she replied. “Something slipped up, Gus. Hurry didn’t — get your man.”
The fight manager smiled a little. “No?” he said. “You got me down here to tell me that.”
She nodded. “That — and something else,” she said. “God knows I’m not trying to make it easy for Hurry.” She leaned towards him and said fiercely: “I hate him, Gus. I swear I do — I hate his insides!”
Gus nodded. He kept on smiling coldly. “Sure you do — and you got me down here to tell me that.”
She relaxed a little. “I’m sick,” she said slowly. “I’m terrible sick, Gus. I want to get away — to get out of here.”
The fight manager stopped smiling. “Yeah?” he said. He got up from the chair suddenly, and moved back a little. Lippe straightened at the table, staring at the manager.