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.
“One of the cars upset the carromatta in which I was approaching the Escolta. It was going towards the Pasig, and Juan Arragon was in close pursuit.”
Carlysle nodded grimly. “We heard the shots — at the station,” he said. “It was a daring robbery.”
Delgado had dropped into a wicker chair, near a counter. Jo Gar said quietly:
“Three machines — a double murder. And robbery — how much did they get?”
Delgado said in a dull tone, softly: “The Von Loffler diamonds. All ten of them. Two hundred thousand dollars, at least. And some small stones—”
Jo Gar widened his gray-blue eyes. Carlysle went to the entrance of the store and gave orders in a steady, hard voice. There was the clang of an ambulance gong, in the distance.
The Island detective said: “The Von Loffler diamonds. But I thought they were in the bank vault—”
Delgado’s tortured eyes met Jo’s. He said in a broken voice:
“Von Loffler brought them here this morning. I was to set them into a comb for his wife.”
Jo Gar narrowed his eyes and nodded his head slowly. Delgado got to his feet, hands suddenly clenched at his sides. He said in a terrible voice:
“They will pay — for this! By... they will pay! My only son—”
Jo Gar spoke softly: “It is... very bad. You saw faces?”
The jewelry shop owner said: “They were masked — their whole faces. There were just the eye slits. Four of them were in here. They held guns, and the one who shot my son down was tall and well built. He was standing over Ramon — when I ran in—”
He turned away from the Island detective. Carlysle was coming into the shop again. There was a great deal of excitement outside, but inside there was almost silence. One white-clad clerk was walking back and forth behind a long display counter, muttering softly to himself.
Carlysle came close to Jo and spoke in the same grim tone.
“I have sent word to all the Constabulary stations. We shall pick up the cars in which they escaped.”
Jo said: “Have there been reports of stolen cars lately?”
The Manila Police head frowned. “Two reports — one yesterday — one this morning.”
The Island detective shrugged his narrow shoulders.
“I do not think it will help greatly to find the machines,” he observed.
Carlysle said: “Juan Arragon was in close pursuit. There is a possible chance.”
The Island detective nodded slowly. “Yes,” he agreed. “A chance.”
Liam Delgado faced them suddenly. His eyes were shot with red. He ran trembling fingers through his white hair. He said fiercely:
“There were four of them. I will have them — every one! I am wealthy — and I will use my wealth—”
There was the staccato cough of a motorcycle — a brown-uniformed figure rode to the curb before the shop. He dismounted, hurried inside. He was breathing heavily. He spoke rapidly in Filipino dialect to Carlysle. The head of the Manila police interrupted him sharply, telling him to speak more slowly. Jo Gar said quietly:
“He says Arragon’s car skidded, beyond the bridge. There was a crash into iron railing — the driver was hurt and the car disabled. Pedestrians have told him that Juan stopped another car, and continued the pursuit. The bandit machine was far ahead, running along the right bank of the Pasig.”
Carlysle groaned. “It will get away,” he muttered. “The bandits were masked — the drivers of the three machines may not have been noticed—”
Jo Gar looked towards the back of Liam Delgado. The jewelry shop owner was standing near a counter, his body rigid. Jo said slowly:
“One leaves the Island only by boat.”
Carlysle half closed his eyes. “There are many American visitors here — and English, too. Three boats sail in the next three days. Two of them are big vessels. It will be very difficult—”
He broke off. There was a little silence. Then the police head said slowly:
“But they have the diamonds — the Von Loffler stones. We can search thoroughly, at the docks.”
Jo Gar touched the tips of his stubby, brown fingers to almost colorless lips. His almond-shaped eyes were slitted, three-quarters closed.
“We can do many wise things,” he observed with a grimness strange in him. “But unfortunately, others can do wise things, also.”
At seven o’clock Jo Gar paused before the Manila Times office and read the large-lettered bulletin before which a small crowd had gathered. It told him that none of the bandits had been captured, that they had got away with diamonds valued in excess of two hundred thousand dollars — the “famous Von Loffler ten,” and that they had murdered Ramon Delgado and Herr Mattlien. It further stated that one escaping machine had crashed into a carromatta from which Señor Jo Gar and the driver had barely escaped with their lives. Also Lieutenant of Manila Police Juan Arragon, in pursuit of this crash car, was missing. He had hailed another car, with a Chinese driver, after the one in which he had been riding had skidded and crashed.
The machine, the Chinese and Juan Arragon — all had vanished along the right bank of the Pasig. The whole police force, aided by Island Constabulary, were hunting down the bandits. The Times offered a reward of five thousand dollars, and it was rumored that Liam Delgado would announce an offer of a large sum — for the bandits’ capture. Two of the machines used in the robbery had been found, abandoned. They had each been stolen. They were being examined for fingerprints. It was the most daring crime in the history of Manila.
The Island detective smiled grimly, and then he thought of Juan Arragon and the smile went from his face. He was fond of Arragon — the lieutenant of police had often blundered in the past, but he had always tried. And the item that mentioned his disappearance was not pleasant to read.
Jo turned his back to the bulletin and waited for a caleso to pass — one with a strong-looking horse. He waited only a few minutes.
Across the bridge, on the far side of the black-watered Pasig, there were several police cars. Along the road over which Juan Arragon was supposed to have pursued the car that had struck the carromatta in which Jo had been riding there were Constabulary officers. On the left were moored sampans and various other type craft — on the right of the road there were hundreds of native huts, thatch-roofed and similar.
From the main road other roads angled off — many of them. Relaxed in the caleso, Jo Gar frowned at the roads. Three miles along the river road and the country suddenly became deserted. There were fewer crossroads — native shacks were scattered. The ground was rolling; there were curves. A half dozen times Jo stopped the caleso and made inquiry of natives, but always the answer was the same — nothing had been seen of the pursued car, or of the one in pursuit.
It was growing dark when Jo ordered the caleso driver to turn back. He breathed softly to himself:
“The bandits inside the shop were not recognized. No attention has been paid to the machine drivers; even I would not recognize the man who drove the car that crashed into us. Some say it was a Chinese who was driving the car that Juan commandeered, others say it was a Jap. No one seems to be sure of the type of car. It is always so.”
He shook his head slowly. The caleso reached the Escolta, chief business street of Manila, and proceeded slowly towards the police station. Jo descended, paid the driver and climbed the stairs to the office of Carlysle. The American frowned into his eyes, shook his head slowly:
“Nothing — not a thing!” he breathed. “I don’t like the way things look, Señor Gar. Arragon has dropped from sight. He was alone with that driver of the car he picked up. One of the police officers with him was stunned in the crash — and Juan ordered the other one to look after him. And he’s dropped out of sight.”