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.
“I am dining alone,” he said. “Will you join me?”
Jo thanked him and declined. “I do not think I shall dine tonight,” he said. “My stomach pains me.”
Ferraro expressed regret. He spoke a few words more and moved aft. His limp was barely noticeable, but it existed. Jo Gar reclined in his chair and remembered several things. Diamonds worth two hundred thousand dollars had been stolen from Delgado’s jewelry store, on the Escolta, in Manila. Delgado’s son had been murdered. A watchman had been murdered. And Juan Arragon had been murdered, after he had vanished in pursuit of one of the fleeing machines. His body had been returned to Jo Gar’s small office, with a forged note attached. And later in the night, while trailing a clue, the Island detective had been forced to shoot a Malay who had come at him with a knife. The Malay had talked. He had spoken of the leader of the diamond thieves as “the one who walks badly — always in white.”
For Liam Delgado, whose son was dead — and Von Loffler, who wished to recover the ten diamonds, Jo Gar had left the Islands. He had left aboard the Cheyo Maru because another was leaving on the same boat — a man dressed in white, who limped when he moved.
Jo Gar shrugged his narrow shoulders. The sunset red was almost gone now. The Island detective thought:
When a man is a thief and a murderer he does not seek out one who hunts down thieves and murderers. And yet this Ferraro has approached me, has invited me to dine.
A little grimness came into the gray-blue eyes of the Island detective.
“Sometimes such a man is very confident,” he half whispered. “And sometimes he has been of the police.” He nodded his head a little and ceased to smile. “And sometimes,” he murmured very softly, “a dying man lies.” The Island detective sighed. “It is very difficult,” he said softly. “Even my own thoughts contradict.”
When Jo Gar turned his key in the lock of his cabin, stepped inside, he closed the door slowly behind him. He hummed a little Spanish tune, and his body was rigid. There were his two bags — and they were opened, the contents spilled about. The lock of his small trunk had been smashed; the tray lay crosswise. His clothes were scattered. The berth sheets had been ripped up — the cabin was almost a wreck.
Jo stood with his back to the door, stopped humming. He lighted one of his cigarettes, moved about the cabin carefully, using his eyes. He touched nothing. After a few minutes he pressed a button and waited for the Japanese steward. When the man came he was breathing heavily, and his black, round eyes were wide. They grew wider as he surveyed the cabin. The Island detective made a little gesture with his brown hands.
“You see,” he said. “There has been a search.”
The steward broke into his native tongue. He was very excited. He had just entered the cabin of Señor Ferraro, who was of the Philippine Constabulary. And it, too, had been entered. Luggage had been ransacked. An officer of the boat had been notified.
Jo Gar made a clicking sound and nodded his head slowly.
“A clumsy person — this thief,” he said. “I have nothing of value here. I am a poor man. Yet see how he has thrown things about.”
The steward shrilled words — apologetic words. He had been away from the section only a short time. He had come on deck to do as Señor Gar had asked — to tell him that Señor Ferraro had left his cabin. He had come quickly and had taken a shortcut to the spot in which Señor Gar’s chair had been placed.
Jo Gar quieted the man. He narrowed his gray-blue eyes on the ransacked trunk, then turned abruptly. He said as he moved through the doorway to the narrow corridor:
“You do not think the cabin was entered — before you went above to tell me that Señor Ferraro had left his cabin?”
The steward was sure neither cabin had been entered before that time. Señor Ferraro’s cabin was only fifty feet distant from Señor Gar’s. And it was in the same condition.
Jo Gar said: “Perhaps there are others in similar state.”
He went along the narrow corridor to a wider one. The steward followed. Two ship’s officers, clad in white uniforms and gold braid, approached. The Chief Steward came from another direction. There was much swift talk — the Japanese who had charge of Jo’s cabin led the way to the one occupied by Señor Ferraro.
It was an outside cabin, much similar to Jo’s. It was in the same sort of disorder. Jo looked in — the others went inside. The Third Officer said in English:
“And your cabin was entered, too, Señor?”
Jo nodded. “I was on deck,” he said. “Señor Ferraro talked with me, about twenty minutes ago. Then he went to dine.”
The Third Officer said: “You are friends?”
Jo shook his head. “Acquaintances,” he corrected.
There was more talk. The Third Officer suggested that Señor Ferraro be notified, and while he was offering the suggestion the one with the limp came along the corridor. His blue eyes widened on the group. The Chief Steward said apologetically:
“Your cabin has been entered, Señor.”
Ferraro looked at Jo Gar, went to the doorway of his cabin. His eyes moved over the opened bags, broken trunk locks. He drew in a deep breath and said slowly:
“But why? I am a poor man—”
Jo Gar chuckled a little. He said: “Those were my words, Señor. I, too, have been treated like this.”
The one in white stared at Jo. Then he smiled a little with his thin lips. His face was bloodless; he had thin, yellowish hair.
His lips parted; he was about to speak, but he changed his mind. He went into the cabin and poked around among the clothes of a large bag. The officers were speaking with Jo when Ferraro uttered an exclamation.
“Ah — a woman!” he said.
Turning, he held out a white hand. In his palm lay the pin. It was perhaps two inches long. It had a setting so cheap that it could be immediately seen. There were a half dozen stones in the pin — but one was missing. They were glass — the glitter was false; they had not the appearance of even a clever imitation of diamonds.
The Third Officer took the pin and inspected it carefully. Jo Gar noted the cheapness of the metal — the flat backing. The pin clasp was bent — the whole thing a cheap job.
Ferraro stood close to the Third Officer. He said slowly, in his clipped-word manner:
“The sort of thing you buy on the Escolta for a few pesos. Cheap stuff — it fell while she was ransacking the place.”
The Third Officer nodded. “You have not suffered a loss?” he asked.
Señor Ferraro shrugged. “I have nothing of importance — to lose,” he stated.
He took the bar pin from the officer’s fingers. He juggled it carelessly about in the palm of his right hand, without looking at it.
The Chief Steward addressed Jo Gar.
“And you, Señor Gar? You have not lost anything of importance?”
Jo Gar smiled at Ferraro. “I am much in the position of Señor Ferraro,” he said quietly.
The Third Officer spoke in a peculiar tone.
“Neither of you gentlemen possess anything of great value — and yet each of you has been robbed.”
Ferraro smiled a little, his blue eyes on the half-closed ones of the Island detective.
“It is very strange,” he said softly.
Jo Gar spoke tonelessly. “It seems very strange,” he agreed. “I shall return to my cabin and try to get things in order.”
The Chief Steward said grimly: “We will make an investigation, of course. Perhaps the pin—”
Ferraro handed it to the Chief Steward. He looked at Jo.
“Señor Gar is quite skilled in these matters,” he said slowly. “He is an interested person, in this case.”