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 Third Officer sucked in his breath sharply. The man in dinner clothes, who had spoken before, swore.
He said grimly: “It was — attempted murder, all right!”
Jo Gar nodded. “And the one who attempted it has got away,” he said. “Below that companionway — are there several avenues of escape?”
The Third Officer nodded slowly. “A corridor to the concert room. Another companionway, to the deck below. A narrow passageway to the radio room—”
Jo Gar said slowly: “That is enough.”
The Third Officer made a clicking sound. “We shall talk with the captain — you and I, Señor Gar,” he said.
Jo nodded. There was the sound of foot-falls — of a man running. A Jap came into the group, clad in the uniform of a subordinate officer. He addressed the Third Officer.
“Deck Steward Kamogi, sir!” he breathed. “He lies up forward, near your cabin. He’s... dead.”
The Third Officer spoke in Japanese. “Dead?” he asked. “Shot?”
The subordinate shook his head. “It was — a knife, sir,” he replied. “In the back!”
The Third Officer narrowed his eyes on the blue-gray ones of Jo Gar. He said very softly:
“The deck steward, Señor Gar.”
The Island detective looked towards the face mask in the chair. He said in a voice that held a suggestion of grimness:
“He would have been the first person I would have questioned.”
Captain Haroysan sat across the table from Jo Gar, his moon face crinkled, his black eyes narrowed on those of the Island detective.
“You knew your life was in danger — you changed your attire, arranged a trap—”
Jo Gar spread his brown, chubby hands.
“I sensed my life was in danger,” he corrected. “It was the deck steward—”
The captain of the Cheyo Maru frowned. He spoke slowly, shaking his head.
“It is very bad. The vessel has never had anything like this—”
Jo Gar smiled a little. “I have been very frank with you, Captain,” he said. “The one responsible for the theft of the Von Loffler diamonds is aboard your ship, I am sure of that. He knows that I am aboard. That does not please him. I think that he bribed the deck steward to tell him when I was sleeping. Then he wished to be safe. So the deck steward was knifed.”
The captain frowned. “And you bribed the steward of your cabin, to be told when Señor Ferraro was approaching you, on deck.”
Jo Gar nodded. “I wished to evade him,” he said.
The captain shrugged. “I do not believe that,” he replied.
The Island detective smiled. “Señor Ferraro’s cabin was broken into — so was mine,” he said. “That is puzzling.”
Captain Haroysan said sharply: “You are changing the point of the discussion.”
Jo Gar rose from his chair. “The Von Loffler diamonds are valued in excess of two hundred thousand dollars, Captain,” he said. “Already, more than a half dozen men have been murdered, because of them. One of those men was Juan Arragon, my friend. Another was Señor Delgado’s son. Both Von Loffler and Delgado have commissioned me to hunt down the thief and murderer. I had evidence that he was aboard your ship.”
The Japanese stood up also. He said grimly:
“If it satisfies me — I will take charge of him.”
Jo Gar sighed. “It is weak evidence,” he said quietly. “A Malay involved in an attempt to kill the American head of the Manila police gave it to me. He was dying at the time. It is not strong enough to make an arrest.”
The captain said: “And you want the diamonds, Señor Gar?”
Jo Gar nodded. “Of course,” he agreed.
The captain shrugged. “A murderer is aboard the Cheyo Maru,” he said. “In less than two weeks we shall be in Honolulu. But what is to happen — before we land—”
The Island detective said tonelessly:
“We will have the murderer of the deck steward. Perhaps we will have the Von Loffler diamonds.”
Captain Haroysan made a guttural sound.
“I have radioed Manila — about you, Señor. And about Señor Ferraro.”
Jo Gar said with a faint smile:
“And the information you received — it was good?”
Haroysan said with grim amusement: “It was even flattering. Señor Ferraro has seen honorable service with the Constabulary. You are much respected. And yet—”
The Cheyo Maru captain broke off abruptly. He shrugged. Jo Gar smiled sympathetically.
“And yet you are far from satisfied,” he finished.
The captain said nothing. His eyes were narrow lines of blackness. Jo Gar bowed slightly.
“I can understand your feelings, Captain,” he said softly. “I feel — much the same way.”
On the fourth day out the sky clouded, and there was wind. It was wind that blew gently at first, but increased steadily in velocity. There were rumors of a typhoon; the Cheyo Maru rolled badly. Racks were on the tables, and things creaked and rattled in the cabins. At four in the afternoon, with the sea growing steadily rougher, Jo Gar moved cautiously towards the cabin of Señor Ferraro and rapped on the door.
Ferraro called out: “Who is it?” And Jo answered him. The door was opened almost immediately.
The Island detective smiled and said: “Does the roughness bother you, Señor?”
Ferraro’s white face was a little twisted, but he managed a smile.
“I am not exactly a sailor,” he said.
Jo stepped inside the cabin. Ferraro closed the door behind him. Jo said:
“For the last two days I have been moving around in second-and third-class quarters. I think you were doing something along the same lines, yes?”
Ferraro nodded. “I had no luck,” he said.
Jo Gar smiled a little. “This morning I had a little,” he said. “I came across this.”
He placed a brown hand in a pocket of his palm beach suit and withdrew it again. In his palm was a pin. It was a bar pin, of cheap manufacture. It had four imitation diamonds in it — one hole was vacant. The glass was large in size, but not matched.
Ferraro stared at the pin. He took it in his fingers and inspected it. Then he looked towards the small table in his cabin. On an end of it was the pin he had found after his cabin had been ransacked. He went over and placed it beside the other.
“The same sort of junk!” he breathed. “It might mean something.”
Jo Gar nodded. “It might, but I’m afraid not,” he said. “There are always a lot of women traveling second and third class on these ships. Many of them like cheap jewelry. A lot of these women are the dregs of the Orient. Captain Haroysan has told me that often first-class cabins are robbed. Or rather, attempts are made to rob.”
Ferraro said: “But in this case — it was your cabin — and mine. And an attempt was made on your life.”
Jo Gar nodded. “Many attempts have been made — to murder me,” he said. “I found this pin in an empty third-class cabin. It lay beneath a berth.”
Ferraro said very steadily: “We were both in police matters. What if the person thought he could learn something, or she could learn something, by getting into our luggage?”
The Island detective nodded. “A possibility,” he said. “I’ve thought of that, Señor Ferraro.”
Ferraro looked down at the two cheap objects in his palm. He poked them over on their backs. Jo Gar said slowly:
“I don’t think that cheap stuff means anything. However, it is good to be careful.”
He smiled at Ferraro and lifted one of the pins in his fingers. He said:
“We each have one — now.”
Ferraro’s mouth muscles twitched. He started to say something quickly, but caught himself. Turning, he made a movement as though to toss the pin towards the table. The ship was rolling heavily: he was forced to brace himself. Jo Gar leaned against the door. Ferraro said, facing him, a smile on his face:
“Wait — this is the piece of junk you found, Señor Gar.”
There was a half-careless tone to his voice, yet he spoke hurriedly. Jo Gar looked at the bar pin in his hand.
“Of course,” he agreed. “I am sorry.”
They exchanged pins, both smiling. Jo slipped his into a pocket. He said:
“I’m going to nap — it’s getting steadily rougher. Sleeping helps.”
Ferraro tossed the pin towards the table. It struck it, but rolled from the surface to the floor. The one in white made an instinctive motion towards it, checked himself. He yawned, faced Jo.
“I’ll have a try at it,” he said.
Jo smiled and went outside. It took him five minutes to get to the captain’s quarters. In another ten minutes the cabin boy had been sent to Ferraro’s cabin. The Third Officer and Jo Gar, five minutes later, watched the one with the pale face following the cabin boy towards the captain’s quarters. He did not see them. They went swiftly to his cabin, and the Third Officer used the key. Inside, Jo Gar looked on the floor. The bar pin was not there. It lay on the small table, on its back, the cheap stones face downward.
Jo Gar picked it up and handed it to the Third Officer. They went silently from the cabin, locking the door behind them. The Cheyo Maru was rolling heavily.
The Third Officer said: “Getting a little rough, Señor.”
The Island detective nodded. “I trust so,” he said softly.