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.
He raised his head slightly. The shacks were low — less than fifteen feet high. Clouds were over a crescent moon; the night had become dark. But he could see nothing on the roof of the shack opposite.
And then, very softly and quietly, the voice sounded. It was low and throaty — and very calm.
“Señor Gar — you are comfortable?”
Jo Gar did not move his body. There was a quality to the voice, an accent of grim amusement. He had a definite feeling that he was trapped — that the death of the man across the alley had been a part of the trap. He did not speak. The voice sounded again — from above, and to the left. The roof of a shack on his left and on his side of the alley held the speaker, he guessed.
“You will kindly disarm yourself — step into the alley, Señor Gar.”
The Island detective raised his automatic higher, withdrew it from the right pocket. He moved only his right arm. The voice said, after a short pause:
“Do not be a fool, Señor Gar!”
The accent was clear. He had heard the same accent of precise English in Manila. It was Spanish — this man’s native language. And the speaker was calm — very calm. He was sure of himself.
Seconds passed. Then the voice said, a little more loudly:
“Sí, but very low, and — now!”
Jo Gar heard the steely hiss of the knife. He drew his legs together. The left trouser material, just above his ankle, was jerked sharply. Wood made dull sound as the knife blade cut into the door at his left side. His body was rigid.
The voice somewhere above said with sharp amusement:
“Señor Gar — you are comfortable?”
The Island detective sighed. The cat played with the mouse, but more wisely than most cats. Jo Gar reached down, jerked the knife loose from wood and cloth. He tossed it into the alley. Straightening, he said as steadily as he could:
“What is it you wish, Señor Mendez?”
Again there was the chuckle. And then a short silence. Jo Gar was thinking: It is Mendez. Chang said, before dying in the shop: “It was Mendez. We met in the Street of the Lanterns. He was coming—” That was what Chang had said. Mendez coming to meet someone, in Honolulu. Perhaps the one in white. The one Jo had been forced to shoot to death, on the Cheyo Maru, and from whom he had got the one Von Loffler diamond. But Mendez knew that Jo had killed, and he had trapped him now, and was toying with him, grimly amused.
The Island detective stood motionless, looking at the body across the alley. The voice from above came quietly:
“Kindly disarm yourself — step into the alley, Señor Gar.”
Jo sighed again. He bent forward and tossed the automatic into the alley. There was a flashlight beam that picked it up, then faded. Jo stepped from the doorway, moved out a few feet. The voice said:
“Face towards the docks.”
The tone was hard now, sharp. Jo did as directed. He stood for seconds, his eyes slitted, his body slightly relaxed. He expected death at any moment, from behind. But it did not come. There were sounds on the roofs of the shacks, sounds behind him. But he did not turn. And then the same, hard voice sounded, directly behind him.
“Go to the alley end, walk slowly. There will be a closed car. Enter it. I shall be near you, and I advise you to be wise.”
The Island detective moved slowly forward. The alley narrowed, then widened. At the dock end there was a small, dirty machine. It was closed, and there was the fat, brown-yellow face of a Chinese faintly lighted by the instrument board light. The man did not turn his head, but a rear door of the machine opened as Jo neared it. The voice, now close behind, said:
“Step inside.”
Jo got into the car. A figure made room for him. The seat had space for three, back of the driver. Jo dropped heavily beside the one already seated. The one who had spoken got in and sat on his right. The interior of the car was very dark, but Jo saw that the man’s features were sharp, his face long.
He said to the driver, in an easy tone:
“Yes — and do not go too fast.”
It was as though everything had been carefully planned. Jo tightened his lips. He was sure that the one on his right was the man known as Mendez, and he was sure that Mendez was hard and extremely clever. He had been followed from the police station to the building in which Barrington had an office, and Mendez had waited. Perhaps something had gone wrong, and there had been a death in the alley, or perhaps nothing had gone wrong, and it had been part of the scheme of things.
The man on Jo’s right said softly: “It will not take very long, I hope, Señor Gar.”
Jo smiled a little. He nodded his head. “You are Señor Mendez?” he asked.
The man was tall and thin. He had long, slender-shaped hands and wore a dark coat. That much Jo could see as the car moved slowly along the street by the docks.
He said: “Sí — Señor Mendez. There have been words about me?”
The Island detective turned his head towards Mendez. He spoke very steadily.
“Chang spoke of you — and Tan Ying.”
The grim quality returned to Mendez’ voice again. He spoke very slowly.
“And both Ying and Chang are dead. That is too bad.”
Jo Gar smiled, showing his white, even teeth. Then his lips pressed together.
“So many people die — for diamonds,” he observed.
Mendez nodded. His face was turned towards the driver’s back. The machine was running slowly out of town; it was not going towards the beach, but through the poorer section of Honolulu.
“It is so,” Mendez agreed. “But you are a curious one, Señor Gar. Even so — why should you die — for diamonds?”
The Island detective said nothing. He tried to keep his body relaxed, but there was a threat in Mendez’ words. It was a question that Mendez asked, and yet only half a question.
The machine was out of the town now; it was running through the tropical growth, and there was suddenly a moon showing through the clouds.
Mendez made a gesture with his long right hand. He said almost cheerfully:
“It is pretty, Señor — these warm countries. They make one want to live.”
The Island detective kept his eyes to the front. For almost five minutes the car moved at good speed over a road that was fairly smooth. Then it slowed, turned abruptly to the left. The road became narrower. It was of dirt now, and the country was rolling. The moon seemed strangely bright for its size — and the car passed through what appeared to be a pineapple plantation. The one on Jo’s left let his body rock with the car motion, but he did not look at the Island detective.
Mendez made another gesture with his right hand.
“It is not unlike the Philippines,” he said slowly. “You would like to return some day, Señor Gar?”
Again there was the mocking quality in his voice. Jo turned his head, and the two regarded one another. Mendez’ skin was a light brown color; his eyes were dark. They were cruel eyes, and intelligent. The man’s features were good, but his lips were very thin and the curve of his mouth was barely perceptible. He had a sensitive face — but it was also a brutal face.
Jo Gar said steadily: “Yes — I should like to return — some day.”
Mendez nodded. “It will not be difficult for you,” he returned. “You are not — a fool.”
The car jerked suddenly off the road. It ran a short distance, scraping foliage, so narrow was the path it traveled. It stopped. The one on Jo’s left leaned forward and looked at Mendez, but he did not speak. Mendez said:
“That is all — but stay.”
The door on the left was opened. Mendez said pleasantly, as the one to whom he had spoken descended: