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.
“Mr. Tracy?” he said again.
The man in the chair lowered his magazine. He looked at the Island detective with his blue eyes wide and questioning. Jo stared at him stupidly, shook his head.
“I’m sorry — again,” he stated. “It is another Mr. Tracy I’m looking for — and they pointed you out. Please pardon me.”
The one in the chair smiled almost pleasantly. He nodded his head, raised his magazine. Jo said very quietly:
“Have you the time, by any chance?”
Anger edged into the eyes of the man in the chair. Then the forced smile showed again. He shook his head. Jo bowed and moved away. As he went towards his cabin there was a half smile on his browned face. He was thinking that the thin-lipped one was a very silent person.
After dinner Jo Gar watched the thin-lipped man take the same chair he had occupied hours before, in the smoking room. The Island detective went to his cabin and changed from his dinner clothes to a dark, lightweight suiting. He wore a dark-colored shirt and was knotting a black bow tie when there was a knock at the cabin door. At his call a tall, slender man entered, closing the door carefully behind him.
“The captain said you had something for me to do,” he said cheerfully. “My name’s Porter — I’m an American and traveling to Frisco from Honolulu through courtesy of the line. I do ship news for a San Diego paper, and this is sort of a vacation.”
Jo Gar nodded. “It is very simple,” he said. “In the smoking room at present there is a man named Tracy. I will go up with you and point him out. I would like you to stay as close to him as is possible, for the next few hours, and to remember what he does. That is all. I shall be glad to pay—”
Porter smiled, shaking his head. “Not necessary, Señor Gar,” he interrupted. “I’m glad to help out. And I won’t talk.”
Jo Gar smiled back at the newspaper man. “You would be very foolish if you did,” he said. “There wouldn’t be anything to talk about.”
They went on deck and after walking several times around it, Jo pointed out the thin-lipped man. There was a vacant chair near him; Porter said he would go in and use it. Jo nodded.
“Do not come to me and do not speak to me if we meet later. I will speak first to you.”
The newspaper man went into the smoking room. Jo passed the woman in black and the child, on the way to his cabin. The boat was rolling quite a bit and the woman looked sick and tired. She wore no jewelry and she paid little attention to the child, who trailed along behind her.
When he reached the cabin his phone was making a buzz sound. Jo Gar closed the door behind him, locked it. He lifted the instrument, said slowly:
“This is Señor Gar.”
The voice was flat and low. It said: “Mrs. Jetmars is having the child attract attention to itself. She is letting passengers see that the child has an interest in beads.”
Jo Gar said nothing. The voice continued:
“I point this out to you, because perhaps you do not believe she has the diamonds for which you are searching.”
The Island detective said with his almond-shaped eyes almost closed:
“Perhaps it would be wise for me to enter her cabin, with the ship’s captain, while she is absent. A thorough search—”
“I do not think it would be wise,” the voice cut in. “But that is up to you, of course.”
There was the clicking sound. Jo hung up and went to the ship switchboard room again. When he had asked the question the operator smiled cheerfully.
“The call came from Cabin C. 80,” he stated. “I have been paying attention to the calls since you first asked me—”
He had been looking at a small book as he was speaking. His voice died abruptly; he widened his dark eyes on Jo Gar’s expressionless ones.
“Cabin C. 80 is vacant,” he said stiffly. “It is one of the poorest cabins on the ship.”
The Island detective nodded his head. “The doors of vacant cabins are not always locked, are they?” he asked.
The switchboard boy narrowed his eyes. “No, Señor Gar,” he replied. “They are left half-opened, for ventilation.”
Jo Gar moved towards the main saloon, frowning. Too many persons aboard the boat knew too much about him; even the Chinese boy at the switchboard was now addressing him by his name. He murmured to himself:
“It becomes — always more difficult.”
In the smoking room the thin-lipped one was seated in the chair he had occupied before, still reading his magazine. The newspaper man was sprawled in a chair that faced the port-side entrance to the room. Jo Gar beckoned to him, watched him rise slowly, stroll towards the entrance. The Island detective walked slowly aft, and Porter followed in the same fashion. Behind a ventilator Jo halted and lighted a cigarette. Porter reached his side.
“Well?” The Island detective’s voice was very low.
Peter grinned. “You didn’t expect him to move around much in that length of time, did you?” he replied. “He only turned two pages of the magazine.”
Jo said steadily: “He never left the chair?”
Porter grunted. “All he moved was his fingers,” he replied.
Jo sighed heavily. Then he showed white teeth in a slow smile.
“You have been very kind — and I shall not need your help for the present, Señor Porter.”
The newspaper man looked surprised. “He wasn’t the right guy, maybe?”
The Island detective made the tip of his cigarette glow in the semidarkness.
“After I left you I went to my cabin. I received a phone call that I half expected. But I expected, also, that the gentleman you were watching would make the call.”
Porter whistled softly. “He didn’t,” he said. “That’s sure enough. He stuck right in his chair.”
Jo Gar nodded. Porter said slowly: “I’m sorry it didn’t work out the other way — the way you expected, Señor Gar.”
The Island detective smiled with his lips tight against the paper of the cigarette. He stood with his short legs spread, swaying with the roll of the ship. He had picked the thin-lipped passenger as the one who had called him, using the flat, peculiar tone. He had listened to most of the others talk — those who had come aboard at Honolulu.
The others he had heard before; it had been a long trip from Manila. And the thin-lipped one had failed to answer quickly, naturally to the name of Tracy. He had not spoken to Jo — had not answered his question about the time. It was difficult to disguise a voice, and Jo felt that the thin-lipped one had not made the effort. Thus he had not spoken when addressed. And yet, there had been the phone call just received — and the thin-lipped one had not made it.
Jo frowned down at the cigarette glow. Then, suddenly, his small body straightened; he drew a deep breath. Porter was watching him closely.
“You got an idea — that time,” he muttered.
The Island detective narrowed his eyes on Porter’s.
He spoke very slowly and softly, and his eyes held little expression.
“That is so, Señor Porter — but it is so difficult to tell whether it is a good idea.”
The newspaper man said grimly: “If it isn’t — you’ll probably find out quick enough.”
Jo Gar smiled narrowly. “That is the trouble,” he said simply.
The door of Cabin C. 82 was tightly closed, locked. Jo Gar took from his pocket the small, adjustable key, worked with it swiftly and expertly. It was after nine o’clock, but the thin-lipped man was still seated in his chair in the smoking room. The cabin steward for this section of the Cheyo Maru was on the opposite side of the boat; Jo had come to Cabin C. 82 slowly and carefully.