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 first thing I saw was old Judge Wharton who lives in Berlin, sitting up on the bench and looking important and frowning all over. Then I saw Horace Sparton, who is the district attorney, leaning over the table and glaring at somebody. I looked to see who he was glaring at.
It was Irene Burnet. She was standing in the witness box. I could just see the tip of her nice little nose beyond her curly, yellow hair, and a bit of her cheek. But even that bit, I could see, was as white as marble, and her lips, that were quivering, were as pale as anything. She was holding on to the rail as tight as she could.
“What time did you say he got in?” I heard Sparton shout.
Irene’s lips moved, but I couldn’t hear anything.
“Louder, please, Miss Burnet!”
And then I heard, soft and awful weak:
“One o’clock.”
Sparton smiled and then nodded to her. Irene left the stand, holding her head up, but looking like she was going to die.
“One more witness,” Sparton said, “and then our case is finished.”
And he turned and spoke to the clerk.
I was hunting for Al now, and I found him, sitting at the table. His face was almost as white as Irene’s, but he was looking proud and handsome. He watched his sister sit down, looking as if he was awfully sorry for her. And then he turned toward where the people sat who were watching the show. And I saw who he was looking at.
It was Miriam Sparton, Horace’s daughter. She looked terrible. You could see she believed Al was innocent and she was sore at her father for prosecuting him. And there was love in her eyes and she didn’t care who knew it.
But she was the only one who had love in her eyes. The crowd around her were looking at Al as hard as she was, but there wasn’t any love in their faces. All the hard-boiled guys in town were in front, and they were looking at Al just the way a cat looks into a mouse-trap if there’s a mouse there. I couldn’t have sat before them looking as indifferent as he did!
I saw this awfully quick, because soon I was thinking of other things. For after Sparton spoke to the clerk, the clerk turned and shouted:
“John Darrow!”
Well, I don’t know whether it was quick thinking on my part, or whether I just fell off the window in surprise. Anyhow, in just about one jiffy, I was hiking down the pike as fast as I could go. I wasn’t going to do any testifying against Al Burnet!
I beat it down the street and kept on going until the first thing I knew I was sitting on the fence next to the Burnets’ place. It’s so comfortable there and I can wonder easy. And I wondered along until suddenly I brought up with a bang.
“Well, you big, fat-headed fool!” I said to myself, among other things.
For I had just remembered the paper Jane had been writing on and hid in the ashes!
I’d been sure right along that the fellow who murdered Jane was the same one who murdered Old Man Carr, because, somehow or other, there was something fishy about the way Jane laid the blame on Al. I’d intended to tell the police all about it and what I suspicioned, but now I didn’t dare to; they’d hold me for a witness against Al.
Now I’d thought of the paper, I felt a little happier. It might tell something interesting; and even if it didn’t, it’d give me something to do. And if it did tell something, I could testify about it in the morning.
“I’ll go out to the cabin now,” I said. And as I said it, I couldn’t help shuddering a little. It was already getting dark and I thought of that cabin, alone there in the woods — and what was in it.
However, I jumped down and started off. Before I went, though, I crept around the corner.
There was nobody at Burnet’s house, and I ran up the path. They never lock the door, for they haven’t got anything to steal, so I opened it and went inside.
I went into the living-room. Everything was sort of upside down. It made me feel rather bad, for Irene is usually awful particular, but you could tell she didn’t care what happened now. The waste-paper basket was beside the big center table, and I picked a sheet of paper out of it that was almost clean. Then I wrote on it in big letters:
“Irene!
“Don’t worry! Forces are working for you and Al!”
I started to sign “Jack” to it, but then I thought I wouldn’t, and I put “A Friend.” It sounds more important and mysterious.
Then I ran outside and started for the woods. Before I could reach them, though, I had to pass the foot of the Avenue. And who should I run into of all people, but Horace Sparton. He grabbed me by the shoulder.
“Here, boy!” he said. “Where were you this afternoon?”
Well, I was trying to think of about a million things at once, so I said the first thing that popped into my head.
“In church, sir,” I answered meekly.
Then Old Sparton shook me.
“Don’t try to be funny with me, boy!” he grunted. “You are supposed to be a witness for the state. We had to call off the trial because of you... But I’ll see that you’re there tomorrow morning,” he muttered between his teeth, and he started to march me off toward the lock-up.
I went along with him a ways, because I wanted to do some wondering, and it was easy to do it and walk with his hand on my collar. I didn’t have to see where I was going. Finally, however, I craned my neck up and looked at him.
“Please, Mr. Sparton,” I said, “won’t you let me go?”
“No, I won’t,” he said; and he looked as if that was settled.
“Well, look, Mr. Sparton,” I went on, “if you let me go now, I’ll show up first thing in the morning! Honest I will! I swear on the Bible!”
“I don’t care if you swear on the Wall Street Journal,” he said. “You’re coming along with me. And don’t talk so much. You annoy me enough by just living.”
“Well, look, Mr. Sparton! If you let me go, I’ll find out the murderer for you!”
Well, then he swung around and stared down at me.
“What do you mean, the murderer?” he shouted. “We’ve got the murderer in the lock-up — unless they’ve already lynched him.”
And then he looked at me sort of thoughtful and started shaking me, offhand like.
I waited until he got through. Then I decided the best thing to do was take him into my confidence.
“Well, look, Mr. Sparton,” I began; “I know where I can get some dope on who murdered Old Man — Mr. Carr — a place in the woods where—”
And then I stopped. His eyes were glaring and his face kept coming lower and lower as if he was going to rub noses with me. Then he said, kind of hoarse:
“What kind of dope?”
“Well, look, Mr. Sparton, you just let me go and—”
But he had started shaking me again and the rest of my words came out funny; all twisted and different-sounding from the way they started out to be.
“You tell me all about it,” he said, “and I’ll tell the police and they can go out and investigate.”
That made me just turn cold and sweat at the same time. If Sparton had let go of me then, I would have just dropped right through the sidewalk and come up in China or Ireland or some place. Because if any police had gone out to my cabin and seen Jane lying there, murdered, and known that I was there alone with her the night before — well, the boys would be tying two ropes to the same branch. And it didn’t make me any more cheerful when Sparton squinted at me and said:
“It’s mighty funny what you do by yourself all alone in the woods! I think the police had better go out and take a look at the place anyhow!”
I thought a while to think of some good reply to get him off of the track; and finally I said: