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 hesitated a minute. Then he dropped into a chair by the table.
I fooled around, preparing supper and trying to get my nerve back. It seemed to have all dribbled out through my pores like sweat. It wasn’t that I was a-scared of woodsmen. They’re a pretty good sort, although they’re hard-boiled eggs. But the dead body, lying just about three feet in back of him, and the general commotion of the last two days sort of made me wobbly. Besides, there was something about that man’s face that wasn’t what you’d call just friendly.
But I got hold of myself at last and lugged the potatoes over to the table — and my heart just went plunk in my boots again.
The man had thrown off his coat and moved up to the table and was taking off his gloves; and on the finger you point with was a long, funny-shaped bloodstone!
I just sat and stared, and the pan with the potatoes dropped lower and lower until it touched my pants. Then I hopped up with a yell and the potatoes went flying. The man jumped up and leaned over the table.
“What do you mean, throwing those potatoes around like that!” he yelled.
I was down on my knees, trying to pick them up.
“It’s a quick way to cool them off,” I said, not to be funny, but because I couldn’t think of anything better.
“I’ll cool you off,” he muttered.
But he sat down again and started pulling the peelings off with his sharp, gleaming knife.
Well, we ate there, awfully quiet, except for the funny noises we were making with our mouths. I say “we.” I wasn’t doing much eating. Every time I lifted my knife to my mouth I saw that black beard with the candle light on it; and behind that, in the shadow, the big screen.
Finally he’d eaten all he wanted, which I’d done before I started. Then he got up and stretched.
“What bed does your friend sleep in?” he asked.
“That one behind the screen,” I told him.
I didn’t know his game, but I knew he wanted to pretend he didn’t know what was behind the screen. And I wasn’t hankering after any showdown.
“Well,” he said, “I’ll take this middle bed and you can take the other end one.”
Then, just as if we’d settled everything long ago, he pulled the table toward him and sat down on the bed.
“Better hurry up,” he said. “I’m going to blow the candle out.”
Well, I couldn’t see anything else to do, so I went over to the other bed and sat on it. He took off his belt and laid it on the table, right within arm’s reach. It was right under the candle and the light glinted on a bit of the blade that showed. It made my back feel itchy. He turned and looked at me a minute. He had tiny, gleaming eyes.
“Good-night,” he said.
Then he blew out the candle and lay down, boots and all.
I lay in the dark, hearing him breathe. It was a sort of heavy breathing; you couldn’t tell whether he was asleep or awake. Then I started wondering what to do.
I mustn’t go to sleep! That was the first thing. I could just see that dagger sink down inside of me if I did. No, I mustn’t go to sleep. Mustn’t go to sleep... mustn’t go...
Whether I’d been asleep an hour, or just a second, I didn’t know. All I knew was that I was still alive when I woke up.
And I could hear that breathing, loud and regular, but you couldn’t tell if he was asleep or awake. I lay, looking at darkness, and thinking.
I had to get out of there. But I had to get that paper first of all. I could have choked myself for not getting it before. The only thing to do was to get it quietly and then run for it.
And then I remembered a noise I heard while I was cooking the potatoes and I suddenly knew what it was. When my back was turned he had locked the door!
“Well,” I said to myself, “the more you think, the harder it gets, so you better quit thinking and act!”
And with that I sat up in bed — and lay down again. That bed squeaked as if all the devils in hell were tied inside!
The man moved a little, but he kept breathing hard.
I lay a while longer, looking up and wondering why the noise my heart was making didn’t wake him. Then I got up, oh, so quiet, and put my feet on the floor.
I stood up. Then I took a tiny little step and the boards didn’t creak. And I took another one.
All the time I was staring as hard as I could in the direction of his bed. There was a little night-light that came through the window across the room to his bed, but at first I couldn’t see anything. When I could make out something, I stopped short and so did my heart.
The man was sitting up in bed and looking right at me!
Well, I thought quick and walked on. I walked to the stove, right under his nose, and opened the door and stuck a log inside. Then I shut it and went back to bed.
I waited for him to lie down again. I turned over on my side, so’s I could make out the outline of his body in the dark... And I could just see him sitting there, not moving an inch, and staring at me. I knew he was staring at me, although I couldn’t make out his eyes. And he couldn’t see me at all, because I was in complete darkness.
Then his hand went out toward the table. It felt around, slowly and carefully, just as it did when he was behind the screen. It felt around... and then I saw, in the faint light, his knife gleaming as it rose from its sheath.
He put one foot on the floor. I couldn’t see it, and I couldn’t hear it, but I could make out his great body moving. He stood up; I could see his body rise.
All the time he looked in my direction, while I lay trembling all over and trying to remember how “Now I lay me” goes.
And then he turned and disappeared in the gloom.
Well, I decided there was something wrong. The next thing on the program was for him to come over and kill me, and I almost felt like calling to him and telling him he made a mistake.
But I listened and looked and I heard nothing and saw nothing. And then, suddenly, I knew what he was doing.
He was fishing through the body of the girl he had killed to take away all evidence!
And while I thought that, and was listening for some little sound, I heard something inside of me, an angel or a devil, shout:
“Now’s your chance!”
Well, I would have flopped at the thought, if I hadn’t already been in bed. But I listened and waited, and as nothing happened, I got braver and braver. And finally I sat up again.
There wasn’t any sound in the whole cabin. It was just as if the man had been swallowed up, and I was left alone with the dead body.
I got up and tiptoed across the floor, stooping, and feeling for the coal scuttle. Finally I touched it softly. I took a look at the screen and then got down on my hands and knees.
I took the ashes and laid them on the floor. I took them one by one, so as not to make any noise, but I did it as quick as I could. It was awfully hard to keep them from slipping from my hand. The muscles just seemed to have stopped working.
I got lower and lower without finding the paper. Then I stopped.
Sometimes you can tell that somebody’s around you without seeing or hearing them. Just a sixth sense, I reckon. I sat quiet. Then, slowly, I turned my head.
He was creeping toward me.
I could see him coming, but I couldn’t hear a sound. He came closer and closer. When he got right above me, he stopped and looked down.
I looked up. I tried to say something, but I couldn’t think of a word. I don’t think my tongue would have worked if I did.
He just looked at me. Then he said:
“What are you doing up?”
“The wood’s nearly gone. I’m hunting for good coals.”
I don’t know how I said it, but I did.