The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps
- Автор: Anderson Lars, Barr Randolph
- Год: 2007
- Язык: английский
- Год: Vintage Books
- ISBN: 978-0-307-28048-0
- Жанр: Криминальные детективы
Электронная книга - «The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps». Краткое содержание книги:
Weighing in at over a thousand pages, containing over forty-seven stories and two novels, this book is big baby, bigger and more powerful than a freight train — a bullet couldn’t pass through it. Here are the best stories and every major writer who ever appeared in celebrated Pulps like Black Mask, Dime Detective, Detective Fiction Weekly, and more. These are the classic tales that created the genre and gave birth to hard-hitting detectives who smoke criminals like packs of cigarettes; sultry dames whose looks are as lethal as a dagger to the chest; and gin-soaked hideouts where conversations are just preludes to murder. This is crime fiction at its gritty best.
The Kid crawled around past the body of the man who had tried to kill him. Poison was dead; crouching low, the Kid went through the door that led to the small room back of the space where Old Andy lay. There was a narrow door on his right — he opened it, stared out into the rain. No one was in sight.
There were no steps. He dropped to the street, kept the lunch-wagon between himself and the men on the far side. He crouched low, and held the automatic in his left hand. At the end of the street there was a dock; the Kid worked his way northward of it, along the river bank. He found a narrow alley that led back from the river, traveled along it. There was no sound of voices.
He could guess what had happened. The men who had come up in the car were detectives. Either they had blundered into him, or Old Andy had been expecting them. Joey could see no way that he had tipped them off. There was no phone in the lunch-wagon; even if the proprietor had seen him before he got inside there would not have been time for him to have called.
Old Andy had tried to get him — to kill the story he had just told — and his second shot had crashed through the door of the lunch-wagon. Perhaps the bullet had hit one of the men outside. In any case, they had opened up — and Andy had dropped.
He lowered his head, moved rapidly westward across the avenue. When he had reached the far side he did not look back. He guessed that the detectives were getting inside the lunch-wagon, but doing it cautiously. He was halfway to Second Avenue when he heard the shrill of a police whistle. Almost immediately it was followed by the wail of the car siren.
4
Joey Deth kept close to the fronts of tenements, reached Second Avenue. He went northward, and heard the siren wail again as he climbed the Elevated Station.
When the train reached One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street the Kid got off, descended from the station. He walked westward, got a cab, gave the address of a flat less than four squares from the speakeasy in back of which Bess Grote had been gunned out.
McLean’s flat was a half square from the address he gave. The cab driver was sleepy; he came close to hitting a milk wagon at an intersection, and the Kid swore at him beneath his breath.
He gave the driver a half dollar, walked past McLean’s place once, then turned back and went inside. The waiter lived alone on the top floor — the Kid pressed the button four times, and the last time it was a short buzz. The lock made a ticking sound almost immediately, and the Kid went inside.
He climbed the stairs slowly — they were dimly lighted and there were many odors drifting through the hallways. A baby was crying fretfully as he started up the last flight. When he made the turn at the head of the stairs, to go along the hallway, he saw that McLean’s door was opened on a narrow crack.
Instinctively he hesitated; his left hand reached towards his left coat pocket. Then the door was opened a little more — he saw the waiter’s face. He moved up close, said softly:
“You — alone?”
McLean nodded his head. He opened the door most of the way, stepped to one side. The Kid walked inside the flat.
He went over to the uncomfortable divan and dropped down on it. He said grimly:
“The dicks — almost got me, Mac.”
McLean stood with his back to the door and narrowed his eyes on Kid Deth.
“Where — at Bennie Golin’s?”
Joey shook his head. “At Old Andy’s,” he replied in a low tone. “Maybe they were tipped — maybe they just drove in. I had a cab — stopped in to get Andy to wise me to what Rands had been spilling, before that dick grabbed me. Andy came through.”
McLean said: “Yes?” His voice was low and husky. His eyes kept shifting around. Kid Deth looked at him and remembered that he didn’t know the man well, that six months ago he hadn’t known him at all. He wondered if Bennie Golin wouldn’t be better for the job. Then he remembered that Bennie had a wife and a kid.
The Kid lighted a cigarette, tossed the pack towards the other man. McLean shook his head, tossed the pack back.
Joey Deth said: “I got to be sure, Mac. You sittin’ in with me, or just playing safe?”
McLean smiled. It was a hard smile. “Didn’t I go out — and bring Bess into the room, Kid? Ain’t I taking a chance in having you in here?”
Joey nodded. “Sure,” he agreed. “But that don’t answer the question. I’m in the way, Mac — and a lot of guys want to get me. But they’re being careful — and that means something.”
McLean grunted. “What?” he asked.
Kid Deth pulled on his cigarette. He shrugged. His eyes were on the waiter.
“What you sticking so close to that door for?” he asked, his voice very soft.
McLean looked surprised. He stepped away from the door, halted suddenly. He turned his body a little, so that he half faced the door. The Kid listened too. And while he listened he got his automatic out of his pocket.
He said: “Yeah — someone’s coming up, Mac.”
McLean’s body jerked. He faced the Kid — his breath made a sucking sound as his eyes spotted the weapon. Joey smiled.
“Who’s coming up, Mac?” he asked coldly.
The waiter stared at him. “What are you — getting at, Kid?” he muttered. “F m a little shaky — that’s all. With you — in here—”
Kid Deth nodded. “I know,” he said. “Who’s comin’ to see you, Mac? It’s a funny hour — for a call.”
The steps on the stairs were not heavy — the creaking sound ceased now. The Kid had made a guess, and he knew now that it was a good one. He could read the answer in McLean’s eyes.
“You, too,” he said softly. “Jeeze — but the quitting came fast when it got started. You’re all crowdin’ for the kill — crowding or squealing — or quitting.”
McLean said: “I don’t get you, Kid. I told you to get clear—”
Joey Deth smiled. “But you didn’t tell me few,” he cut in. “Now shut up — and when you hear the tap—”
The sound of footfalls was very faint. It died away abruptly. There was a short silence — then knuckles rapped against the wood of the flat door. They knocked four times.
Kid Deth looked at McLean’s white face and smiled. He slumped on the divan, held the automatic low between his knees. He got a handkerchief from his pocket and placed it over the gun. Then he nodded at McLean, made a sign with his right hand.
McLean whispered: “For God’s sake, Kid — you never packed a rod before—”
Joey Deth smiled with half-closed eyes. He motioned again for the waiter to open the door. The handkerchief moved a little. McLean opened the door and stepped to one side. A voice said:
“It’s Charlie, Mac—”
McLean’s face was twisted. He said in a husky voice:
“Yeah, Charlie — all right.”
Charlie Gay stepped inside the flat. For a second he didn’t see the slumped figure of the Kid. When he did see it he muttered an exclamation, dropped his right hand towards his left coat pocket.
Kid Deth said: “Don’t, Charlie!”
Gay stopped. He stood with his head shoved forward a little; his eyes on the handkerchief that was over the automatic. His breath came in short, hissing sounds. The Kid said:
“Close that door, Mac — snap the lock. Expecting anyone else?”
McLean closed the door, shook his head. He said in an uncertain tone:
“Watch what you do, Kid.”
Charlie Gay said nothing. He was medium in size with a pallid face and eyes that were set back of bushy brows. His fingers moved nervously as his hands strayed at his sides.