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.
“My wife found the Moon Man in our room. He’d just finished robbing our safe. It was almost an hour ago.”
“An hour ago? Why didn’t you call me sooner?” McEwen snapped. “By this time he’s crawled into a hole somewhere.”
“I found that our phone wires were cut. I stopped to see how much had been stolen. Then I had to find a phone. It took some time to get my neighbors to get up and let me in. I called you as soon as I could.”
“Let me see the bedroom,” McEwen ordered.
He trod up the stairs with Steve Thatcher at his heels. Thatcher could well understand the veteran detective’s anger. The Moon Man had done this sort of thing repeatedly. He had committed robberies without number in his characteristic daring, grotesque way.
The papers had been filled with his exploits. The police department had been absolutely unable to find a single clue pointing to his identity. He appeared like magic, robbed, and vanished.
The papers and the police commissioners were howling for an arrest. The public was demanding protection against the mysterious thief. And the police were helpless. Steve Thatcher could well understand why Gill McEwen was in no amiable mood.
McEwen paced about the bedroom. He examined the safe. He looked out the balcony. He ran downstairs and inspected the ground below. He came back red-faced and puffing.
“He used a car. Driveway right below. Stopped the car under the balcony, climbed on the top of it, then swung himself up. Beat it the same way. Not a tire-mark or a footprint! Not one damn’ thing to tell who—”
“Look at this!” said Martin Richmond quickly.
He thrust the black silk glove toward McEwen. McEwen took it slowly, narrowed his eyes at it, and passed it to Steve Thatcher.
“I pulled it off his hand as he was rushing out the door,” Richmond explained. “He—”
“It’s a right glove,” McEwen interrupted. “The chances are he’s right-handed. Then he had to use his bare hand to open the door and make a getaway. The means he’s probably left a fingerprint on the knob!”
He examined the knob. He could see nothing. Raising, he turned sharply on Steve Thatcher.
“Beat it to a phone and get Kenton up. Tell him we’ve got to dust this knob right away — can’t wait. Get him up here quick!”
Hours later Gil McEwen hunched over his desk in Headquarters peering at a photograph. It was a photograph of a door knob. On the knob was a clearly defined impression of a thumb. It was not the thumb-print of Martin Richmond, nor of Mrs. Richmond, nor of any one else in the burglarized house. McEwen had made sure of that.
It was the thumb-print of the Moon Man!
McEwen settled back in his chair exhaustedly, and peered into the face of Kenton, the fingerprint expert.
“You’re absolutely sure that this print doesn’t match any in the files?”
“Absolutely sure,” Kenton answered. “The thumb that made that print has never been recorded by any police department in the United States.”
“Hell!” grunted McEwen. “Then it can’t tell us who the Moon Man is — yet. But when I find a guy whose thumb-print matches up with this one, I’ll collar him hard!”
Kenton went out. Steve Thatcher settled into a chair.
“We know, anyway, that the Moon Man is somebody who has no criminal record.”
“Yeah, but he’ll soon have! The time’s coming when that guy’s going to make a slip. When I grab him, he’s going up the river on so many counts of robbery that he’ll never live to come out of prison. And I’ll grab him, all right — I’ll do it!”
They looked toward an older man seated beside the desk. He was portly, with a kindly face and curly white hair. He was Chief Peter Thatcher. His were the keen eyes of a born law officer. His was the straight, stern mouth of a strict disciplinarian. He was a good chief, and at present he was a very worried one.
“We’ve got to get the Moon Man, Gil,” he declared. “We’ve got to stop at nothing to get him.”
“Listen!” McEwen said sharply. “I’ve been on the force twenty years. I’ve got a reputation. No crook has ever succeeded in getting away from me once I set out on his trail. I went to Brazil to get Doak, didn’t I — and I got him. I went to India to get Stephano, and I got him. I’m not going to let any smart aleck Moon Man make a fool out of me. I’ve sworn to get him, and I will!”
Chief Thatcher nodded slowly. “The Police Board is clamoring for that bird’s hide. So are all the papers. We’ve got to grab the Moon Man somehow, Gil — and quick.”
“Chief, you’ve got my promise. I’m not going to stop trying till I’ve grabbed him. Nothing’s going to keep me from it. And when I make a promise, I live up to my word.”
“I know you do,” the chief said soberly. “I’m depending on you, Gil. It’s your case. It’s entirely in your hands.”
Steve Thatcher looked solemn.
“I haven’t been a detective long enough to be of much help,” he said quietly. “I wish to gosh I could do more. But you know you can count on me, Gil, for—”
The door opened. A girl came in. She was twenty-two, pretty, animated. Her face resembled Gil McEwen’s strongly; she was his daughter. She greeted her father cheerfully, nodded to Chief Thatcher, and went quickly to Steve. She kissed him.
On Sue McEwen’s third left finger glittered a solitaire. Steve had put it there. The wedding was not far off.
“Baffled!” she exclaimed, surveying the disgruntled expressions of the three. “Aren’t the papers awful? You’d think the Moon Man was the greatest criminal of the age, the way—”
“He is, as far as I’m concerned!” her father snapped. “Sue, we’re trying to get at the bottom of this thing. We’ll see you later.”
“Why chase me out?” Sue asked with a smile. “Maybe I can help. Perhaps the thing you need is a little womanly intuition.”
“Huh!” said her father. “You’re too eager to mix yourself up in police matters, Sue. I don’t think you can be of any help.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Sue insisted. “I would say, for instance, that the Moon Man must be someone far above the level of an ordinary crook. He has more intelligence. He plans his moves cleverly. So far, he has always succeeded in getting what he wants, and making a clean getaway. Going through the Rogue’s Gallery would be only a waste of time. The man you want is well-bred, with a fine mind, good manners, and a broad social background.”
“Trying to make a hero of him — a thief?” her father asked skeptically.
“Not at all. After all, he is a thief, and stealing, besides being illegal, is revolting to anyone of sound character. The man deserves all the punishment you want to give him, Dad. I’m only suggesting the kind of a man he is — one whose character has been despoiled by the dishonorable business of robbery. There — have I helped?”
“Not much. Now—”
“How much did he steal this time?”
“Six hundred and fifty dollars.”
“Only six hundred and fifty?” Sue McEwen repeated in surprise. “Why, that pushes him even lower in the scale of thieves. He’s nothing but a petty pilferer!”
The parsonage of the Congregational Church of Great City was located not far from the business district. The Reverend Edward Parker lived there alone. At nine o’clock on the night following the Moon Man’s latest exploit he heard a knock at his door. He opened it.
A short, squatty man stood on the step. He had a twisted nose that evidently had once been broken in a fist-fight. He had a cauliflower ear. He had scarcely any neck. He nodded, and handed through the door a sealed envelope.