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.
Later, we sat out there and watched the stars, watched the lights of the traffic below, watched the lights of the downtown section grow. There were things about this business I was to regret. There was nothing about the night I would ever regret or forget.
I like to think she’ll never forget it either. Maybe just because for those hours I didn’t ask any questions. Or maybe because she’d felt, at least for the moment, some of the emotion many must have felt for her.
It was around midnight when the phone rang, and she went to answer it. It was for me.
It was Papa. “Levon, Selak is with you?”
“No. I haven’t seen him. He left the store before I did. I didn’t see him leave.”
“Grace called, Levon. She’s worried. He didn’t come home.”
“I’ve no idea where he could be,” I said.
A silence on the wire. Then: “Well, maybe it will be all right. Maybe he’s with a friend somewhere.” Another silence. “Berjouhi called, too.”
“O.K., thanks. You’d better notify the police about Selak if he doesn’t come home soon.”
“That I’ll do,” he said, and hung up.
Claire said: “What’s happened, Lee.”
“Selak is missing,” I told her.
“Selak?”
“Your silent admirer. That man who works for us. He left the store in a peeve this afternoon and he hasn’t come home yet.”
Her eyes were wide. “You don’t think—” She looked around as though half-expecting to see him standing behind her. “I mean, the way he stared at me and—”
“Last night,” I said, “he stood right down there across the street. When I left, he was sleeping in my car.”
“He’s — harmless, Lee?”
“He has been up to now. I suppose he still is.”
We went out onto the terrace, but it wasn’t comfortable out there any more. A wind had come to life from the north, and there was a chill to it.
In the living room Claire put a stack of records on the player and called to me: “Mix a drink, will you, Lee?”
I shook my head. “I have to go. I’m worried about Selak. I’ll see you in the morning, when I bring the rug over.”
“You’re worried about that... that man? It’s not your concern, Lee.”
“Selak’s always been my concern. It was my idea that my dad should hire him, and Grace, too.”
She shook her head. “All right. It’s been a grand evening. I suppose I shouldn’t complain.”
She came to the door with me and I kissed her. “Sleep tight,” I said, “and dream of tomorrow.”
She ruffled my hair. “Big day, tomorrow.”
Big day, tomorrow. And a bad day, too, though I didn’t know it at the time.
The downtown Western Union office was open all night, and it was from there I sent the wires. They were to some dealers I knew on the coast, and in them I inquired about Henri Ducasse.
The rain had started before I went into the telegraph office, and it was worse when I came out. The wind was cold; there was sleet mixed with the raindrops. Our false summer was over.
The wind howled down the Avenue, driving the rain before it. My little convertible was headed directly into it, and she shivered from time to time as the gusts hit.
It all shaped up. I’m no detective, but Ismet Bey had told me something that gave me a sequence. Tinker to Evers to Chance; was that the famous infield? Was that the triple trio, or was it double play?
When I turned into the driveway, the lights were on in the living room and on the porch. I could see Papa in the living room talking to someone. When I came up on the porch, I could see who it was. Sergeant Waldorf. He was working late; it was after one.
His eyes appraised me as I came into the living room.
“Anything about Selak?” I asked Papa.
He shook his head. “The sergeant thinks it has something to do with Henri Ducasse. And you didn’t tell him about the rug, Levon, about the Bokhara.”
Waldorf still hadn’t said anything. I said: “How about Dykstra? Have you talked to him?”
“Dykstra’s in the clear all the way,” the sergeant said. “I’ve no idea where that rumor started.”
Papa said: “I told him it was Mr. Egan’s rug, Levon. He’s been checking Mr. Egan.”
I looked at the sergeant. He was still appraising me. I said: “You came here to see me, Sergeant?”
“More or less. Egan was in to see you just before you closed this evening, wasn’t he?”
“That’s right.”
“What did he want?”
“That’s a short question,” I said, “but it would require a long answer. I’d have to give you some background first, Sergeant.”
Somewhere a door slammed, and I could hear the wind roll the garbage can over.
“I’ve stayed up this long,” Sergeant Waldorf said. “I may as well stay up a little longer and hear your story.”
I told him about Egan, Herro and Bey. I told him some of the things about Claire. Papa sat there while I talked and missed none of it. The sergeant didn’t interrupt me once.
“And his wife knows he’s selling them?”
“He said she did. He said I could ask her.”
“Does his wife know Miss Lynne has them?”
“I don’t know if she does or not.”
“Does she know they planned to leave town together?”
My heart stopped, I was sure. I couldn’t get my breath for a second. “You’re kidding, Sergeant.”
“No, but she might be.”
“Mr. Egan’s a — he’s old,” I said. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“The older the wackier,” he said. “I’m no spring chicken, myself, but I can’t think of anybody I wouldn’t leave, if she wanted me to.” His voice was weary. He rose. “Well, I’ll see this Mrs. Egan tomorrow.” He looked at me quietly a moment. “You want to come out to the porch a second?”
Papa frowned, but I said: “Sure.”
Out there, the sergeant smiled. I could hardly hear his voice, above the sound of the rain and the wind. “Anything you want to tell me privately? How bad you might be involved, I mean?”
I shook my head. “I gave it to you straight, Sergeant. You’re positive Dykstra’s in the clear?”
“Positive. Nobody I’d rather nail, but he’s clean.”
“All day,” I said, “I’ve been worrying about this. All day I’ve been hoping against hope that it was Dykstra. I don’t know the man, so that wasn’t fair.”
Sergeant Waldorf was looking out at the rain. He seemed to be miles away. He said: “She’s a beauty, kid. I’ve never seen anyone like her. Years ago, I felt as you did tonight, and this babe didn’t have half of what that Lynne girl’s got.” He turned to face me. “I’ll try to keep it as clean as I can. You ought to get an answer to those wires in the morning, don’t you think?”
I nodded.
He put a hand on my shoulder. “O.K. I’ll see you in the morning. It’s been a long day.” Then he was trotting through the rain to the department car.
In the living room, Papa still sat in the chair he’d occupied through my recital. He looked at me sadly. He started to say something, then changed his mind. He rose.
“Time for bed, Levon,” he said. “Another day, tomorrow.”
Another day, big day, bad day... Outside, the wind grew stronger, and I wondered if Selak was out there somewhere in that wet, miserable night.
From upstairs, Mom called: “Is that you, Levon? Nishan, is Levon home?”
“Levon’s home,” Papa said. His voice was as sad as his face. I couldn’t sleep that night. Didn’t sleep. Laid down on the bed and thought about Claire. Sat up and watched the storm wear itself out, and thought about Claire.
I thought about Selak, too, but mostly about Claire.