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.
“You didn’t tell the police about them?”
He shook his head in slow negation.
“Isn’t that against the law? Concealing murder evidence? Who’s John Grossman and why was the old sea captain interested in the clipping about his parole?”
Shayne said slowly: “I remember Grossman. He was one of our big-time bootleggers with a select clientele willing to pay plenty for high-class imported stuff. Like Monnet cognac. I don’t know why the captain was interested in Grossman’s release.”
“What’s it all about, Mike?” Myrna leaned forward eagerly. “It began back in the tavern with something funny about those drinks, didn’t it? Why did you go back to the proprietor’s office and come out with a bottle, and then drive straight out to the scene of the murder?”
Shayne said softly: “You’ve done me two good turns tonight — when you knocked on the door of Renaldo’s office, and out at the captain’s house when I didn’t see how in hell I was going to explain my presence there without telling Gentry the truth.” He hesitated, then admitted: “You deserve a break. You’re in it now because you lied to Gentry and he’ll probably discover you lied.”
He began at the beginning and related what had happened in Renaldo’s office. “You know what happened after I drove out to the house.”
“And this is real pre-war cognac?” Myrna lifted her glass and her voice was incredulous.
“Monnet 1926,” Shayne said flatly. “The captain sold Renaldo a case of it for a hundred dollars, and was tortured to death immediately afterward. Renaldo admits he had his men follow the captain to try and persuade him to tell them where they could get more, but they claim he was dead before they got to him.”
“Do you believe them?”
Shayne shook his head. “It doesn’t do to believe anything when murder is involved. Their story sounded all right, but that wire and those torn fingernails could very well be their idea of gentle persuasion. And if the captain did fool them by dying before they got the information, they’d hate to admit it to Renaldo and might have made up that story about his being murdered by an unknown visitor.
“And there’s another angle. Maybe Blackie and Lennie are playing it smart and did get the information they wanted before the captain croaked. If they decided to use it themselves and cut Renaldo out...” He paused and shrugged expressively.
“What makes you and Renaldo so sure there’s more cognac where that first case came from?”
“I imagine it was just a hopeful hunch on Renaldo’s part. And I wasn’t sure until I found this clipping indicating a connection between the captain and an ex-bootlegger.”
“Would it be sufficient motive for murder? At a hundred dollars a case?”
Shayne made a derisive gesture. “A C-note for two dozen bottles of Monnet is peanuts today. That’s what got Renaldo so excited. It shows the captain knew nothing about the present liquor shortage and market prices. It could retail for twenty or twenty-five dollars a bottle, properly handled today.”
Myrna Hastings’ eyes widened. “That would be about five hundred dollars a case!”
Shayne nodded morosely. “If Grossman had a pile of it cached away when he was sent up in ’30,” he mused, “that would explain why it stayed off the market all this time. But Grossman would know what the stuff is worth today.” He shook his head angrily. “It still doesn’t add up. And if the captain knew about the cache and had access to it all the time, why wait until a week after Grossman’s parole to put it on the market? Did you notice the condition of the captain’s body?” he asked abruptly.
Myrna shuddered. “I’ll never forget it.”
“He looked,” said Shayne harshly, “like an advanced case of malnutrition.”
“Who was the white-haired man who brought the police?”
“Guildford. He’s a lawyer here. Very respectable.”
Myrna said hesitantly: “His story about waiting at the house half an hour for Captain Samuels to keep the appointment — do you think he could be the man the gangsters saw drive away from the house just before they went in and found the captain dead.”
“Could be. If there was any such man. The timing is screwy and hard to figure out. Guildford claims his appointment was for nine and he waited half an hour. It was well past ten when the mugs got back to Renaldo’s office. That leaves it open either way. Guildford could have waited until nine thirty and then driven away just before the captain returned with Blackie and Lennie trailing him. Or Guildford may have deliberately pushed the time up a little. Until we know why Guildford went there...” Shayne shrugged.
He poured himself another drink and demanded: “Where’s that log-book you mentioned, and the clipping about the shipwreck?”
She reached for her handbag and unsnapped the heavy, gold clasp. She drew out an aged, brass-hinged, leather-bound book with SHIP’S LOG stamped on the front in gilt letters.
Shayne opened it and looked at the fly-leaf, inscribed, Property of Captain Thomas Anthony Samuels. April 2, 1902.
“The clipping is in the back,” Myrna told him. “Lucky I saw it and made up a story that Chief Gentry would swallow.”
Shayne said: “Don’t kid yourself that he swallowed it. He knows damned well it wasn’t coincidence that put me at the scene of the murder.” He turned the log-book upside down and shook out a yellowed and brittle newspaper clipping from the Miami Daily News, dated June 17, 1930. There was a picture of a big man in a nautical uniform with the caption, SAVED AT SEA.
Shayne read the news item swiftly. It gave a dramatic account of the sea rescue of Captain Samuels, owner, master, and sole survivor of the auxiliary launch Mermaid, lost in a tropical hurricane off the Florida coast three days before the captain was rescued by a fishing craft. He had heroically stayed afloat in a life-preserver for three days and nights.
“Where,” asked Shayne, “was the book when you found it?”
“In a small recess in the rock wall at the head of his bed. The bedding was torn up as though the room had been hastily searched, and the bed was pulled away from the wall. That’s how I saw it. Normally, the wooden headboard of the bed must have stood against the wall, hiding the recess.”
Shayne began thoughtfully flipping the pages of the log-book. “This seems to be a complete account of Captain Samuels’ voyages from—”
The ringing of his telephone interrupted him.
The voice of the clerk on the night-desk came over the wire: “The law’s on its way up to your apartment, Mr. Shayne. You told me once I was to call you—”
Shayne said, “Thanks, Dick,” and hung up. He whirled on Myrna and directed her tersely: “You’d better get out. Through the kitchen door and down the fire escape. Take your two glasses to the kitchen and close the door behind you. Key on a nail by the outside door.”
Myrna jumped up. “What—”
“I don’t know.” Shayne heard the elevator stop down the hall on that floor. “Better if Gentry doesn’t find you here. He’s already suspicious. Go home and go to bed and be careful. Call me tomorrow.”
Chapter Three
blackjack Persuasion
Shayne breathed a sigh of relief when she went without demur. Most women would have argued and asked questions. He opened a drawer and thrust log-book, clipping and ticket stub in it. A loud knock sounded on the outer door of his apartment and Will Gentry’s voice called: “Shayne.”
He darted a quick glance behind him and noted Myrna had closed the door as she went into the kitchen. He sauntered to the outer door and opened it, rubbed his chin with a show of surprise when he saw Chief Gentry and the tall figure of Mr. Guildford waiting in the hallway. He said, “It’s a hell of a time to come visiting,” and stepped aside to let them enter.