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.
Nancy laughed, not nicely. “She is. Anybody’s home girl. Look at the ones she’s wrecked.”
He said: “Lay off! I’m trying to think. I can’t when you chatter.”
She was silent with no sign of resentment. He broke a piece of bread savagely. “Wayborn’s been snatched.”
Her eyes were narrow. “What is it? A publicity gag?”
“I wish to — it was. The dumb cluck is gone; someone wants fifty grand.”
Her eyes were still suspicious. “I don’t trust you, Bill; not since you pulled that burning-yacht stunt.”
He didn’t grin. “I’m out of that racket, sweetheart. I’ve got to find Wayborn. The picture’s half in the can and the big slob looks like a million. Sol is howling his head off.”
She said: “Why don’t you chuck it Bill — pull loose? You used to be a decent pal; now you’re nothing but a two-timing mug. Get loose. Shove off to New York. Write that book. You’ve been writing it in your mind for ten years.”
His mouth twisted with a shade of bitterness. “What would I use for money, sweet?”
She stared at him. “You’re getting three fifty—”
He spread his hands. “It goes — I’m living on week-after-next now. Sol lets me draw ahead.”
“Sweet of him. He knows that he can hold you as long as you’re broke. Listen, Bill. I’ve got a few dollars that aren’t working their heads off. I’ll stake you. Get the Chief tomorrow and get the hell out of this town.”
For a moment he was silent, then he patted the back of her hand. “It won’t work, babe. I gotta find Wayborn. I gotta get that damn’ picture into the can; after that, we’ll talk about it.”
She sighed, knowing that she had lost. “This Wayborn thing? It’s on the level?”
He said: “So help me.”
She sat there, playing with her fork, thinking. Finally she looked up at him. “Better see Red Girkin.”
He stared at her. “Who’s Girkin? What is this?”
She said, in a tired voice: “I’m helping, pal. Helping as I always do. Go on. See Girkin. He’s got an apartment on Van Ness off Melrose.” She gave him the number.
He said, roughly: “What do you know, babe?”
She shook her head. “Just a hunch. Go see him. Stall.” She gathered her bag and gloves and rose. “You can pay my check, that is, if you have enough.”
He said, absently: “My credit’s good, but, Nance, what’s the—”
“For a smart guy, you ask plenty of questions. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
She was gone, leaving him staring after her. Lennox said something under his breath, then went on with his dinner. Afterward he took a taxi.
The cab dropped him at the corner of Melrose and he walked to the apartment house. A row of brass-bound mail-boxes stared at him from the tiled lobby wall. One of them, number five, had the name W. C. Girkin. There was another name, but Lennox did not notice it. He pushed the bell viciously. The door at the bottom of the carpeted stairs buzzed as the catch was released from above. Lennox pulled it open and started up the steps. At their head a man in a light, close-fitting suit waited.
The man said: “What the hell?”
Lennox stared at him and said: “Hello, Charley.”
Charley took a thin hand out of his right coat pocket and wrapped the fingers around those of Lennox. “I’ll be a so-and-so. How are you, pally? How’d you know that I was in this burg?”
Lennox started to say that he hadn’t known, then stopped. “I know things.” He grinned. “What’s the matter? Cops in the big town get rough?”
The other shrugged. “Pal of mine had a doll out here. I drifted out with him. Jeeze. What a country!”
Lennox said: “Some of us like it. You ought to have blown in a year sooner. Could have used you in a gangster picture.”
Charley said, “Me?” and made his eyes very wide. “You’ve got me wrong, pally. I’m just a businessman with ideas. But come on. Red will think they’ve put the finger on me.” He turned and led the way towards the door of number five. The door was closed and he knocked, three knocks all together, another after a slight pause. The door came open and Charley said: “Okey, just a pal. Meet Red Girkin. This is Bill Lennox.”
The red-headed man said hello without evident pleasure. He was big, with heavy shoulders and a rather short neck. He sat down on a chair before the small built-in desk and went on with his game of solitaire. Once he swore to himself and turned over a pile of cards to reach an ace. Charley said: “What are you doing in Suckerville?”
Lennox laughed. “That’s one for the book. You’d make a swell gag man.”
The other nodded slowly. “There’s money in these hills, Pal. Like to cut you in.”
The red-headed man at the desk said: “Shut up.” He made it sound vicious.
Lennox looked at him with narrow eyes, then back at Charley. “Your friend doesn’t like me.”
The thin man grinned. “Don’t mind him; it’s just the bad booze. Lemme have your number. I might put you on to something swell.”
4
Bill Lennox said to Spurck, “I haven’t found the slob yet, but I know who’s got him.”
Spurck was excited. He came out of his chair and bounced around the corner of the big desk. “You know — you know, and you don’t go to the police yet?”
“Listen, Sol. Why don’t you try thinking once in a while before you open that mouth of yours? I know who’s got Wayborn, but I don’t know why and I don’t know where he is.”
“Who’s got him?”
“That’s one thing that it isn’t wise for you to know. These boys are tough, Sol. It don’t mean a thing to them that you’re the biggest shot in the industry. They’d as soon rub you out as look at you. In fact, they’d a little rather. You never won any beauty contests, you know.”
Spurck sat down at his desk again. “What do we do, then?”
“We pay fifty grand.”
“You’re crazy!”
“Sure, I got that way, working for you. We pay the fifty grand, finish the picture, and then I try to get it back. If I don’t, we spread the story all over the front page and charge the fifty grand to publicity. What the hell else can we do?”
Spurck swore. He raved. He almost cried, but Lennox paid no attention. “Take it and like it,” he said. “You’ve spent more than that on New York flops and kept nothing but the title. Have you heard from the gang?”
The little man pulled out his desk drawer and found an envelope which he handed to Lennox. “They want I should bring the money down to Redondo, in a suitcase. I should bring it myself, and I should not bring the cops; no one but me and my chauffeur.”
Lennox said: “Okey. Go to the bank and get the dough in small bills as they say. Don’t be a sap and mark them. Then take a ride to Redondo tonight.”
Spurck rolled his eyes. “It ain’t that I’m afraid, you understand; but I don’t like it, I’m telling you.”
Lennox grinned. “I’m your chauffeur, Sol. I wouldn’t miss this party for a lot.”
At seven o’clock Lennox swung the Lincoln town car out of the driveway of Spurck’s Beverly Hills home. Dressed in brown livery borrowed from the chauffeur, he was hardly recognizable as he cut across towards Inglewood and picked up Redondo Boulevard.
In the back seat Spurck, with a black bag clutched between his fat knees, was nervously watching the passing traffic. Lennox stepped the car up to sixty and watched the back road in the rear-view mirror. At Rosecrans Avenue a Chevrolet coupé swung in behind them and followed them through Manhattan and Hermosa. Lennox slowed down to twenty and the coupé slowed down also. As they reached Redondo city limits, the Chevrolet speeded up and ran them to the curb. Two men were in the coupé, hats drawn low over their eyes. Lennox saw that the one beside the driver carried a riot gun across his knees.