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.
“Words.” His voice was harsh. “Why not pass out some names.”
She said: “Girkin. I gave you that once.”
“Where’s he tie in? A cheap New York hood.”
“He used to hang around the New York club where Elva Meyer undressed,” she said, softly. “That wasn’t her name then, but she’s the same girl that you promoted into lights.”
“Is this straight?”
“Did I ever give you a wrong steer, Bill?”
Lennox was silent for a moment; then he shrugged. “That’s nothing to keep me awake nights. Girkin may be a big shot in New York, but he doesn’t rate out here.”
“Doesn’t he? I saw him on the boulevard yesterday with French and they didn’t act like strangers.”
Lennox swore softly. “French of the El Romano Club, huh? Nice people.”
The girl smiled with her mouth, but her eyes were serious. “Friend of yours, isn’t he?”
Lennox shrugged absently. “So long.” He rose. “I’ll be seeing you in New York.”
She rose also. “You’re not losing me, Bill Lennox. I’m in this if you are.” She followed him into the street. He grasped her thin wrist in strong fingers.
“Don’t play the sap, sweetheart. It would be just that much tougher, having you along.”
A cab cruised by. He let go of her wrist and jumped to the running-board. The next moment he was inside. “Go ahead fast,” he told the startled driver. The cab lurched forward. Lennox peered through the back window. He saw Grogan cross the pavement and wave wildly to an approaching taxi. Lennox found a five in his pocket and passed it to the driver. “There’s a guy following us. Lose him.”
The driver grinned and turned sharply into Vine, right on Sunset, left at Highland, crashing a signal. Finally, at the corner of Arlington and Pico, he pulled to the curb. “Where to?”
Lennox said: “Take me to Melrose and Van Ness.” The driver shrugged and turned towards Western.
Lennox got out at the corner and walked to the apartment house. He rang the bell of suite five, got no answer, tried nine and was answered by a buzz from the door. He jerked it open and started up the stairs. A woman’s voice called: “What is it, please?”
Lennox said: “I pushed the wrong bell. Sorry.” Her door slammed, and he paused before number five. He knocked without response, then tried the knob. The door was unlocked. He opened it cautiously and stepped into the small hall. For a moment he stood listening. There was no sound in the apartment. He closed the door softly and went along the hall to the living-room door. There he stopped and said something under his breath. The door was partly open. Through the crack he saw the figure of a man sprawled in the middle of the rug. His quick eyes went about the room; then he pushed the door wide and crossed to the body. The face, twisted with fear and pain, was that of Charley, and he was very dead.
7
Bill Lennox found nothing in the apartment that interested him. There were no papers in the desk, nothing, in fact, except a soiled deck of cards. He went into the bedroom and looked through the closets. Two suits hung there, flashy garments of extreme cut, nothing more. He walked back to the living-room and stopped just inside the door. There was a man looking at the body, a man with a gun in his hand, who said: “Now isn’t this swell?” The man was Grogan.
Lennox didn’t say anything and the private dick laughed.
“Imagine finding you here.” His voice held a note of gloating self-satisfaction. His gun came up so that it bore on the second button of Lennox’s vest. “Get the paws in the air, nice boy.”
Lennox obeyed, and Grogan picked up the phone. “Gimme Hollywood station, and make it snappy.” His eyes never left Lennox’s face, the gun did not move. “That you, Bert? Grogan of Rollins and Grogan. Yeah, listen. Is Lew there? Swell. Let me talk to him, will yuh? Hello, Lew, Grogan. Listen. There’s a stiff in an apartment on Van Ness.” He gave the number. “It’s close to Melrose, apartment five. Yeah, I got the mug. He’s standing against the wall with his hands in the air. Make it snappy.” He hung up and grinned at Lennox. “Nice weather we’re having.”
Lennox didn’t say anything. He stood there with his hands in the air. They stood there seven minutes, then a siren moaned below, heavy feet made noise on the stairs, and three men in plainclothes came in. The leader nodded to Grogan and looked at Lennox, then at the huddled body on the floor.
He said: “What’s going on here? Who’s the stiff?”
Grogan shrugged. “I don’t know who he is. I was trailing this bird. He came up here and I sneaked up after him. When I got here, he was searching the joint.”
The city detective’s eyes went to Lennox. “Well, what’s the story?” His voice sounded bored, uninterested.
Lennox shrugged. “When I got here, Charley was on the floor with a knife in his guts. That’s all I know.”
Grogan pursed his lips and made a funny sound of disbelief. The homicide man said: “Charley who?”
“Bartelli.”
“Where’s he from?”
“New York.”
Two other men came through the apartment door. One said: “What’s going on here, Lew?”
The other looked at Lennox and said: “Hello, Bill.” Lennox recognized Alder, of the Post.
The city detective said: “So you know this guy?”
Alder’s eyes widened. “Sure, everybody knows him. He’s Bill Lennox of General-Consolidated. What’s it all about, Lew?”
The city man looked hard at Grogan. “Thought you said that you were trailing this dude?”
Grogan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I was, Sol Spurck’s orders.”
Both reporters looked interested. Lennox snapped: “Be careful, you fool.”
The city detective looked at him. “When I want to hear you talk, I’ll ask you. All right, Grogan. Go ahead with the story and don’t skip anything.”
Grogan said: “Well, yuh see, it’s this way. Ralph Wayborn was snatched—”
“Snatched?”
“Yeah.” He went on and told the whole story. The reporters looked at each other. “So I was trailing Lennox to find where he had the dough planted, and I walked in on this.”
The city detective said: “So we’ve got a kidnaping charge on you along with a murder rap.”
Lennox said, in a tired voice: “That man’s been dead hours. If you birds would think before you open your mouths, you’d know that. Grogan here is my alibi. He can swear that I wasn’t in this place five minutes before he walked in.” Lennox smiled sweetly at the now silent private detective.
8
Nancy Hobbs said: “So you wouldn’t listen to me and you get yourself into a worse jam.” They were seated before the Hollywood Station in her car. “Will you go to New York now?”
“Such ideas you have, Brat. I’m going to get that fifty grand.”
“You’ll probably get a knife about where Charley got his.”
“At least that would be a new experience. Who was it that said there is nothing new under the sun?”
She swore whole-heartedly and stepped on the starter. “Where do we go from here?”
“You don’t go anywhere,” he told her.
“I suppose I’m to hang around, ready to bail you out?” Her voice was sarcastic.
He grinned without mirth. “That’s a thought,” and unlatched the door at his side. “I’ll be seeing you.” He turned up the collar of his coat against the cold wind from the ocean and walked rapidly along. A block farther down he hailed a cab and climbed in.
“Know where the El Romano Club is?” The man didn’t and Lennox gave him the address. Fog was beginning to roll in from the southwest. The street lamps looked fuzzy and the auto lamps glowed with funny rings. Lennox lit a cigarette, snuggled his chin deeper into his coat collar, and stared at nothing.