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.
One muttered. “V know, first off I thought this Chief was just a guy wit’ brains an’ no guts. I mean, like he wanted us to do his dirty work—”
“Pipe down, Gats!” snapped Fink. “Y’see he’s got guts, don’t you now?”
“Sure. I’m all for him.”
“You better be,” muttered Fink. “Any one o’ you guys that thinks he’s ain’t’s got a lot to learn.”
“Where’s he now?”
“None o’ your business!” said Fink. “Prob’ly ridin’ home in a bus or somethin’. Nemmine the talk. Step on it.”
Cardigan smiled in the darkness. Yes, he could trust Fink; no doubt of it, now. Not even Fink knew he was up there in the loft, a silent watcher.
The minutes dragged by. Case after case went into the truck. The pile on the floor grew smaller and smaller. The men worked rapidly, and now silently. Cardigan looked at his watch. Half-past ten. He was stiff from holding his tense position.
“Cripes, what a load!” a voice said hoarsely.
“How many more?”
“Ten.”
“That,” said Fink, “ ’ll make two-hundred-and-forty-two.”
“Ba-by!”
Cardigan saw the last case go in. Then Fink and two others spread tarpaulins over the rear and lashed them to the sides.
“All right, Bat,” he said.
Bat Johnson climbed up into the seat, juggled the transmission lever. Another man grabbed the crank, heaved on it. The motor spat, barked, and then pounded regularly. Two men jumped to the doors, slid them back. They looked out, came back in and one said, “Clear! Let her go!”
Bat shoved into gear and the big truck rumbled out. The doors were pulled shut. The men bunched together and at a word from Fink slipped out through the back door.
Three minutes later Cardigan dropped from the loft. He strode into the back room, snapped on his flash, played its beam on the Creole Kid and Dutch Weber, still unconscious. Then he dropped their keys and guns beside them, snapped off his flash and made for the door.
With a brittle little chuckle he went out, crossed the fields and struck Maple Road. He sought the bus line by a different route than the one by which he had reached the stables. At a quarter to twelve he entered his room, took off his coat and dropped into an easy-chair. He lit a cigar and relaxed, a little weary after the strenuous night.
But deep within him there was a great calm. He thought of Joe, and of his widowed sister. He thought, too, of other cops who had met death in strange back-alleys at the hands of rats who always shot from the rear. What protection was a shield nowadays? Protection! He grimaced. More a target! But mainly it was Joe he thought of — mild-mannered, easy-going Joe. Joe with two bullets in him, out on Webster Road...
At half-past one the telephone rang. He picked it up.
“Jake,” said Fink.
“Jake,” said Cardigan, and hung up.
6
It did not get into the papers. Things like this don’t. But the underworld rumbled ominously, and the echoes seeped into the Department, but got no further. The law-abiding element of Richmond City went about its daily tasks and pleasures as usual, all ignorant of the fact that in the world of shadows, wolves were growing and baring hungry fangs.
The very next afternoon MacBride dropped in to see Cardigan.
“Well, Jack,” he said.
And Cardigan said, “Well?”
“M-m-m, you did it.”
“You mean Cavallo?”
MacBride nodded.
Cardigan chuckled.
“We got a whiff of it this morning,” went on MacBride. “Cavallo must have gone to his brother-in-law Diorio and I guess Diorio went to his friend Alderman Pozzo and then Pozzo had a chat with State’s Attorney Mulroy. Jack, for God’s sake, watch your step!”
“I am. Why, do they suspect?”
“No, but—” MacBride clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, Jack. But — we’re — old friends, and I’d like to see that dago wiped out. And I guess — if I was younger and single — and a buddy of mine — like Joe was to you — was bumped off, I’d do the same. Maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe I wouldn’t have the guts. But, Jack, I’ve got to tell you, for old times’ sake. McGinley and Kline, of the State’s Attorney’s office, have been detailed to get the guys who flopped on Cavallo’s parade!”
“Oh, yes?”
“Yes. For my sake, Jack, shake this racket. You can’t beat it. You see what you’ve got against you?”
Cardigan nodded. “I know, Steve. But I’ve started, and I’m not going to let the thing just hang in the air. The more I think of Cavallo and Bert Geer and Monkey Burns and all that crowd, the more I want to blow up their racket. Imagine Pozzo for Alderman — a guy that can hardly speak English and calls himself a one hundred per cent American! Cavallo’s bulwark! Mulroy having to take these wops’ part because they put him in office, and getting a rake-off from their proceeds.”
“I know, Jack, I know. But—”
“No, sir, Steve. I’m playing this to a showdown, and somebody’s going to get hurt in the wind-up.”
“It might be you, Jack.”
“Here’s hoping it won’t.”
“No one gets anywhere today trying to be a martyr.”
Cardigan laughed shortly. “Martyr! You think I’m taking the godly role of a martyr? Hell, no! I’m just an ordinary guy who’s sore as a boil. I’m a guy whose buddy got a dirty break, and I’m starting to go after these lads the only way they can be reached.”
MacBride shrugged and remained silent. Then he got up, shook Cardigan’s hand and went out.
A little later the phone rang and Fink said, “I got somethin’ to tell you.”
“All right,” replied Cardigan briskly.
A few minutes later he walked into a drugstore on the corner, stepped into the booth and closed the door. A minute, and the bell rang.
“O.K., Pete,” he said.
Fink explained. “Meet me in the dump on Jockey Street in half an hour. I’ve got a sample, and it’s sure powerful stuff. I’ll be waitin’ outside the door there. Everything is jake, and the boys are feelin’ good but wonderin’ about their divvy.”
“Be over,” said Cardigan.
When, later, he strolled down Jockey Street, he saw Fink cross the street, pause on the steps of their rendezvous, look his way, and then pass inside. Cardigan swung up the steps and the door opened. He went in and Fink led the way up to the latter’s room. The big man drew a pink flask from his pocket.
“They’re all in pints,” he explained. “Try it.”
Cardigan took a pull on the bottle and let the liquor burn in. “Good,” he nodded. “The best I’ve tasted.”
Fink grinned. “If that stuff ain’t come across the pond I don’t know Scotch. It’s the first time I ain’t drunk dish water in a long time. D’ you figger Cavallo’s sore?”
“Sore!” echoed Cardigan, and laughed on it.
“Yeah,” droned Fink, “I guess he’d lookin’ to kill. Um. Now the stuff’s out there in the farmhouse, what?”
“I’ll know by tonight. Keep your shirt on.”
“I ain’t worryin’. The gang. They’re achin’ to see some jack and have a good time.”
“You tell ’em to watch their step, Pete. It’s hard lines for any guy pulls a bone. We’re not through yet. It would be just like Chip Slade, for instance, to doll up in new duds, pick up a broad, get tight to the eyes and blabber. We’ve got to watch out for that, Pete.”
“Yeah, I know, Jack. I been keepin’ my eye on Chip.”
“I’ll see you here tonight, Pete.”