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.
“Come on!” His voice was louder than he intended. “Who are you?”
His hand fumbled in his pocket and found a box of matches. He struck one with fingers that shook. The match flared, and Lennox stared at the battered features of Red Girkin. He said: “My—!” and let the match drop to the floor. “They don’t play nice, do they?”
Girkin swore heavily, tonelessly. “Let me alone.”
Lennox’s voice got sharp. “Your playmates will be back in a few minutes to give you another dose. What do you want?”
The gangster said: “Go to hell!” He said it indistinctly, as if his lip got in the way.
Lennox managed a laugh. “Boy, you love punishment. Come on! Who decorated Charley with the chiv?”
“Charley?” There was a new note in Girkin’s voice. “What about Charley?”
“Only that he’s dead.”
“Say, who are you?”
“A pal of Charley’s. Don’t you remember? Bill Lennox. I was up at your place the other day.”
The man in the chair said slowly: “Yeah, I remember, and Charley’s dead. You sure?”
“I found him on the rug with the chiv in his side.”
“That damned French.”
“So it was French?”
“I’m not talking.”
Lennox got mad. “Listen, sucker! Why don’t you get next to yourself? Do you think that they’ve been pounding your pan because they love you? It’s a wonder that you aren’t in a ditch by now.”
The man in the chair found a laugh somewhere and managed to turn it on. It was a poor effort. “They’ll keep me until they find out what I did with the ten grand, the dirty— They can beat me, but I don’t talk.”
Lennox tried a shot in the dark. “Still figuring that Meyer will help you?”
The gangster started to swear again. “That tramp! She got me into this; then she tied a can to me.”
It seemed that the floodgates had opened. He talked and talked; finally he got to repeating himself. Lennox turned away and walked towards the window, his lips very thin, his eyes bright.
Suddenly the door opened, a light switch clicked, and Lennox swung about to see Toni. The gunman said, with surprise: “Look who’s come to. Hey, chief! The boy scout’s awake.”
French’s voice growled: “Bring him in.”
Lennox took a quick step towards the window. Toni seized his shoulder, forcing him towards the door. With a shrug, Lennox relaxed. “Okey! You win.”
Toni said: “We win every time, mug. Start walking.”
French sat in a leather chair. His coat was off and the gray hair mussed. There were pouches under his eyes and he looked very tired.
“Well, Bill—”
Lennox said: “Not so hot. Your boy-friend here swings a mean gun.”
French said: “Little boys who play outside their own yards get hurt sometimes. Why the hell can’t you keep your nose clean?”
Lennox shrugged. “Mind if I sit down?” He moved towards a chair.
The gambler’s voice cracked. “Stand still.”
Lennox let his eyes widen slowly. “What is this?”
French said: “It’s your show-down.” He came out of his chair, and they faced each other. Toni shifted his feet, grinning loosely. “What did you tell Frank Howe?”
Lennox hid his start of surprise. “What did I tell Howe? When?”
The gambler growled: “Don’t stall, Lennox. You and Howe talked it over last night at the bar. You gave him something and he went away fast. The boys didn’t tell me about it until later. They haven’t found him yet, but they will. Come on! What did you tell him?”
Lennox grinned. He was beginning to understand why he was still alive. French thought that he had told Howe something at the club, something about the money, perhaps. Lennox said: “I gave him some dough to take home for me, some dough to put in a safe place.”
“You—” The gambler took a step forward, his hands clenching at his sides. “Where is he?”
“That’s a little mystery you can solve for yourself.” Lennox grinned carelessly, much more carelessly than he felt. There was a desk in the corner of the room. He stepped sidewise towards it. French said:
“Stand still, you.”
Lennox nodded. “Okey, French, I wouldn’t try anything with you.” He took another step. “I’m in a jam; I know it. I’ve been around long enough to know when my number is coming up. What’s it worth to you for me to get Howe on the phone and call him off? Does it buy me a ticket to New York?”
French said: “Yes,” quickly. He said it too quickly. Lennox knew that New York meant a wash in San Fernando Valley, but—
“Okey! Gimme the phone.”
French’s eyes searched his. “Don’t try any funny stuff,” he warned.
“Would I try any funny stuff when Toni has his gun on me.”
He crossed to the desk and, picking up the phone, called the first number that came into his head. As he waited, his hand toyed with a heavy glass inkwell hidden by his body from the other men. Toni still stood beside the door. He had his gun, but he let it hang carelessly at his side.
“That you, Howe?” Lennox demanded, as a sleepy voice asked what the hell he wanted. The voice protested that it wasn’t Howe, that he had never heard of Howe, and that if he did now, it would be too soon. Lennox paid no attention.
“Listen, boy!” he said, making his voice sound serious. “That money I gave you, you know, those—”
He picked up the inkwell and half turned so that he could see both French and Toni. “What’ll I have him do with them?” he asked the gambler.
Toni’s eyes switched from Lennox to his chief’s face for an instant and in that instant, Lennox dropped the phone and threw the glass inkwell. He threw it underhanded, threw it with all the force that he had.
It caught the gunman just above the temple and he went over onto the rug without a sound. Lennox sprang at French. The gambler was tugging at his coat pocket. He had his gun half free as Lennox’s fingers closed about his wrist. French tried to jerk free, couldn’t and struck Lennox in the face with his free hand. Lennox grabbed his throat and tried to force the gambler’s head back. French was too strong.
Slowly, ever so slowly, his hand came from the pocket, bringing his gun with it. Desperately, Lennox clung to the man. French hit him again, squarely on the nose. Tears started from Lennox’s eyes; his fingers sank deeper into French’s throat. The gambler swung about, carrying Lennox with him, and then across French’s shoulder, Bill saw something which almost caused him to relax his grip.
The door into the other room had opened. Girkin, on hands and knees, was crawling towards the gun which lay on the carpet at Toni’s side. Even as Lennox saw him, Girkin’s hand reached the gun, closed over it, and he reeled to his feet, his eyes burning with hate, staring at French.
The gun came up slowly. Lennox cried out. He was never sure afterwards exactly what he said.
“French!” Girkin’s voice cut across the room.
Lennox’s fingers slipped from the gambler’s throat. Girkin’s gun flamed and French stiffened. Lennox threw himself sidewise, out of the line of fire. French paid no attention to him. It was as if the gambler had forgotten his existence. He turned slowly and, as he turned, Girkin fired again. French staggered, went to his knees.
His gun came up, and Lennox saw a hole suddenly appear between Girkin’s eyes. The gunman pitched forward without a sound.
French stared at him, coughed twice, bent over on his hands, and then settled to the floor. For a minute there was silence in the room, then Lennox bent above Toni, and noted that he was still breathing, but unconscious.
Lennox rose, found a handkerchief, and dabbed at his bleeding nose; then he looked around the room. Behind the desk, a wall safe, its door half open, attracted him. He crossed to the safe and drew out bundles of currency. In all, there were thirty-five thousand dollars. He found a newspaper, wrapped up the money and moved towards the door. Everything was quiet. Evidently there was no one in the house. He wondered vaguely why the shots had not attracted attention.