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.
MacBride sat down but refused the cigar.
“You probably know,” he said, “that I’ve got one of your barge captains over at the station-house.”
Braun’s eyes squinted, and he licked his lips. “Why, no! That’s too bad. Likely a drunken brawl, eh? Well, I suppose I’ll have to bail him out — mark against his salary.”
“Not quite,” said MacBride. “He was caught trying to cut a barge adrift last night. Pretty serious.”
“Well, I should say so! Can you imagine! Humph! You never know what these drunks will do.”
“But Nelson wasn’t drunk.”
“Well, that is strange! Now why do you suppose he tried to do a fool thing like that, Captain?”
“Search me. Thought maybe you might know.”
“Me?”
“Uhuh.”
“But, Captain, I’m surprised, how should I know why these fool Swedes—”
“Aboveboard, now, Mr. Braun!”
“Why... um... why, what do you mean?”
“Don’t make me go into detail.”
“But I tell you, Captain, I don’t understand—”
“Aboveboard, Mr. Braun!”
Braun pursed his lips, his eyes dilated. He looked amazed. “Really, Captain—”
“Oh, for God’s sake, cut out this stalling!”
“I tell you, Captain, I’m in the dark. I don’t know what you’re driving at.”
MacBride’s lips curled. “There’s something crooked somewhere.”
“Well, if there is, I’d certainly like to know about it. If Nelson has been going wrong, I’ll certainly fire him. Tell you what, I’ll go down to the station-house and give him a talking. Let’s see. It’s nine now. I’ll be there at ten, Captain.”
MacBride stood up. “I’ll be waiting there.”
“Good! Won’t you have a cigar?”
“No.”
MacBride’s exit was like a blast of wind.
3
Twenty minutes later he walked into the offices of Tate & Tate, and a boy piloted him into the sanctum of Hiram Tate, the younger and executive member of the firm. Tate was a lank, rock-boned man of forty-odd, with flashing dark eyes.
“I came over,” said MacBride, “about that bit of business on Pier Five last night.”
“Oh, you did? Good! I’ll go right over with you and prefer charges against this bird you’ve got.”
“What is your opinion?” asked MacBride. “Why do you suppose he tried to cut that barge loose?”
“Captain, my answer will be heavily prejudiced. You want to know what I think? I think that the Harbor Towing is trying to intimidate me. We’re non-Union. I’ll tell you why. Mike Tate, my old man, was double-crossed. And keep this under your hat. The Harbor Towing and Tate & Tate have always been rivals for the river trade.
“We’ve had more damned inspectors on our tail than I thought were in existence. What for? For little things. Unsanitary lavatories. Doors that opened in instead of out. Electric wiring. Unsafe barges. Condemned tugs. Ever since we kicked the Union in the slats.
“And what started it? The municipal pier at Seaboard Basin. It was offered for sale, and we wanted it. The Harbor Towing wanted it. We claimed it should come logically to us because we had no uptown terminal and did a lot of uptown business. The Harbor Towing carried it right to the Union. I was out of town. The old man represented us, and he’s known for a convivial old souse. They got him tight at the board meeting, and he signed all the dotted lines he could find.
“Well, we couldn’t retract. The whole mess was attested by a notary, and when the old man came to he discovered that the Harbor Towing owned the municipal pier. When I came back to town I found him raving mad. I got sore, too, and we told the Union what we thought of it, and dropped. What’s the use of catering to an outfit that kowtows to big money? The Harbor Towing is a big outfit, and they get all the court decisions, too. It’s damned funny. When we get a square deal, get at least one section of the municipal pier to unload and load freight, we’ll go back into the fold. That’s my story. Believe it or not.”
“I’ll think it over. If you want to press a charge against Nelson, we’ll indict him.”
“I’ll press charges, all right!” Tate rose and put on his overcoat. “Have a cigar?”
“Go good. Thanks.”
They drove to the station-house in Tate’s private car, and as they entered the central room, they found Rigallo pacing up and down in something akin to rage.
“Hell, Cap, where have you been?” he snapped.
“What about it?”
“Bower came down from Headquarters and took Nelson up for a quiz.”
MacBride tightened his jaw. “Why’d you let him?”
“How could I stop him. I’m only a dick.”
“What’s this?” put in Tate.
MacBride said, “Nelson’s at Headquarters.”
“I want to place that charge.”
“All right,” said MacBride; then to Rigallo, “You go along with Mr. Tate, Riggy.”
They went out, and MacBride banged into his office. Kennedy was parked in his chair before his desk, immersed in solitaire.
“Out of my throne, Kennedy!”
“Just a minute, Mac. I’ve almost got this.”
MacBride grabbed the back of the swivel chair, hauled it and Kennedy away from the desk, slid another into its place, and sat down. He studied the cards for a moment, made several swift moves, filled the suits and said, “Learn from me, Kennedy.”
“That was good, Mac. How about two-handed poker.”
“No. Busy.”
“What doing?”
“Thinking.”
“Bower came down and got Nelson.”
“Don’t I know it!”
Kennedy chuckled. “Bower’s the Headquarters ‘yes’ man. Guess the Commissioner wanted to see Nelson, shake his hand, and tell him to go home.”
“H’m.” MacBride stood up, put on his coat and strode out.
Ten minutes later he entered Police Headquarters.
Commissioner Stroble regarded him through a screen of excellent cigar smoke.
“How about Nelson?” asked MacBride.
“We let him go,” said the Commissioner.
“Let him go!” echoed MacBride.
“Why, certainly. No case at all, MacBride. We had a chap named Scoggins here, too. I weighed both testimonies. Scoggins was asleep. Nelson saw that one of the cables had slipped and was trying to fix it. Scoggins was vague. Don’t bother with such small change, MacBride.”
“Small change!” MacBride curled his lip. “If it was so small, why did Bower take Nelson from the precinct, and why did you bother with it?”
Stroble’s eyes narrowed. “Remember, MacBride, I took you out of the Fifth, gave you another chance. Don’t be a fool!”
“You’re trying to make a fool out of me! I know the situation on the waterfront, and it’s not small change. That guy Nelson is guilty as hell. And the outfit he works for is a damned sight guiltier!”
Stroble leaned forward, pursing his lips. “MacBride, I said it was small change. Now don’t hand me an argument. Go back to your roost and forget about it. This interview is over.”
MacBride went out with a low growl. He walked back to the station-house, certain now that trouble was breeding on the river. Small change! He cursed under his breath. He was very near the end of his tether. Time and time again someone in the machinery of the city government had tried to balk him.
In his office that day he had moments of black depression. He wondered if after all he were not beating his head against a stone wall. What was he? Only a common precinct captain, with strong ideas of his own. How could he hope to carry out his own straightforward plans when the Department sidetracked him?