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.
Isham said: “I don’t have to tell you how a police department looks at that kind of a cover-up on a murder.”
I sighed. “Gunfire,” I said. “A dead man on the floor. A naked, doped girl in a chair not knowing what had happened. A killer I couldn’t have caught and you couldn’t have caught — then. Behind all this a poor old roughneck that was breaking his heart trying to do the right thing in a miserable spot. Go ahead — stick it into me. I’m not sorry.”
Isham waved all that aside. “Who did kill Steiner?”
“The blonde girl will tell you.”
“I want you to tell me.”
I shrugged. “If you want me to guess — Dravec’s driver, Carl Owen.”
Isham didn’t look too surprised. Violets M’Gee grunted loudly.
“What makes you think so?” Isham asked.
“I thought for a while it could be Marty, partly because the girl said so. But that doesn’t mean anything. She didn’t know, and jumped at the chance to stick a knife into Marty. And she’s a type that doesn’t let loose of an idea very easily. But Marty didn’t act like a killer. And a man as cool as Marty wouldn’t have run out that way. I hadn’t even banged on the door when the killer started to scram.
“Of course I thought of Slade, too. But Slade’s not quite the type either. He packs two gunmen around with him, and they’d have made some kind of a fight of it. And Slade seemed genuinely surprised when he found the blood on the floor this afternoon. Slade was in with Steiner and keeping tabs on him, but he didn’t kill him, didn’t have any reason to kill him, and wouldn’t have killed him that way, in front of a witness, if he had a reason.
“But Carl Owen would. He was in love with the girl once, probably never got over it. He had chances to spy on her, find out where she went and what she did. He lay for Steiner, got in the back way, saw the nude photo stunt and blew his top. He let Steiner have it. Then the panic got him and he just ran.”
“Ran all the way to Lido pier, and then off the end of that,” Isham said dryly. “Aren’t you forgetting that the Owen body had a sap wound on the side of his head?”
I said: “No. And I’m not forgetting that somehow or other Marty knew what was on that camera plate — or nearly enough to make him go in and get it and then hide a body in Steiner’s garage to give him room.”
Isham said: “Get Agnes Laurel in here, Grinnell.”
Grinnell heaved up out of his chair and strolled the length of the office, disappeared through a door.
Violets M’Gee said: “Baby, are you a pal!”
I didn’t look at him. Isham pulled the loose skin in front of his Adam’s apple and looked down at the fingernails of his other hand.
Grinnell came back with the blonde. Her hair was untidy above the collar of her coat. She had taken the jet buttons out of her ears. She looked tired but she didn’t look scared any more. She let herself down slowly into the chair at the end of the table where Slade had sat, folded her hands with the silvered nails in front of her.
Isham said quietly: “All right, Miss Laurel. We’d like to hear from you now.”
The girl looked down at her folded hands and talked without hesitation, in a quiet, even voice.
“I’ve known Joe Marty about three months. He made friends with me because I was working for Steiner, I guess. I thought it was because he liked me. I told him all I knew about Steiner. He already knew a little. He had been spending money he had got from Carmen Dravec’s father, but it was gone and he was down to nickels and dimes, ready for something else. He decided Steiner needed a partner and he was watching him to see if he had any tough friends in the background.
“Last night he was in his car down on the street back of Steiner’s house. He heard the shots, saw the kid tear down the steps, jump into a big sedan and take it on the lam. Joe chased him. Half-way to the beach, he caught him and ran him off the road. The kid came up with a gun, but his nerve was bad and Joe sapped him down. While he was out Joe went through him and found out who he was. When he came around Joe played copper and the kid broke and gave him the story. While Joe was wondering what to do about it the kid came to life and knocked him off the car and scrammed again. He drove like a crazy guy and Joe let him go. He went back to Steiner’s house. I guess you know the rest. When Joe had the plate developed and saw what he had he went for a quick touch so we could get out of town before the law found Steiner. We were going to take some of Steiner’s books and set up shop in another city.”
Agnes Laurel stopped talking. Isham tapped with his fingers, said: “Marty told you everything, didn’t he?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Sure he didn’t murder this Carl Owen?”
“I wasn’t there. Joe didn’t act like he’d killed anybody.”
Isham nodded. “That’s all for now, Miss Laurel. We’ll want all that in writing. We’ll have to hold you, of course.”
The girl stood up. Grinnell took her out. She went out without looking at anyone.
Isham said: “Marty couldn’t have known Carl Own was dead. But he was sure he’d try to hide out. By the time we got to him Marty would have collected from Dravec and moved on. I think the girl’s story sounds reasonable.”
Nobody said anything. After a moment Isham said to me:
“You made one bad mistake. You shouldn’t have mentioned Marty to the girl until you were sure he was your man. That got two people killed quite unnecessarily.”
I said: “Uh-huh. Maybe I better go back and do it over again.”
“Don’t get tough.”
“I’m not tough. I was working for Dravec and trying to save him from a little heartbreak. I didn’t know the girl was as screwy as all that, or that Dravec would have a brainstorm. I wanted the pictures. I didn’t care a lot about trash like Steiner or Joe Marty and his girl friend, and still don’t.”
“Okay. Okay,” Isham said impatiently. “I don’t need you any more tonight. You’ll probably be panned plenty at the inquest.”
He stood up and I stood up. He held out his hand.
“But that will do you a hell of a lot more good than harm,” he added drily.
I shook hands with him and went out. M’Gee came out after me. We rode down in the elevator together without speaking to each other. When we got outside the building M’Gee went around to the right side of my Chrysler and got into it.
“Got any liquor at your dump?”
“Plenty,” I said.
“Let’s go get some of it.”
I started the car and drove west along First Street, through a long echoing tunnel. When we were out of that, M’Gee said:
“Next time I send you a client I won’t expect you to snitch on him, boy.”
We went on through the quiet evening to the Berglund. I felt tired and old and not much use to anybody.
Sally the Sleuth
Adolphe Barreaux
Adolphe Barreaux (1899–1985) studied at the Yale School of Fine Arts and the Grand Central Art School. He created “Sally the Sleuth” for Spicy Detective, one of the sleaziest of the pulp magazines, in November 1934, with a little two-page strip titled “A Narrow Escape.” The material published in this pulp was generally produced by the worst writers of the era, mainly when they failed to sell their work to the better-paying, higher-end books. All the stories included illustrations of scantily clad women, frequently in bondage — all so racy that the magazines were kept under the counter at most newsstands and sold only to adults. These illustrations were provided by Majestic Studios, a tiny art shop owned by Barreaux from 1936 to 1953. He was also the owner of Trojan Publishing from 1949 to 1955. Although he worked for a few other pulps from the 1930s to the 1950s, most of his work went to Spicy, for which he drew the “Sally the Sleuth” strip until 1942, when other artists took it over. Barreaux went on to work for many of the major comic book publishers, including DC (“Magic Crystal of History”), Dell (“The Enchanted Stone”), Ace (“The Black Spider” and “The Raven”), and Fox (“Flip Falcon” and “Patty O’Day”).