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.
Mr. Gluckstein pondered, then reached a sudden decision.
“Come with me,” he said briefly. “Wait — I lock up the shop.”
He locked the front door, pulled down the green shades and turned down the lights. Then he led his visitor through a door in the rear of the shop into a dim room adjoining. A man sitting there with his feet on a board table stood up as they entered. He was a huge man, thick-shouldered and barrel-chested, with a close-cropped, bullet head, blue jowls and a villainous countenance. T. McGuirk smiled at him naïvely.
“Meet Mr. Delancy,” said the pawnbroker. “Pete, a friend of Lefty’s. He wants to buy it a nice little unset diamond. His name is—”
“Me monicker’s T. McGuirk,” supplied the visitor promptly. “That’s the name I goes by mostly.”
Mr. Delancy acknowledged the introduction. A glance passed between him and the pawnbroker. Delancy nodded significantly and pushed his chair back to the wall. He seemed quite without further interest in the proceedings; as a matter of fact he was watching the visitor closely.
T. McGuirk sat down at the table, directly under the circle of illumination cast downward by the gas jet over his head. Mr. Gluckstein went to a small safe in a dark recess of the room, returning in a moment. In one hand he held a small square of black velvet, in the other an unset jewel. He laid the velvet on the table and placed the stone in its center.
“Such a diamond!” he murmured, half to himself. “Look how you could see it sparkle! Now there is a diamond—”
T. McGuirk looked calmly. He made no move to touch the stone.
“You got a glass?” he demanded. “Me eyes ain’t so wery good.”
The pawnbroker exchanged another glance with the saturnine Mr. Delancy. Then, reluctantly, he produced a magnifying glass from his pocket. T. McGuirk fitted it to his eye and with the air of a connoisseur bent forward to examine the diamond still lying untouched on its velvet background. After a moment he straightened. His glance was one of gentle reproof.
“I wanta buy a real diamond,” he stated patiently. “Ain’t you got a real diamond worth about four thousan’ bucks?”
The calm naming of this amount softened the pawnbroker’s disappointment at finding his customer could not be fooled.
“I got it absolutely what you want,” he stated confidently. “Wait a minute — you could pick out the exact stone.”
He removed his first offering; and returning, laid six unset diamonds on the square of velvet beneath T. McGuirk’s critical eyes. There was no doubt of the genuineness of these stones; Mr. Delancy’s immediate alertness was contributory evidence. He hitched his chair forward slightly, his eyes glued to the square of velvet with the six gems sparkling upon it. Quite evidently, though the visitor was not under suspicion, it was not part of Mr. Gluckstein’s plan to have anything go amiss. The pawnbroker displayed his wares carelessly; but his confederate, from the shadows, watched T. McGuirk like a hawk.
“You couldn’t find anything better at the price in America,” declared Mr. Gluckstein emphatically. “Pick it out, the one your lady friend would like.”
T. McGuirk sat with elbows on the table, staring at the six diamonds. He picked one up, gingerly, between thumb and forefinger. Mr. Delancy’s gaze unwaveringly followed the stone as T. McGuirk raised it nearer his eyes.
“How much for this here one?”
He laid it back among the other five. Mr. Delancy breathed again and relaxed slightly.
“Four thousand dollars you could have it for,” said the pawnbroker deprecatingly. “An’ if it ain’t worth six, s’elp me.”
T. McGuirk’s hands went suddenly into the side pockets of his ragged overcoat. Mr. Delancy leaned forward again. He saw quite plainly the six diamonds all lying on the black velvet. T. McGuirk’s hands came back to the table. They held a tiny bag of tobacco, two matches and cigarette papers. Deftly he began rolling a cigarette.
“Four thousan’? Wery good. An’ how much is this here one?” T. McGuirk touched another of the stones with the tip of his little finger. “Ain’t this here a canary diamond?”
Mr. Gluckstein, at the question, passed around to his customer’s left. For one brief instant he obstructed Mr. Delancy’s view of the table. T. McGuirk was lighting his cigarette carefully, his hands cupping the flame.
And then, after an interval of two seconds, to Mr. Delancy’s horrified gaze the square of black velvet presented only five diamonds! He counted them in a daze — five, not six as there should have been! Mr. Delancy sprang to his feet with an oath.
“Grab him, Ike! He’s got one of the sparklers!”
Mr. Gluckstein’s glance swung instantly to the velvet. He also could count only five diamonds. T. McGuirk had finished lighting his cigarette; he flicked away the match.
Quick as Mr. Delancy was to leap forward, the pawnbroker was quicker. He seized T. McGuirk by the collar unceremoniously, jerking him from his seat, shaking him as a terrier shakes a rat.
The cigarette tumbled from T. McGuirk’s lips and fell unheeded to the floor; on the table, by the square of velvet with its five diamonds, lay his cigarette papers, a match, and the tiny bag of tobacco.
When Mr. Gluckstein’s strength gave out from shaking his victim, he abruptly desisted. T. McGuirk’s feet found the floor. He stood quivering, shrinking within his rags and mumbling vehemently.
Mr. Delancy’s shock of surprise and alarm had now abated.
“Nothin’ to get excited over, Ike. The little shrimp can’t get away.”
“I don’t w-want to get away,” T. McGuirk chattered. “What you doin’ that to me for? How dare you do that to me for nothin’?”
“Shut up,” ordered Mr. Delancy. “Ike, how many sparklers was there? Am I seein’ things? I saw six.”
“Six,” verified Mr. Gluckstein briefly. “The Lady Vernon jewels we bought from Lefty.”
Mr. Delancy nodded.
“Come on, you.” This to T. McGuirk. “Hand it over or I’ll break every bone in your damn little body.”
“Not so loud, Pete.”
Mr. Gluckstein had a very wholesome desire to avoid any uproar. He prided himself on the fact that never once had the police had occasion to invade his premises because of interior disturbance.
Mr. Delancy modified his tones.
“Come on, you — hand it over. You can’t get away with that stuff here.”
T. McGuirk suddenly began to snivel.
“H-hand w-what over?”
“The rock — the sparkler. There was six — now there’s five.”
“I ain’t got no sparkler,” declared T. McGuirk sullenly. “I ain’t seen no sparkler ’cept them there what’s on the table.”
“You could search him, Pete,” suggested Mr. Gluckstein hopefully.
He seemed a little confused, anxious to leave the initiative to his companion.
“Look out! Maybe he’s got a gun!”
T. McGuirk’s hand had gone to his pocket.
“I ain’t,” he asserted stoutly. “I’m a peaceable man — I don’t never use no rewolwer.”
His empty hands went up obediently at Mr. Delancy’s command. Quite evidently he spoke the truth, for after a moment Mr. Delancy backed away again, surveying him from a distance.
“Search him good, Pete. You could find it. Right away we get excited — that ain’t sensible.”
After another peremptory but futile demand for the missing diamond, Mr. Delancy began searching the person of T. McGuirk. It was too slow a process.
“Take ’em off,” he commanded.
T. McGuirk obediently stripped. When he was denuded of every vestige of apparel, Mr. Delancy and the pawnbroker avidly pawed over the pile of rags. Their search was fruitless. The missing diamond was not to be found.