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.
I remembered Peterson’s threat with regard to the man who had turned him in. He had said: “If I ever get my hands on the guy...” And I had to admit that this time Keever’s theory made sense. It was logical that Peterson had told his whole record to his lawyer, that Waxman would be the first and probably only man he would suspect. I nodded toward the corpse.
“Where’s the shiv?”
“A fingerprint man’s got it — took it over to the lab. It was a paper knife from Waxman’s own desk. One of those things the patent lawyers send out.”
“How about the safe? Was it opened?”
“It’s locked, but that doesn’t mean anything. Waxman could have had it open, and Peterson could have locked it after he knifed him.”
“Haven’t you checked the contents?”
“We’re waiting for Waxman’s secretary. She probably has the combination.”
I looked at my watch. It was one-twenty. I looked at Keever. He rolled his eyes. A couple of minutes later, when Waxman’s secretary sauntered in, I caught on. When they’re built like that they rate two hours for lunch in any man’s office.
Her name was Mickey O’Hara — she lived at 1109 West Crawford, and she immediately stole the show from everyone including Waxman. The entire Homicide detail promptly forgot the existence of a corpse as they began drooling over Miss O’Hara in the pretense of acting in the line of duty. But Keever, as usual, was equal to the occasion. He grabbed her by the elbow and took her into the library. I thought he needed help, so I trailed along.
She didn’t know anything, including the combination of the safe. She had left for lunch at eleven-thirty and had missed Peterson.
“I just can’t understand who could do such a thing to Mr. Waxman!” she cooed. “He was so nice — such a perfect gentleman.”
She crossed her legs and exhibited hosiery that sells for half a secretary’s salary. Appreciating the hosiery, Keever furrowed his brows in a shrewd manner and asked: “Then Waxman had no enemies?”
I laughed impolitely. “He was a lawyer, wasn’t he?”
Keever reddened. “Ben, I’ve learned to overlook your not very subtle sarcasm. You are no doubt referring to the fact that lawyers, who of necessity handle the troubles of others, accumulate the enemies of others. But such enemies rarely murder. If they did there wouldn’t be enough lawyers left to... to—”
“To fill an ambulance!” I cracked. Keever looked apologetically to Mickey O’Hara.
“You’re sure then that Mr. Waxman hadn’t received any threats of any kind?”
“Yes, Mr. Keever, I’m sure he hadn’t.”
It went on for about fifteen minutes, and I decided Keever was prolonging the interview only because he appreciated Miss O’Hara’s hosiery. I liked it, too, but I still had a mild curiosity about who killed Waxman. I walked out of the library.
“You’ll have to hire a locksmith,” I told Carrothers. “The Petty girl doesn’t know the combination.”
“We may find it somewhere,” Carrothers said hopefully.
I shook my head. “Five will get you ten that you don’t.” I went out.
The elevators were close by, but I used the stairway at the back of the building. I walked down two flights and found Jimmie Harmon’s office. His secretary informed me that he was in but very, very busy.
“I’m the law,” I said, showing my badge. “I think he’ll see me.”
He did. He came to the door and ushered me inside in a very cordial way. He even flattered me by remembering my name, though I had hardly more than met him at the time of Peterson’s trial. He seemed a nice enough guy in spite of the million bucks he and his sister had inherited from James D. Harmon Sr., who had made his dough in the real estate business. This had been the old man’s office. Jimmie pretended to be following in his father’s footsteps, but he used the place mainly to recuperate from hangovers. As for selling real estate, he couldn’t have sold a hideout to Hitler.
“I thought you’d like to know,” I opened, “that I went out and picked up Peterson. He’ll be on ice for a nice long time.”
Harmon gave me a startled, then quizzical look.
“It’s all right,” I assured him. “Keever told me all about it.”
Harmon looked a little hurt. “Damn it! I told Keever not to tell anyone.”
I smiled. “But I’m his right-hand man. It was natural for him to tell me who’d tipped him to Peterson’s record.”
“I suppose it was.” Harmon was studying me. “You didn’t come here just to tell me you’d nailed Peterson.”
“No, I didn’t. I thought you’d like to know that Peterson got away. He’s still at large.”
Harmon got up and began to pace back and forth behind his desk.
“Thanks, Corbett. I appreciate your warning me. But I’m sure Peterson will never guess that I turned him in. Unless, of course, Keever’s really started broadcasting it.” He looked alarmed. “Do you think Keever’s told anyone else besides you?”
“I’m sure he hasn’t. Besides, it looks as if you’re quite safe. There’s a pretty generally accepted theory that Peterson put the blame on his lawyer. Anyway, Shorty Waxman’s up in his office dead, and Peterson’s been identified as a visitor. When they catch him a life stretch will be the least of his worries.”
Harmon had stopped short.
“Waxman dead! Do you really think Peterson—”
“Maybe. By the way, do you have an alibi for this noon?”
“Me? Are you crazy? You can’t—” Harmon glared. “But of course, you can! You cops can suspect anybody, for any reason, no matter how trivial. I suppose you think I might have murdered him merely because he tried to make a monkey out of me during Peterson’s trial.”
I had to laugh at the memory of it. Waxman hadn’t merely tried to make a monkey out of Harmon — he couldn’t have succeeded much better if he had had Harmon scratching for lice. Waxman had gone into the matter of this phony real estate layout, and a jury consisting of working folk had laughed their glee. But Waxman’s jibes hadn’t helped Peterson.
“I was just kidding about your alibi,” I told Harmon, to cover up my laughter. “Of course we don’t suspect you of bumping Waxman. You had no motive whatever. And the fact that your office is in the same building doesn’t mean anything either. By the way, I’m curious about how you tumbled to Peterson’s record. That’s something Keever didn’t tell me.”
“That’s because I didn’t tell him,” Harmon said sullenly. “I don’t see that it makes any difference how I got the information, so long as it was right.”
“Right. Well, I’ll be getting along.”
Harmon looked agitated as I left. I went back upstairs and found that even Keever had had enough of the eye-filling O’Hara and had sent her home.
“I don’t know that there’s anything to do,” he was telling Carrothers, “until Peterson’s picked up.” He cast a side look in my direction. “If he’d never got away, this wouldn’t have happened.”
Pretending not to hear, I said: “I’m driving back to the office. Want to come with me?”
“Driving? You mean they’ve found your car?”
“No. I found it myself. Peterson didn’t get very far.”
“Where did he—”
“I’ll tell you about it sometime. Are you coming with me?”
“No. I drove my own car.”
The parking lot at the Criminal Courts Building was in back, and I entered by the back entrance. A figure startled me as it detached itself from a shadow.
“Hello, Mr. Corbett.”
It was Peterson.
“Well, well. Fancy meeting you here.”
“I’m giving myself up. I’ve been waiting to see you. I wanted you to be the one to turn me in. I hate it about that break. I hope you won’t do anything to my mother. She didn’t know what she was doing.”