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.
There was one of Carrothers’ men at the door. He looked at me pityingly as he let me in.
“I’m sure glad I’m not in your shoes! Keever’s layin’ for you with a meat-axe!”
I couldn’t think of a single cute thing to say. The night man took me to Waxman’s floor. The first face I saw when I opened his office door was Sam Peterson’s. He was flanked by two headquarters men, and Carrothers himself sat close by. But Peterson looked strangely at ease in contrast to the others in the room.
There was quite a gathering. Her silken knees crossed, Mickey O’Hara knifed me a look from a chair in a corner. Jimmie Harmon adjoined her. It was something of a shock to discover his sister seated on the opposite side of the room. Louise Harmon apparently had been in conversation with Keever, who stood beside her. His face got red the moment he saw me.
“So you’ve finally shown up!” he raged. “Pardon my curiosity, but would you mind telling me why it is that when I send you out to do even the simplest thing, you muff the job?”
“He was trying to cash a check,” Mickey O’Hara said icily. “I hope you succeeded, brother, ’cause you owe me three dollars for the steak I ordered for you. Whether you have the chivalry to pay for the one I ate is purely speculative.”
Somewhat grandly I paid up. But that didn’t satisfy Keever.
“Well, what have you got to say for yourself?”
“Nothing. Anything I said would be used against me.” I was busy trying to figure out Keever’s angle in having Jimmie and Louise Harmon and Peterson here. What was up Keever’s sleeve? “The safe,” I said, “has it been opened yet?”
Keever shook his head.
“But it soon will be. We’ve got a good man in there.” He indicated the inner office. “He’s been at it since seven. He should be through any minute now.”
Keever did have something up his sleeve, all right — plenty. Otherwise he wouldn’t have left off riding me about my unexplained absence. I was glad to let it go at that, and for about ten minutes we all waited in uncomfortable silence. Most uncomfortable of all was Jimmie Harmon. He sat fidgeting, mopping his moistening temples from time to time. He started half out of his chair when the door suddenly opened, and a bald little guy stuck his face through.
“All set, Mr. Keever.”
I knew the locksmith, Clyde Altman. He was a skilled man, trusted by the police, but Keever had seen to it that a headquarters man had been on the job while Altman had worked.
“Has anything been touched?” Keever questioned the man, as we filed into the inner room.
“Not a thing, sir. The strongbox door’s been opened — that’s the only thing that’s been done to the inside.”
We formed a semi-circle in front of the safe at a respectful distance. Keever, wasting no time with the stuff in the pigeonholes, removed the strongbox drawer at once. His eyes lighted as he saw the paper on top. He snatched it up, unfolded it and gave it a rapid inspection. There was triumph in his eyes as he turned mysteriously to Louise Harmon.
“Miss Harmon, will you please look at this signature?”
Keever exhibited the paper. The girl’s eyes widened.
“Why... why, it’s Dad’s signature! What is this paper?”
“It’s a will, Miss Harmon, your father’s will. And now, Peterson, come over here and look carefully. Did you ever see this paper before?”
Peterson came forward and scanned the paper with growing astonishment.
“Yes, I saw it once. It’s the will that I stole out of Jimmie Harmon’s safe!”
“Exactly!” Keever’s eyes flashed with triumph as they fixed their gaze upon Jimmie Harmon. The boy had lost all color. Satisfied, Keever turned to me. “You didn’t realize it, Ben, but this afternoon you gave me the information that enabled me to crack this case. When you told me that Peterson had stolen a will and that it left the entire estate to Louise Harmon, you unwittingly supplied the key to the entire case.
“You see, it wasn’t Jimmie Harmon’s will that was stolen. Peterson thought so because it was in Jimmie’s safe and because he was misled by the signature. As Miss Harmon has just stated, the signature was actually her father’s — his name is the same as Jimmie’s. It wasn’t Jimmie who was leaving everything to his sister — it was James D. Harmon Sr. In his father’s will, Jimmie was completely disinherited.”
Chapter Four
The Real McCoy
Keever’s words seemed to echo in the still room. Suddenly he whirled again upon Jimmie Harmon.
“Do you dare deny it?” he barked.
The youth admitted hollowly: “It’s Dad’s will, all right. I found it after his death and hid it in my safe.”
Louise Harmon gave a startled gasp.
“Jimmie! How could you do such a thing?”
Jimmie Harmon lost his hangdog look as anger reddened his face.
“Wipe that look of righteous indignation off your face! I wasn’t doing anything you wouldn’t have done! What you did was worse — you sold Dad the idea I was a spendthrift playboy who couldn’t look out for himself. If only Dad would leave everything to you, you’d take care of me. Yes, you would! You’d have doled out a nickel at a time and made me crawl for it! When I hid that will, I was only protecting my rightful property!”
“And you were doing the same thing when you killed Shorty Waxman!”
Everybody subsided at Keever’s accusation. Keever pressed home the advantage his shock had given.
“You killed Waxman because he had the will and because he had been blackmailing you! Though Peterson failed to understand the significance of the will, thinking it was your own, Waxman knew better. That’s why he took Peterson’s case, though Peterson didn’t have any money to pay him. He knew he could collect plenty by threatening you with exposure. But he didn’t know you’d get so desperate that you’d kill him! And you did kill him, didn’t you?”
Keever had his long forefinger under Jimmie Harmon’s nose now, and Harmon slapped it away with a sharpness that made Keever wince.
“Damn you, no! Sure, Waxman was blackmailing me. The dirty skunk started it even before Peterson’s trial. He insisted that Peterson knew nothing about it, that only he knew the truth about the will. I paid and paid. I might have dropped the prosecution against Peterson if I hadn’t been sore about the hell he had caused me. That’s why I turned in his penitentiary record. Last Saturday afternoon I got half soused and spilled the beans to you. It wasn’t very bright, but then I felt I had to take it out on somebody — I couldn’t touch Waxman.”
“But you did, Jimmie, this noon! You touched him deeply — with a knife! You killed him because his relentless blackmailing had made you desperate! You can’t look me in the eye and deny it!”
Something inside Jimmie Harmon seemed to snap. Before Keever could dodge, Harmon had landed a solid punch on his jaw. Keever reeled and would have gone down if Carrothers hadn’t caught him. Shaking with anger, he roared: “See? See, what he did — it all goes to show how he resorts to violence when cornered! I’m warning you, Harmon, that anything you say will be held against you!”
I took a deep breath.
“Might I say a word?”
Keever growled: “Well, Ben, what is it?”
I took another deep breath.
“I don’t want to upset your little playhouse, but I think you ought to know that this will hasn’t been locked in the safe since Waxman’s murder. It was planted there. I happen to know because a couple of hours ago I saw it in Mickey O’Hara’s apartment. It was hidden back of her photo of Jimmie Harmon. I’d just removed it when I got conked. I passed out cold — that explains why I didn’t show up with Miss O’Hara as scheduled.”