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.
“Infinitely,” said Sackler.
“Well, go ahead.”
“I’m waiting for my messenger boy,” said Sackler. “I can’t do a thing until he arrives.”
“My God,” said Wolley, “what the hell can a messenger boy have to do with the death of Karl Capek?”
“Nothing,” said Sackler. “But he may have a great deal to do with the solution.”
The doorbell jangled then. Benny turned to answer it but Sackler stayed him with a gesture. He strode out into the foyer and admitted a Postal Union boy. He spoke to him earnestly for a moment and in a tone so low I couldn’t hear him.
I admit I tried.
There was an expression of relief on his face when he returned to the living-room. He drew a Windsor chair up to a table and sat facing us all.
“Now,” he said with a businesslike air, “how do you figure this Capek case, Wolley?”
Wolley glared at him. If he’d told him how he figured the Capek case once, he’d told him a dozen times. Now he lifted his voice and told it again — loud.
“Capek was an eccentric. A nut, as I figure it. His typewritten note gave that away. He went out to that unused lodge to think things over. After a few days of brooding, he killed himself. It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“No,” said Sackler. “And what about Rawson?”
“Rawson was devoted to the old guy. Capek gave him everything he had. He was so broken up at Capek’s death that he killed himself, too.”
“That,” remarked Sackler to me, “is typical modern police work. When you can’t solve a killing you call it suicide in a loud authoritative voice, then go back to a nice warm station-house and finish reading the comic papers.”
There was confidence in his manner. As a matter of fact he seemed so assured I began to think he’d cooked up some way to save his twenty-five hundred dollars.
“All right,” said Wolley, annoyed. “I’ve told you. Now you tell me. What did happen to Capek?”
“What was the first official police theory?” asked Sackler. “Two weeks ago when Capek was first reported missing?”
“Kidnaping. But we exploded that.”
“Ah,” said Sackler gently, “did you? This may be incredible to you, Inspector, but you were right the first time.”
“Hooey,” said Wolley. “Who the hell would kidnap a guy and hold him prisoner on his own estate?”
“A very bright guy indeed,” said Sackler. “The coppers never looked for him there, did they?”
“There were no ransom notes, were there? What the hell sort of a kidnaping would it be without any ransom notes?”
“An extremely unusual one,” said Sackler.
I watched Sackler closely. This talking in circles wasn’t like him at all. When he had a case broken he usually threw it in everyone’s face abruptly and without waste of words. But now his eyes kept straying to the big clock on the mantelpiece and his manner was that of a man who is just trying to use up time.
I looked around the room. Our old pal Benny now stood a graven image by the fireplace. Crosher had turned his back to the window and stared at Sackler. I reflected that had I killed Capek and Rawson, I would have made a point of appearing less apprehensive than Crosher.
Wolley’s face was ruddier than usual. Sackler invariably irritated him and today’s circumlocution was angering him even more than was customary.
“Sackler,” he said, “will you stop horsing around? If you’ve any evidence, present it.”
“All right,” said Sackler. “Let’s begin with the kidnaping premise. There’s a guy, a certain guy who knows Capek. He’s in a jam — a financial jam. He needs dough badly. So he takes Capek down to that boarded-up lodge and demands a juicy check. Capek won’t give it to him. So he kills him.”
That was too much even for me. Wolley was just two points this side of apoplexy.
“That’s the screwiest thing I ever heard,” he yelled. “What good is Capek to him dead if he needs dough?”
“None whatever,” said Sackler, “but the killer didn’t know that at the time.” He paused for a long moment; then he glanced over at the fireplace and added: “Did he, Benny?”
Benny Bagel almost fell over the fire tools. His face was suddenly pale. His eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped so quickly I expected it to bounce off his chest. Wolley noted his expression and some of his doubt left him.
“What’s he got to do with it?”
Sackler turned to Crosher, who viewed the proceedings blankly.
“You see,” he said, “there’s your police department for you. Benny’s a forger. He’s served two raps and is considered by his pals the top man in the business. Right, Benny?”
Benny had recovered somewhat by now. “I’m afraid you’re making a mistake,” he said politely. “I’ve been in law or law school all my life. You’re confusing me with some criminal.”
“Of course,” said Wolley hopefully. “Of course.”
“Sure,” said Sackler. “Did you see him register when I threw it in his face? He’s Benny Bagel. You’ve got his fingerprints downtown, Wolley. You’ve got his Bertillons and everything else. In a very short while you’re going to have him in person.”
Wolley looked from Benny, who appeared very uncomfortable, to Sackler, who didn’t.
“What’s it all about?” he asked. “Are you saying this guy killed him?”
“Accessory,” said Sackler. “After and during the fact of murder.”
“Well, for the love of God,” roared Wolley, “who did the actual killing?”
Sackler looked at the clock again before answering. It was two minutes to three.
“First,” said Sackler, “let me tell you why and how.”
“For heaven’s sake,” snapped Wolley, “tell me something.”
“This certain guy I mentioned a little while ago — let’s call him Smith. Well, he was in trouble. So he took Capek out to that caretaker’s lodge and proceeded to put the bite on him. He demanded that Capek write a letter asking for a hell of a lot of ransom. A note which would be delivered to Rawson, who, being quite fond of the old guy, would undoubtedly pay. Colby was named as the intermediary.”
“Colby,” said Wolley suddenly. “Where the devil is he?”
“Don’t bother about him,” said Sackler. “We don’t need him until later.”
Benny Bagel screwed up his brow and shot a puzzled glance at Sackler. Wolley banged the table impatiently with his fist and said: “All right. Get on with it.”
“Well,” went on Sackler, “Capek wouldn’t sign. This guy Smith got pretty sore about it. He knew Capek was a pretty stubborn guy. Torture, ordinary physical torture, was rather out of this Smith’s line. So he hit on what he thought was a brilliant idea. He thought of a torture which was bloodless, horrible and very effective.”
By this time Sackler had me as bewildered as anyone in the room. Usually, I could follow his reasoning at least halfway. But for a guy who apparently had nothing to work on he was delivering one hell of a lot of detail.
“So,” said Wolley, “what was this unusual torture?”
“Water,” said Sackler, “or rather, lack of it.”
Benny Bagel uttered a little sigh and sat down. I said: “Now how can you figure a thing like that?”
“It’s not too hard, Joey. First those smashed faucets. If they’d been smashed in rage or blind fury, it’s quite probable that something else, the furniture, the light bulbs, would also have been wrecked. But it was only the water faucets. Smashed by a man who is dying of thirst, who turns on the tap to get nothing but emptiness for perhaps the hundredth time. Then he did go nuts. He took the stove lid and crashed it down on the taps.”