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.
“Hello, McFee,” he said. “Sam.”
“Littner,” McFee said.
“Argument?”
“No,” McFee answered. “Sam bit his lip. He was just going to open a bottle of bubbly.” McFee walked to the desk, picked up the bottle Melrose had placed there. It was moist and cold. “Seventy-six. Elegant.” He turned to Melrose. “Got a glass for Littner, Sam?”
Melrose stared at McFee, his flat eyes inflamed. He did not speak. A flood of sound, shot through with panic, filled the house. Women screamed, glassware shattered. Melrose wiped his mouth, felt at his throat, pulled in a long breath. Then he sullenly crossed to the filing cabinet and took three glasses, a corkscrew and a napkin out of the bottom drawer. McFee ceremoniously handed him the bottle. Melrose wiped the top of the bottle, wrapped the napkin around it. The cork popped. Melrose poured unsteadily.
McFee said, “To the next District Attorney.”
They drank.
Blood from Melrose’s cut lip turned the “seventy-six” pink. He muttered blasphemously, held the napkin against his mouth. McFee hung his arm over Melrose’s shoulders. A white heat played across the flat surfaces of Melrose’s eyes.
McFee asked, “You got the Mayor out there, Littner?”
“Yes.”
“Buy him a lemonade before you bring him in. Sam and I got business to do.” McFee slapped Melrose’s shoulder affectionately. “Five minutes, Littner.”
McFee linked his arm in Melrose’s. Melrose resisted him a moment, then let the other lead him towards the door of the inner room. Littner’s eyes followed them, faintly ironical. Art Kline and his companion glared angry bewilderment.
At the door, McFee said softly, “Tell your boys this is private, Sam.”
Melrose muttered, “That stands.”
McFee looked at Littner. “Maybe you better stick close. Some’dy might take a notion.” Littner nodded.
McFee shut the door.
Melrose’s face was yellow and wet. “What’s your proposition?”
14
The room had a secretive intimacy that affronted the uncomplicated McFee, but he marched his somber eyes around it. The washroom door stood ajar. It had been shut when McFee had looked in through the window. His eyes dwelt on it a moment. Then he dug out the “Mr. Inside” notes and handed them to Melrose. “Take a look at these.”
Melrose said thickly, “Would my boys have been tailing you all day, if I had that file here?”
“Sure you haven’t got it here, Sam?”
“What you mean?”
McFee said slowly, “Littner and Roy are here to look for it. It’ll make a swell story — if they find it in this room— A swell story, Sam—”
Comprehending, Melrose yelled, “You planted that file here! You and that readheaded tramp— What you done with it?” He dropped his hand into his jacket pocket. He pushed his face into McFee’s, said in a low tone, “You find that file quick, or take it in the belly.”
“Littner’s out there, Sam.”
Melrose breathed hard. He took his hand out of his pocket. He wiped sweat out of his eyes, rubbed his palms together. “I’ll bust you for this, McFee.” His eyes slid desperately around the room — chairs, desk, washroom, carpet.
McFee said, “Sit tight, Sam, or I’ll call Littner.”
Melrose began to walk the floor. He stopped abruptly, came to grips with himself. “Let ’em find it,” he said huskily. “I can beat the rap.”
“Think so?” McFee chewed a finger nail. “Damon wasn’t so much, but O’Day was his mother. Nob’dy knew it until today. The old girl had about a million friends in this town and all of ’em are beginning to feel sorry for her. You know what people are when they begin feeling sorry. Think you got enough drag to beat the Damon-O’Day-Shelldon combination?”
“My boys didn’t rub out Damon and O’Day.”
“This is politics, Sam.” McFee thumbed a match at a cigarette. “It isn’t what a lad does or don’t do — it’s what his public’ll stand for.”
“Howd’l know that file’s planted here?”
“Call Littner — you’ll know then.”
“You found out who killed Damon?”
McFee answered carefully, “Maybe.”
Melrose pulled up in front of McFee. “What you want?”
The racket on the cafe floor had dropped to a backlash of irritation and protest. A door opened. Littner spoke to someone. Joe Cruikshank’s soprano answered. The Mayor’s platform boom cut in.
McFee said, “Sam, you been running this town long enough. I’m going to take it away from you.”
“Yes?”
“The Mayor’s out there telling everybody what a good guy he is.” McFee spoke softly, pulled out the paper he had typewritten at Irene Mayo’s. “The Mayor’s your man. Your money elected him, keeps him in the City Hall. This is an unsigned indorsement of Luke Addams’ candidacy for District Attorney—”
“A lotta help that’ll give him.”
McFee said gently, “With the City Hall machine and the newspapers pulling for Addams we got a pretty good chance beating Dietrich. Addams in, we work for a new deal in the police hookup — Littner chief. But that’s future. Sam, you are going to tell Hizoner to put his John Henry to this declaration of independence, or I give Littner the go sign.” He smiled. “How ’bout it?”
Melrose raged, “I will not!” But he was shaken. “I’ll see you—”
McFee cut in, “You want Littner to use his search warrant? This is politics. I’m telling you.”
Jerking at his wilted collar, Melrose walked to the window. McFee slanted his eyes at the washroom door. He kept them there until Melrose faced around.
“I can throw plenty sugar your way—”
McFee said, “You are going to need sugar, Sam.”
Melrose opened his mouth, shut it without saying anything, pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. When he dropped them, his eyes were crazy, and he came charging towards McFee with his hands clenched. Littner entered just then, a brown paper parcel under his arm. Roy Cruikshank was behind him. The Mayor boomed in the outer room. His handsome, silver head was visible for a moment before Cruikshank closed the door. Melrose shook his head, let his hands fall.
Littner sat down, laid the parcel on the floor beside him. He said nothing. His oval head, his cold water eyes said nothing. Cruikshank put a cigarette in his pink mouth, pulled his hat over his eyes and leaned against the wall.
“Do I get that file?” Melrose asked tonelessly.
McFee said, “Sorry. We got to have a guarantee the City Hall’ll root hard enough.” He added reluctantly, “But I’ll give you a break, Sam. I’ll show Littner who killed Damon and his mother.”
Melrose wet his lips. “All right.” McFee handed him the unsigned indorsement. He read it, turned it over, flared out, “None of my boys killed Damon. By God, McFee if this is another frame—”
McFee said, “I never framed anybody, Sam.”
As Melrose went out and shut the door behind him, the Mayor’s platform boom ceased. A low-toned, bitter argument began. Melrose’s voice whiplashed, “I’m still running this town, Mr. Mayor.”
McFee sat down. His eyes moved towards the washroom door, remained there a moment, came back. He wiped his face.
Littner said mildly, “Warm for the time of the year.”
“It’s some of that unusual weather,” Cruikshank muttered under his hat brim.
“Maybe Sam’ll buy us a highball,” McFee said. He laughed softly, looked at the cherubic Cruikshank, at the politically minded Littner. “Politics is funny. The lad who don’t have to put over more than a couple of dirty ones to pull three good members out the bag has a medal coming to him.”