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.
“They’ll probably last just long enough to be used on her casket,” Teccard brooded. “Wait, though. We might still be in time.”
“It wouldn’t take her all day to get to New York!”
“It might. Station master didn’t tell the chief what time the train left, this a.m. Might have been late morning. And those trains up north of the capital run slower than a glacier. If the Yulett girl had to change at Albany, and wait...”
Helen got the phone first, called train information. It was busy. The sergeant kept pounding the desk with her fist until she got her connection.
Before she hung up, Teccard was asking: “Can we stop her?”
“Only train making connections from Algers to New York arrives at Grand Central, eight forty. Gives us about twenty minutes.”
He caught her arm. “Hell it does. We’ll have to burn rubber to make it. We can’t wait until she gets off the train. We’ll have to find her, convince her we’re on the level, tip her off what she’s to do. Chances are, Forst’ll be waiting for her. We’d scare him off before we spotted him.”
She was streaking down the corridor toward the elevator. “We catch the train at a Hundred and Twenty-fifth, come in with her?”
“If she’s on it. If we can locate it. And if she’ll listen to reason. That’s a hell of a lot of ‘ifs.’ ”
The department sedan zoomed over to Park and Thirty-fourth — went through the red lights with siren screeching. They didn’t stop to park at a Hundred and Twenty-fifth, sprinted up the stairs as the conductor gave the “Boa-r-r-r-d!”
The sergeant saw the bunch of lilies-of-the-valley first. “That sweet-faced one, in the dark blue coat and that God-awful hat, Jerry.”
“Yair. You better break the ice. She’ll be suspicious of a man.”
Helen dropped into the empty seat beside the woman in the unbecoming hat. The lieutenant stayed a couple of paces in the rear.
“Miss Yulett?” the sergeant inquired, softly.
“You’re Miss Marion Yulett, from Algers, aren’t you?”
The woman smiled sweetly, opened her bag, produced a small pad and a pencil.
Swiftly she wrote: Sorry. I am hard of hearing.
Teccard smothered an oath. It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d been crippled or scarred up — Helen would have been able to fix it so the Yulett woman could step into a ladies’ room, somewhere, and give her instructions to handle the man she was going to meet. But there wouldn’t be time to write everything out in longhand, without arousing “Forst’s” suspicions. And if the killer had an accomplice, as the lieutenant believed, this deaf woman couldn’t hear what “Forst” and the other would be saying to each other — and that might prove to be the most important evidence of all!
Helen scribbled away on the pad. Teccard sidled up alongside so he could read.
I am Sergeant Dixon from the N. Y. Policewomen’s Bureau. Are you Marion Yulett?
The woman shrank back in her seat.
“Yes. Why do you want me?” Her voice shook.
The pencil raced in Helen’s fingers.
Only to save you unhappiness. Maybe worse. You plan to meet a man named Peter Forst?
“Yes. Is anything wrong?”
The sergeant held the pad out, again.
We believe he’s a killer who’s murdered several women who became acquainted with him through the Herald. Have you a picture of him?
Miss Yulett fumbled nervously in her bag, produced a small, glossy snap-shot. Teccard’s forehead puckered up. This couldn’t be a photo of Willard, by any possibility! The man in the snap-shot was round-faced and pudgy-cheeked. He had a neatly trimmed goatee and his hair receded at the temples, from a high forehead!
Helen wrote: How will Forst recognize you?
“I had my picture taken, too. I sent it to him day before yesterday.” Miss Yulett bit her lip to keep from crying. “I’m afraid it wasn’t a very good likeness — I don’t photograph well. But I was wearing this hat and these beads,” she touched a necklace of imitation pink jade, “and I’m wearing his flowers, too.” Tears began to stream down her cheeks, she turned her face toward the window. “You must be mistaken about Peter, his letters were so sweet and kind. I can’t imagine his... hurting anybody.”
The train began to slow for the track intersections in the upper yard. There was no time for softening the blow, with sympathy.
Helen made the pad say: If he’s the man we’re after, he doesn’t intend to marry you at all. If you have any money, he’ll wheedle it away from you and then— Did he mention anything about money?
The words came out between convulsive sobs: “Only that he had a small and prosperous business. With a partner who wasn’t... quite honest, perhaps. If Peter and I... got... along... he said I might want to buy out this other man’s interest. So my... my husband and I... could be partners.”
The pencil moved so swiftly Teccard could hardly follow it.
Brace up now, Marion. We’re getting in. Take off your hat. And your beads.
Miss Yulett dried her eyes on a tiny handkerchief, did her best to smile. “You’re going to meet him, with me — so he can have a chance to explain?”
No, I’m going to meet him. As you. Wearing your hat and beads. Unpin those flowers, too.
“But, please! Please let me—”
Don’t waste time arguing. If he looks all right to me, I’ll let you meet him later. I’ll take your bag, too. You take mine. And wear my hat.
The disturbed woman unclasped her beads. “But what on earth am I to do? Where will I go? I don’t know anybody but Peter—”
The gentleman standing behind us is Police Lieutenant Teccard. He’ll see that you get to a hotel. Stay where he tells you to until I can get in touch with you.
Teccard gripped Helen’s shoulder. “No you don’t. You take Miss Yulett to the hotel. I’ll meet pal Peter.”
Sergeant Dixon looked up at him. “What evidence do you think you’d get out of him, Jerry? He’s not the same man you ran into uptown, is he? As things stand, you haven’t a thing on him.”
“I’ll sweat the evidence out of him, all right.”
“Maybe you couldn’t. There’s always the possibility this fellow’s on the level. If he is, I turn him over to Miss Yulett. If he isn’t, I’ll be able to give first-hand testimony as to how he operates. This is a job only a policewoman can handle effectively.”
Teccard grimaced. “Put your gun in her bag, then. And don’t be dainty about using it. Another thing: I’m going to turn Miss Yulett over to one of the pick-pocket squad in the terminal and tail you and your intended.”
“All right, as long as he doesn’t spot you.” Helen adjusted the ridiculous brim of the hat, snapped the beads around her neck. Hastily, she used the pad once more.
Did Forst tell you where you were to stay in New York? Or how soon you’d get married?
“As soon as we could get the license.” Tears glistened in the woman’s eyes again. “He said I could stay with his family. But I don’t know just where they live.”
“I bet Peter doesn’t, either,” Teccard muttered, beneath his breath. He watched Helen go through the contents of Miss Yulett’s bag — the little leather diary, the packet of envelopes like the one in Helbourne’s desk drawer, the savings bank book.
The train slid alongside the concrete platform, redcaps kept pace with the slowing cars.
Helen put her arm around Miss Yulett’s shoulders, hugged her lightly. Teccard pulled down the worn, leather suitcase from the overhead rack. “I’ll get a porter for you.”