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.
Suddenly Rieg shrieked in terror.
“Something stabbed my ankle!” he wailed.
Barnaby grunted. “Rats! Big sewer rats. Better stick close; they’ll attack a single man.”
Rieg huddled closer.
The tunnel branched abruptly. Hallahan, leading, swung off. A hundred yards farther along, he turned the beam of his light on an opening several feet above the floor of the main tube. He nodded to the others and climbed the iron rungs to disappear into the cave-like hole.
At a prod from Barnaby’s night-stick, Ritter and his trembling companion followed.
They found themselves in a square, windowless room. It was like the dungeon of some medieval castle. In the center was a crude table, rotten with age. Along two of the walls were winches. A candle was stuck in a whiskey bottle. Hallahan lighted it and extinguished the flash. Hidden drafts made the single flame flicker and ghostly shadows danced on the brick walls.
Hallahan seated himself at the table. He took a small note-book from his pocket, fingered the stub of a pencil and looked at Barnaby.
“Have you told him, Chief?”
Barnaby shook his head. “You’re the judge,” he remarked.
Hallahan nodded soberly and turned to the gaping prisoners. He surveyed them for a while, then began to speak in a slow, judicial tone.
“You’re in the court of a new order, boys,” he told them. “Chief Barnaby called it The City of Hell. Up above, you crooks run things; your boss makes and breaks judges, coppers, politicians. You and your lawyers rule the courts, the city government, the law. Well, we’ve started a new city down here. This old sewer is a monument to the system; it was built years ago by a bunch of crooked grafters and had to be abandoned because it wouldn’t work. For nearly three decades it’s been a breeding place for rats so we figgered this was a good place to bring you birds. Now you’re under arrest and you’ll get a fair trial. First we want you to take the stand an’ tell us...”
“Aw, cut out this baloney!” Ritter sneered. “What the hell do you think you’re settin’ yourself up to be? We’ll stand trial whenever we have to, in a court of law — what’s this farce anyway? You guys gone goofy?”
Hallahan sighed patiently. “The Constitution guarantees every citizen the right of trial by jury, but the Constitution was made before your breed came into existence; it was intended to protect decent citizens from oppression. Since you’re not a decent citizen, Ritter, you an’ ‘The Scourge’ can’t expect that sort of protection. We want you to tell us the truth about that baby killin’ last night.”
Ritter stiffened. “I’ll be damned if I will! Come on with your rough stuff. I can take it!”
Hallahan nodded. “That’s been the trouble up above. The cops beat up you guys but it didn’t work because the human body can only absorb just so much punishment an’ after that you don’t feel it. We got a better stunt.” He swung his gaze on Forsythe. “Lieutenant, lock up the prisoners!”
Forsythe strode willingly out of the shadows and clamped a big hand on each of the two crooks.
“Gladly, Your Honor.” He jerked them around and started for the door, then paused in front of Duane. “Sam, would you take that club an’ beat off the rats until I chain these muggs to the floor?”
Duane hefted a club. “Sure,” he agreed.
“The Scourge” leapt sidewise. “Rats! Good God! You can’t do that! We’d be eaten alive!”
Forsythe jerked him towards the opening. “That’s your funeral; you heard the Judge’s orders.”
Rieg continued to struggle. “No, no, I tell you!”
Barnaby strode over and caught “The Scourge” by the neck. He hustled him through the opening into a smaller tunnel. As the flash sent an explorative beam ahead, large gray shapes scurried into the deeper shadows where twin eyes glowed in the darkness at the human intruders.
Ritter snarled through his teeth. “Shut up, Rieg! It’s a bluff!”
Barnaby snorted but made no reply. He threw the squirming gunman to the slimy floor, snapped a cuff on his wrist and hooked the other end to an iron ring sunk in the floor. “The Scourge” sobbed brokenly, but Ritter kept his nerve up.
“Swarm will take care of you finks!” he prophesied grimly.
Barnaby wiped his hands together. “An’ these wharf rats will take care of you. That makes it even.” He started to leave the cavern, but Rieg’s cry stopped him.
“You’re murderin’ me!” he shrieked.
Barnaby wagged his gray head. “No Whisper, you’re commitin’ suicide. If you talk, you got a fightin’ chance. For instance, if you was to tell us who ordered you killers out...”
“I can’t!” screamed “The Scourge.”
Barnaby shrugged and passed through the opening. He heard Ritter’s husky tones pleading, cajoling Rieg to keep up his nerve. Then a rat must have bitten “The Scourge” for he uttered one long wail of terror.
“Listen to reason, in God’s name!” he howled.
Barnaby paused, winked to Forsythe, then called back. “Give us names, Whisper, not an argument.”
“Swarm...”
Coxy Swarm leaned forward, his elbows propped on the arms of his chair, and his cold fish-eyes focused on the slender little man striding up and down the room.
“If Rieg and Ritter had been snatched by some of the other boys it would be my job, Hymie,” he growled. “But you’re paid a damn’ good salary to act as the mouthpiece for this outfit, and when the cops grab two of my best boys, it’s your job to see they get sprung. I’m waiting for service.” The cold cigar on one side of his thin-lipped mouth crawled up at an aggressive angle.
The little lawyer stopped, combed his black tousled hair with nervous fingers, then made a futile gesture with his hands.
“But I tell you, Coxy,” he shouted, after the manner of a man who has been repeating the same explanation over and over, “these two men, Barnaby and Duane, are not with the police department! I did what you asked and had them demoted, but they got tough and quit. But in spite of that, I have assistants staked out at every precinct station within fifty miles of here. So far, these ex-cops haven’t taken Ritter and Rieg to a jail. If they do, I’ll spring ’em; I can get any man I want released from any jail in this county. But, Coxy, be reasonable! I can’t get a man out of jail when he hasn’t been put in!”
A tall, gangling hood sitting near the door spoke. “You don’t suppose these cops took the boys for a ride, do you?”
Lawyer Croker stiffened to his full five feet four inches. “They wouldn’t dare!” he shouted. “I’d have them broke!”
Swarm jerked the cigar out of his mouth, glanced at the cold ash and hurled it from him with an oath. He reached a big hand into a niche in the wall beside him and grabbed a telephone. Then he called an unlisted number.
“Judge Tweedie? Listen, Tweedie, this is Swarm. Two dumb cops named Barnaby and Duane snatched a pair of my best boys, see. I want those flat-feet nailed to the cross! Get in touch with the foreman of your Grand Jury and have ’em bring in an indictment first thing in the morning. No, don’t wait until morning to call the foreman, do it right now. I don’t give a damn if it is nearly midnight! Maybe we can smoke that pair out in the open with an indictment, but if my boys find ’em in the meantime, you won’t need to bother with the Grand Jury. Goodbye!” He waited for no answer, but hung up.