Masters of Noir, Volume 2
Craig Rice, Jonathan Craig, Hal Ellson, David Alexander, Robert Turner, Charles Jackson, Talmage Powell, Henry Kane, Michael Fes
Another walk on the wild side! In this series of collections of gritty Noir and Hardboiled stories, you'll find some of the best writers of the craft writing in their prime. The following stories are included in this second volume of Masters of Noir: GREEN EYES by HAL ELLSON, BIG STEAL by FRANK KANE, NECKTIE PARTY by ROBERT TURNER, THE PURPLE COLLAR by JONATHAN CRAIG, I DON'T FOOL AROUND by CHARLES JACKSON, NICE BUNCH OF GUYS by MICHAEL FESSIER, FLOWERS TO THE FAIR by CRAIG RICE, DIE LIKE A DOG by DAVID ALEXANDER, BUILD ANOTHER COFFIN by HAROLD Q. MASUR, SOMEBODY'S GOING TO DIE by TALMAGE POWELL.
He figured you'd left them at your place. They went over there—” She dabbed at her eyes. “That's the last I saw of Charles." "You didn't see who he went with?" Bea shook her head. “He was going to meet him in front of your hotel. He instructed Charles to come alone." Liddell got up, paced the room. After a moment he stopped alongside Bea's chair. “You'd better stay under cover for a few days.” He looked up to Pinky. “Can you put her up until I wrap this up, Pink?" "Sure,” Pinky nodded. “But
basement door. The one that leads up to the street." "That's pretty high. She a tall girl like you?" "Yes. She used to work in chorus lines, just like I did." "You known her long?" "Yes. A long time. About—oh, about fifteen years." "And when you came home this afternoon you found the key where you expected it to be?" "No. It wasn't there. I got a passkey from the landlord." I took out my notebook. “What's Leda's full name, and where does she live?" 4. She hesitated. “Listen, officer ...
lips, took a small short puff, then dropped it over the side of the pier into the water. Because of the music, he did not hear the tiny hiss it must have made as it hit the water. The moon, rising higher over the Bluff at the far end of the bay, was getting smaller now, and it was also paler, whiter, no longer the color that Lynette had said it was—said in a way that nobody else on earth, certainly no other girl, would have described it. Her word had almost taken his breath away, but it had been
still stiff there on his back, and grinned. He snapped his fingers, said, “It's all right now, Pasteur. You did the trick just fine." He said to me, “You're sober enough to know what you just saw. A perfectly natural death. An old woman with a heart ailment. She came out here and keeled over with a stroke, a heart attack." The old dog finally scrambled to his feet. And I came to life, too. I swung one at the doc. I was so drunk and weak I couldn't have hurt a healthy fly, but it was a fluke
the man's throat to cut off any warning, missed. The driver yelled his surprise and struggled. Liddell had his gun hand, twisted it behind the other man's back, pulled him in front of him as a shield. A bush to the right seemed to belch flame. The man in Liddell's arms stiffened, jerked twice, then went limp. To the right he could hear the crashing of bushes as Hook ran for the car. Liddell let the driver's body slump to the ground, wasted precious minutes fumbling in the dark for the dead man's