Anthology

The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps

The Black Lizard Big Book of Pulps

Otto Penzler

Language: English

Pages: 1168

ISBN: 0307280489

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


The biggest, the boldest, the most comprehensive collection of Pulp writing ever assembled.

 

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.

 

Including:

 

• Three stories by Raymond Chandler, Cornell Woolrich, Erle Stanley Gardner, and Dashiell Hammett.

• Complete novels from Carroll John Daly, the man who invented the hard-boiled detective, and Fredrick Nebel,

one of the masters of the form.

• A never before published Dashiell Hammett story.

• Every other major pulp writer of the time, including Paul Cain, Steve Fisher, James M. Cain, Horace McCoy, and many

many more of whom you’ve probably never heard.

• Three deadly sections–The Crimefighters, The Villains, and Dames–with three unstoppable introductions by Harlan Coben,

Harlan Ellison, and Laura Lippman

 

Featuring:

 

• Plenty of reasons for murder, all of them good.

• A kid so smart–he’ll die of it.

• A soft-hearted loan shark’s legman learning–the hard way–never to buy a strange blonde a hamburger.

• The uncanny “Moon Man” and his mad-money victims.

The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

Lost-and-Found Groom (A Place Called Home, Book 1)

Stealers' Sky (Thieves' World, Book 12)

The Mammoth Book of Nebula Awards SF (aka Nebula Awards Showcase 2011)

Year's Best SF 9

Dark Terrors 3: The Gollancz Book of Horror (Dark Terrors, Book 3)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

there was no news. And in the middle of the next week there was an article in the papers relative to the fact that Antonio Maratelli had resigned as alderman. Of course, the political powers that be had asked him to resign—a request that was by way of being a threat. Tony made no kick. He was more interested in saving his son. Kennedy said, “If you ask me, Cap, that young wise guy Dominick deserves to be bumped off. There his old man got a nice political job, and was kind of proud of it, and

side of MacBride’s mouth drew down hard. He leaned closer. “Bunny, where is he?” “I don’t know…. Al knows.” “Why did he do this to you, Bunny?” “Because I knew he …” Her voice trailed off. The doctor said, “We’d better try getting her to the hospital. She hasn’t got much of a chance.” “Okey.” MacBride stood up. He went back into the other room and said, “Ike, I want you to go to the hospital with Bunny and hang around and see if she says anything more. Mory, you come with me to Headquarters.

and rushed at the door. Hoppy Uniatz flung himself after her like a wild bull awakened from slumber: he could have remained comatose through eons of verbal fencing, but this was a call to action, clear and unsullied, and such simple clarions had never found him unresponsive. Simon started the thin edge of an instant later than either of them; but it was his hand that reached the doorknob first. He threw the door wide and stepped out with a smooth combination of movements that brought him through

grim alertness of his eyes. From the head of the staircase the landing opened off in the shape of a squat long-armed T. All the doors that he saw at first were closed; he strode lightly to the junction of the two arms, and heard a faint movement down the left-hand corridor. Simon took a breath and jumped out on a quick slant that would have been highly disconcerting to any marksman who might have been waiting for him round the corner. But there was no marksman. The figures of two men were piled

tooth, felt his jaw. “Tell one of your boys to fix a light. Here’s a coupla fuses.” One of the men took the fuses, went away. “Some’dy belled the desk and yelled ‘Murder at the Gaiety,’ “ Hurley said querulously. He added cautiously, “Ranee Damon. What’s the dope?” “Sweet,” McFee answered, and stood up. “A box full of medals for Some’dy, and nob’dy wanting to wear ‘em.” Wobbling, he put on his shoes. “Gimme a cigarette, Beautiful.” “I ain’t looking for medals,” Hurley said harshly. “Medals

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