The Crime Fiction Megapack Read online

  Table of Contents

  COPYRIGHT INFO

  A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR

  THE ART OF MURDER, by Norman A. Daniels

  SEX MURDER IN CAMERON, by Michael Fessier

  HOT-MOTOR HOMICIDE, by Norman Ober

  “GIVE ME A BREAK,” by Norman Struber

  EAR-WITNESS, by Maurice Beam

  THE GENTLEST OF THE BROTHERS, by David Alexander

  AUTHOR’S ADVENTURE, by Upton Sinclair

  ONE WAY BRIDGE, by Phil Hiner

  ONE DRINK CAN KILL YOU, by David Alexander

  CHIVALRY IS NOT DEAD IN LAS VEGAS, by Mann Rubin

  CUT BAIT, by Gil Brewer

  CRASH OR CREDIT, by Paul W. Fairman

  DRY RUN, by Norman Struber

  MAC WITHOUT A KNIFE, by Talmage Powell

  MOVIE NIGHT, by Robert Turner

  BROTHERS, by Sherwood Anderson

  ELIZABETH IS ME, by Marjorie Lee Nevin

  FOR CUSTOMERS ONLY, by Millard H. Cannon

  DON’T DO THAT, by Gil Brewer (as by Bailey Morgan)

  THE SPIDER STRAIN, by Johnston McCulley

  Wildside Press’s MEGAPACK® Ebook Series

  COPYRIGHT INFO

  The Crime Fiction MEGAPACK® is copyright © 2019 by Wildside Press, LLC. All rights reserved.

  * * * *

  The MEGAPACK® ebook series name is a trademark of Wildside Press, LLC. All rights reserved.

  * * * *

  “The Art of Murder,” by Norman A. Daniels, was originally published in The Saint Mystery Magazine (UK), July 1961.

  “Sex Murder In Cameron,” by Michael Fessier, was originally published in Manhunt, February 1953.

  “Hot-motor Homicide,” by Norman Ober, was originally published in F.B.I. Detective Stories, August 1950.

  “Give Me a Break,” by Norman Struber, was originally published in Manhunt, June 1958.

  “Ear-Witness,” by Maurice Beam, was originally published in Black Mask, January 1949.

  “The Gentlest of the Brothers,” by David Alexander, was originally published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, February 1956. Copyright © 1956, renewed 1984 by David Alexander. Reprinted by permission of the Estate of David Alexander.

  “Author’s Adventure,” by Upton Sinclair, was originally published in The True Blue Library, 1897.

  “One Way Bridge,” by Phil Hiner, was originally published in Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, March 1960.

  “One Drink Can Kill You,” by David Alexander, was originally published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, April 1964. Copyright © 1964 by David Alexander. Reprinted by permission of the Estate of David Alexander.

  “Chivalry Is Not Dead in Las Vegas,” by Mann Rubin, was originally published in Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, August 1961.

  “Cut Bait,” by Gil Brewer, was originally published in The Pursuit Detective Story Magazine, May 1956, under the pseudonym “Eric Fitzgerald.”

  “Crash or Credit,” by Paul W. Fairman, was originally published in F.B.I. Detective Stories, October 1949.

  “Dry Run,” by Norman Struber, was originally published in Manhunt, April 1956.

  “Mac Without a Knife,” by Talmage Powell, was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, May 1965. Reprinted by permission of the Estate of Talmage Powell.

  “Movie Night,” by Robert Turner, was originally published in Manhunt, July 1957.

  “Elizabeth Is Me,” by Marjorie Lee Nevin, was originally published in The Saint Mystery Magazine (UK), November 1961.

  “For Customers Only,” by Millard H. Cannon, was originally published in Black Mask Detective, May 1951.

  “Don’t Do That,” by Gil Brewer, was originally published in Hunted Detective Story Magazine, December 1955, under the pseudonym “Baily Morgan.”

  “The Spider Strain,” by Johnston McCulley, was originally published in Detective Story Magazine, April 8, 1919.

  A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR

  We present here for your entertainment The Crime Fiction MEGAPACK®—20 stories comprising a variety of infractions against the laws of the land. As to whether these infractions are successful or result in punishment, and how culpable the main characters are in their actions, well therein lies the tale…

  We have chosen a selection of stories from across the years. Murder, vigilantes, larceny, conmen schemes, prostitution, Mob syndicate crimes—these all make appearances, and we’ve left space for the occasional philosophical tale of those who breach the borders of the social contract. So pull up a chair and take a walk on the wild side in this assortment of classic noir gems assembled for you.

  And try not to get caught!

  —Shawn Garrett

  Editor, Wildside Press

  ABOUT THE SERIES

  Over the last few years, our MEGAPACK® ebook series has grown to be our most popular endeavor. (Maybe it helps that we sometimes offer them as premiums to our mailing list!) One question we keep getting asked is, “Who’s the editor?”

  The MEGAPACK® ebook series (except where specifically credited) are a group effort. Everyone at Wildside works on them. This includes John Betancourt (the publisher), Steve Coupe, Shawn Garrett, Sam Cooper, Sam Hogan, and many of Wildside’s authors…who often suggest stories to include (and not just their own!)

  RECOMMEND A FAVORITE STORY?

  Do you know a great classic science fiction story, or have a favorite author whom you believe is perfect for the MEGAPACK® ebook series? We’d love your suggestions! You can post them on our message board at http://wildsidepress.forumotion.com/ (there is an area for Wildside Press comments).

  Note: we only consider stories that have already been professionally published. This is not a market for new works.

  TYPOS

  Unfortunately, as hard as we try, a few typos do slip through. We update our ebooks periodically, so make sure you have the current version (or download a fresh copy if it’s been sitting in your ebook reader for months.) It may have already been updated.

  If you spot a new typo, please let us know. We’ll fix it for everyone. You can email the publisher at [email protected] or use the message boards above.

  THE ART OF MURDER, by Norman A. Daniels

  Originally published in The Saint Mystery Magazine (UK), July 1961.

  The airliner was coming in for a landing at this mid-western airport and the warning sign flashed on. Alec Paxton adjusted his safety belt automatically. Travelling was second nature to him. He hardly took his eyes off the magazine he was reading and when the plane came to a stop, he reluctantly put the magazine aside.

  He was a man of thirty-eight, a tall, slim, handsome man. Distinguished looking and debonair. Hired slayer was certainly not a term which would be used to describe him, for he looked nothing like a killer, which was one of the reasons why he was such a successful one.

  He walked casually down the aisle, like someone wanting to stretch his legs a bit before the plane resumed its flight. He walked by the small, insignificant looking passenger without a glance. This man sauntered out of the plane also.

  Alec Paxton visited the newsstand inside the airport building and bought a package of wild cherry drops. While he dug ineffectually at the cellophane wrapper, he watched the inoffensive looking little man approach one of three phone booths at the far end of the terminal.

  The airport building was ideally suited to Alec’s purpose. It had been recently built and purposely made very large in anticipation of increased volume of business which had not yet come about. So the far end of the building was like a private wing. Some day it would contain magazine stands, ticket and reservation desks, but at the moment there were only three phone booths the
re. One of them bore a sign Volume Control For Hard of Hearing. The little man stepped into that booth and closed the door.

  Alec popped a wild cherry drop into his mouth, sauntered toward the booth and removed from an inner pocket, an automatic pistol to which an efficient silencer was attached. He stepped up to the booth, pushed the door open enough to get his hand and the gun inside.

  “I hope this doesn’t hurt too much,” he said affably, and pulled the trigger. Then he closed the door as the man in the booth disappeared from sight. From another pocket Alec took a regulation phone company sign, a little worn around the edges, and hung it on the booth door. It read Out of Order. He moved away casually, checked his watch and saw that the sweep second hand was only ten seconds off the time he’d allowed himself. The plane would leave in exactly three minutes. He moved toward it, smiled at a terminal policeman who promptly saluted him as a man of probable importance.

  Alec was settling down in the plane, seat belt in place, when the insignificant looking little man he’d pretended to shoot in the phone booth, sat down beside him.

  “How did it go, sir?” he asked.

  “Ten seconds short, Hugo, which is margin enough.”

  “These dry runs do help, don’t they, sir?” Hugo asked.

  “Indeed. Could we have successfully assassinated twenty-one men in ten years unless we did make sure of everything?”

  “I’m afraid not, sir.”

  “And this is the last one,” Alec said. “It’s going to be pleasant to retire.”

  “Yes, sir. It does become a bit nerve wracking, sir.”

  The plane taxied for the takeoff. “Nerve wracking?” Alec asked with a frown. “Hugo, what’s nerve wracking about it? We’ve made an art of murder. For instance, I have no idea whom I will kill in that phone booth tomorrow. I have never laid eyes on the man. He may be a revolutionist, a spy, a gangster, a man intent on taking someone’s wife. All I know is that another person has good reason to wish him dead. Our contacts hear of it, reach you and the details are set. I kill the man. I have no motive, he has never seen me, nor I him. Nothing can connect me with the man or the murder. If those who hire me are suspected, they have unbreakable alibis and if they did want to talk, what could they say? There is absolutely no way of their finding out who I am except through you.”

  “And they can’t find me,” Hugo declared smugly.

  “Quite true. In a way, Alec, our profession actually saves lives. Did you ever think of that?”

  “No, sir, can’t say I did. Those who—ah—encountered you wouldn’t agree.”

  “Ah—but those who wanted their man dead, I saved. In every case, we know our client is willing to pay a great deal of money—a quarter of a million once—to be rid of someone. If our client is that willing to pay, he would very likely commit the murder himself if we were not here to take over for him. He would undoubtedly bungle the job, because it is a profession and takes skill and experience. So, bungling it, he would be apprehended and quite possibly executed. I look at it this way—at least, we save our client. The victim was bound to be killed anyway.”

  “Quite so, sir,” Hugo said.

  “And tomorrow, the last job. I’ll be sorry to part company with you, Hugo. You’re not only extremely efficient in our work, but you’ve been a friend and a valet as well. Losing you is the bitterest pill I shall have to swallow.”

  “All because of a girl,” Hugo said morosely.

  “Ah, yes, but what a girl. Hugo.”

  “I agree that no man can be in love and be a professional assassin at the same time.”

  “Nonsense, Hugo. I could manage very well. Being a killer is like any other business, though I’ll grant the risks are greater. But so is the reward—and I have been very well rewarded. I can easily retire after this job tomorrow.”

  “I’d feel much better if you hadn’t met the girl until after you retired, sir.”

  “She will not interfere,” Alec assured him. “Of course she knows nothing about my profession, and she never will. Now, let’s forget all this worry about making errors. There’s absolutely no reason why we should.”

  * * * *

  Alec had lived at the Berkeley so many years he was practically a member of this fashionable hotel family. His suite was on the top floor, shared by Hugo. They lived splendidly, but they were able to save money too. As Alec often said, it was a very good line because there were no tax difficulties. A man who pays out a goodly sum to have a murder committed doesn’t send the government a form 1099, reporting the transaction.

  Alec handed his hat to Hugo, put away the unloaded, silenced gun and then he searched his coat pockets, searched them again frantically.

  “The Out Of Order sign for the phone booth,” he said. “Hugo…did you see it?”

  “No, sir. I didn’t even look. You were supposed to see to it, sir.”

  “I know. I know. I was thinking about Jane. I must have left the sign on the door.”

  “You never made a mistake like that before, sir.”

  “A small one. Unimportant, Hugo. There’ll be no more.”

  “Let’s hope not, sir.”

  “Oh, come off it,” Alec said patiently. “One more job—it’ll go right. I’ll stop thinking of Jane and concentrate. You know I always do when we’re pulling the job.”

  “We also concentrate on the dry run,” Hugo said. “Will you be going out this evening?”

  “Certainly—with Jane. Why not?”

  “That will be a first time too. You usually relax, think about what you have to do the next day, and go to bed early.”

  “Bosh. I can handle a simple assignment like tomorrow’s, with half an eye open. We’ll check a bit now. The victim is to board our plane. He makes the trip often and never varies in his movements. Am I correct?”

  “He is hard of hearing, sir, and he’s a slave driver. He reaches the airport with just so many minutes to take-off time and he always phones his office from that special booth for the hard of hearing, to give final orders to his staff. His secretary accompanies him to the airport only and always sees to the baggage while our victim telephones.”

  “There are no other special phones for the hard of hearing in the terminal?”

  “I’m positive there are not.”

  “What are we worrying about then? It’s as good as done. We timed it today. Chances are the body won’t be found until after the plane is in the air, but even if it is, what’s there about the crime to connect us, Hugo? Now stop worrying and compound two of those Manhattan cocktails you’re so famous for. I’ll call Jane.”

  He telephoned to the public stenographer’s office and Jane answered. She said she’d be right up. Hugo was busy in the serving pantry so Alec let her in and promptly kissed her. Then he held her at arm’s length and savored the brilliant beauty of her. She was flaxen-haired, blue-eyed, matching his height well, and constructed along lines so many actresses advertise. With all this spectacular beauty, she was quiet and unassuming and charmingly unaware of the commotion she could arouse merely by entering a room.

  “I’m so glad you’re back, Alec,” she said. “I missed you.”

  “For one day?” he chided, and drew her closer to him. “Thank you, Jane dear. I like to be missed. No one has ever missed me before—except when I was a boy and my mother lived.”

  “You have to go away again tomorrow?”

  “For the last time,” he promised her. “When I return, we’ll set the details for our marriage and I’ll never leave you again. And this trip won’t even be for overnight. I’ll leave on the east-bound 8:50 and return in the evening. In time to have dinner with you, my sweet.”

  Hugo coughed discreetly and served the drinks. He withdrew at once and Jane commented on his lack of sociability.

  “Oh, he’s an old fuddy-dud,” Alec explained. “The fact is, I think the man’s jealous. Of you, my dear. But he has no reason to resent you. He knew some day he’d have to quit working for me.”

  “I’m
sorry he wants to,” Jane said. “I like him.”

  “So do I. Now don’t feel sorry for him, darling. He’s not just well heeled, he’s wealthy. Ever since I’ve known him, he’s talked of going back to England to live. He’ll leave right after the wedding, and he’ll be very content once he gets used to it.”

  They had their drinks and Jane hurried to her lobby office to finish some letters for Mr. Shilling, who also lived at the hotel and used Jane to do all his secretarial work. Alec prepared to dress for dinner at any one of the half dozen elite places where he was well known. Tonight would be very special. A dinner in honor of his last working day. After tomorrow he’d be a man of leisure. Not that he didn’t expect to enter some genteel line of business, but he could take his time and pick what he wished. Or he and Jane could travel. He had cash in banks all over the world. It was going to be a delightful life.

  * * * *

  Mr. Shilling had a surprise for Jane. “I find it impossible to leave,” he explained, “so I want you to take a briefcase of important papers to my Milwaukee office. They have to be there tomorrow and you may use my seat on the 8:50 plane.”

  “Why, that’s wonderful,” she said. “My fiancé is taking that same plane on a business trip. I’ll surprise him. Thank you very much, Mr. Shilling.”

  She didn’t mention her trip that night. She had a gourmet’s dinner with Alec and then they danced until midnight and he was reluctant, even then, to take her back to the hotel where she also lived.

  He kissed her good night at her door and then took the elevator to his own floor. Hugo let him in when he rang, and Hugo was greatly annoyed.

  “It’s not my place to criticize, sir, but this never happened before.”

  “Do you mean my date with Jane?”

  “Staying out all hours the night before you have a job. It’s most dismaying to me, sir.”

  “Nonsense, Hugo. What can go wrong? This job is so simple…comparatively speaking. Think back to some of the others. That would-be dictator eight years ago. When he moved from one room to another, he was surrounded by armed men. When he left his palace, a small army shielded him. There were four machine gun armed men in his bedroom all night—even when he didn’t sleep alone. Now there was a challenge, but we got to him, Hugo. We reached him and we didn’t leave a clue. Our victim tomorrow presents no problems. Go to bed. You’re the one who has the jitters.”