High Praise for ‘TOP of the HEAP’!
“An ingenious story.”
—Kirkus Reviews“One of the best in the series... An illegal casino, bogus mines, former strippers and dead bodies abound... You can only love a book where everyone gets exactly what they deserve in triplicate.”
—Karen Ellington, The Mystery Read“A fine elaborate business of stock manipulation and (to fit in with the current worries of us all) income tax deception.”
—Anthony Boucher, The New York Times“It’s a neatly knotted puzzle and Donald unties it very neatly, too.”
—New York Herald Tribune Book Review“A fast-paced, action-packed story.”
—Springfield Republican
Rave Reviews for Erle Stanley GARDNER!
“The best selling author of the century... a master storyteller.”
—The New York Times“Gardner is humorous, astute, curious, inventive — who can top him? No one has yet.”
—Los Angeles Times“A fast and fiery tough tale... very very slick.”
—Kirkus Reviews“Erle Stanley Gardner is probably the most widely read of all... authors... His success... undoubtedly lies in the real-life quality of his characters and their problems... “
—The Atlantic“A clean, economical writer of peerless ingenuity.”
—The New York Times“One of the best selling writers of all time, and certainly one of the best-selling mystery authors ever.”
—Thrilling Detective“Zing, zest and zow are the Gardner hallmark. He will keep you reading at a gallop until The End.”
—Dorothy B. Hughes,
Mystery Writers of America Grandmaster
The blonde nervously took a cigarette case from a black bag and tapped the cigarette on the side of the polished silver. I snapped a match into flame, and she leaned forward for the light. I could see the long curling eyelashes, the mischievous glint of saucy hazel eyes, as she looked me over.
“Thank you,” she said.
Abruptly the floor manager glided up to the table. His smile was reassuring. “I have been asked,” he said, “to invite you to step into the office, Miss Marvin, and the boss would like to see Mr. Lam, too.”
The floor manager escorted us deferentially to a big door marked Private. He didn’t come in. The door clicked shut behind us. I turned to look. There was no knob on the door.
Channing shook hands with both of us. “How are you, Lam?” he said.
“Fine,” I told him.
I didn’t see Channing give the signal, but abruptly the door from the outer office opened and a man in a tuxedo stood quietly on the threshold.
“Mr. Lam,” Channing said, “had a card when he entered the place. He doesn’t wish to produce that card. I’d like very much to look at it.”
The newcomer reached forward and grabbed my wrist. I tried to jerk the arm free. I might as well have tried to pull against a steel cable.
Swift, efficient fingers did things to the wrist. The other hand hit against my elbow. My arm doubled around, flew up against my back, the wrist doubled into a grip that pulled the tendons until it was all I could do to keep from screaming.
“The card,” Channing said...
SOME OTHER HARD CASE CRIME BOOKS YOU WILL ENJOY:
MONEY SHOT by Christa Faust
ZERO COOL by John Lange
SHOOTING STAR/SPIDERWEB by Robert Bloch
THE MURDERER VINE by Shepard Rifkin
SOMEBODY OWES ME MONEY by Donald E. Westlake
NO HOUSE LIMIT by Steve Fisher
BABY MOLL by John Farris
THE MAX by Ken Bruen and Jason Starr
THE FIRST QUARRY by Max Allan Collins
GUN WORK by David J. Schow
FIFTY-TO-ONE by Charles Ardai
KILLING CASTRO by Lawrence Block
THE DEAD MAN’S BROTHER by Roger Zelazny
THE CUTIE by Donald E. Westlake
HOUSE DICK by E. Howard Hunt
CASINO MOON by Peter Blauner
FAKE I.D. by Jason Starr
PASSPORT TO PERIL by Robert B. Parker
STOP THIS MAN! by Peter Rabe
LOSERS LIVE LONGER by Russell Atwood
HONEY IN HIS MOUTH by Lester Dent
QUARRY IN THE MIDDLE by Max Allan Collins
THE CORPSE WORE PASTIES by Jonny Porkpie
TOP of the HEAP
by Erle Stanley Gardner
WRITING UNDER THE NAME ‘A. A. FAIR’
A HARD CASE CRIME BOOK
(HCC-003)
Chapter One
I was in the outer office, standing by the files, doing some research on a blackmailer, when he came in, all six feet of him.
He wore a plaid coat, carefully tailored, pleated slacks, and two-tone sport shoes. He was built like a secondhand soda straw, and I heard him say he wanted to see the senior partner. He said it with the air of a man who always demands the best, and then settles for what he can get.
The receptionist glanced at me hopefully, but I was deadpan. Bertha Cool was the “senior” partner.
“The senior partner?” she asked, still keeping an eye on me.
“That’s right. I believe it is B. Cool,” he announced, glancing toward the names painted on the frosted glass of the doorway to the reception room.
She nodded and plugged in to B. Cool’s phone. “The name?” she asked.
He drew himself up importantly, whipped an alligatorskin card case from his pocket, took out a card, and presented it to her with a flourish.
She puzzled over it for a moment as though having difficulty getting it interpreted. “Mr. Billings?”
“Mr. John Carver Billings the—”
Bertha Cool answered the phone just then, and the girl said, “A Mr. Billings. A Mr. John Carver Billings to see you.”
“The Second,” he interposed, tapping the card. “Can’t you read? The Second!”
“Oh, yes,” she said, “the Second.”
That evidently threw Bertha Cool for a loss. Apparently she wanted an explanation.
“The Second,” the girl repeated into the phone. “It’s on his card that way, and that’s the way he says it. His name is John Carver Billings, and then there are two straight lines after the Billings.”
The man frowned impatiently. “Send my card in,” he ordered.
The receptionist automatically ran her thumbnail over the engraving on the card and said, “Yes, Mrs. Cool,” into the telephone.