Scenarios: A Nameless Detective Casebook
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Shamus Award-winning author
Few writers have ever had such a loyal reader following as Bill Pronzini and his "Nameless Detective." In terms of life on the printed page, the "Nameless Detective" celebrates his 35th birthday in 2003. The fourteen stories in this collection span the entire 35 years of "Nameless's" existence.
investigation—" "The hell they don't. A guy like Nick Damiano? It's no big deal to them. They figure it was somebody looking for easy money, a drug addict from over in the Tenderloin. On account of Dan Cady, he's the night clerk, found the door to the alley unlocked just after he found Nick's body." "That sounds like a reasonable theory," I said. "Reasonable, hell. The door wasn't tampered with or anything; it was just unlocked. So how'd the drug addict get in? Nick wouldn't have left that
some trouble with Nick not long ago." Slattery's eroded face arranged itself into a scowl. "That damn actor, he don't know what he's talkin about. Why don't he mind his own damn business? I never had no trouble with Nick." "Not even a little? A disagreement of some kind, maybe?" He hesitated. Then he shrugged and said, "Well, yeah, I guess we had that. A kind of disagreement." "When was this?' "I dunno. Couple of weeks ago." "What was it about?" "Garbage," Slattery said. "Garbage?"
premises overnight. In the till." "Yeah." "Then why have you got a safe, if it's empty?" Candiotti's eyes narrowed. "I used to keep my receipts in it, all right? Before all these burglaries started. Then I figured I'd be smarter to take the money to the bank every night." "Sure, that explains it," I said. "Still, a kid like that, looking for a big score to feed his habit, he wasn't just after what was in the till and our wallets. No, it was as if he'd gotten wind of a heavy stash—a few grand
"Goddamn you, you think I won't use this gun again?" "I know you won't use it. I emptied out the last two cartridges while you were on the phone." I took the two shells from my left-hand jacket pocket and held them up where he could see them. At the same time I got the kid's Saturday night special out of the other pocket, held it loosely pointed in his direction. "You want to put your piece down now, Candiotti? You're not going anywhere, not for a long time." He put it down—dropped it
would have to be dragged out. I told him to close the door. He did it, automatically, and turned snarling on Annette Byers. "You let him follow you home!" "I didn't," she said. "He already knew about me. He knows everything." "No, you're lying. . ." "You were so goddamn smart, you had it all figured out. You didn't fool him for a minute." "Shut up." His eyes shifted to me. "Don't listen to her. She's the one who's been blackmailing me—" "Knock it off, Cohalan," I said. "Nobody's been