By Ellery Queen
This publication written through Ellery Queen, the recognized radio detective tale guy, is a heritage of the detective crime brief tale as printed bt th a hundred twenty five most vital books released on that topic for the reason that 1845.
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Additional info for Queen's Quorum - A History of the Detective-Crime Short Story
At night, we went up to Greasy Lake. Through the center of town, up the strip, past the housing developments and shopping malls, street lights giving way to the thin streaming illumination of the headlights, trees crowding the asphalt in a black unbroken wall: that was the way out to Greasy Lake. The Indians had called it Wakan, a reference to the clarity of its waters. Now it was fetid and murky, the mud banks glittering with broken glass and strewn with beer cans and the charred remains of bonfires.
I was still holding the tire iron, a tuft of hair clinging to the crook like dandelion fluff, like down. Rattled, I dropped it in the dirt, already envisioning the headlines, the pitted faces of the police inquisitors, the gleam of handcuffs, clank of bars, the big black shadows rising from the back of the cell . . when suddenly a raw torn shriek cut through me like all the juice in all the electric chairs in the country. It was the fox. She was short, barefoot, dressed in panties and a man’s shirt.
We’d make love, but she seemed shy and reluctant, as if she were performing a duty or something. ” I asked her. “Nothing,” she said. It was as if someone had cut a neat little hole in the center of my life. One time, a stiff windy day in early March, I couldn’t stand the sight of four walls any more and I walked the six miles across town and all the way out Depew Street. It was an ugly day. Clouds like steel wool, a dirty crust of ice underfoot, dog turds preserved like icons in the receding snowbanks.