The Noir Novel Megapack: 4 Classic Novels!

The Noir Novel Megapack: 4 Classic Novels!

Language: English

Pages: 452

ISBN: 2:00343803

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Four different writers explore the darker aspects of crime fiction in The Noir Novel Megapack

About the Megapacks
Over the last few years, our “Megapack” series of ebook anthologies has proved to be one of our most popular endeavors. (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 Megapacks (except where specifically credited) are a group effort. Everyone at Wildside works on them. This includes John Betancourt, Mary Wickizer Burgess, Sam Cooper, Carla Coupe, Steve Coupe, Bonner Menking, Colin Azariah-Kribbs, Robert Reginald. A. E. Warren, and many of Wildside’s authors… who often suggest stories to include (and not just their own!)

Hunter at Large, by Thomas B. Dewey: Mickey requested a year's leave of absence from his job on the police force. What else could he do? He'd just spent five months in the hospital because he'd been the only witness to a brutal murder… and the victim was his own wife!
Never Bet Your Life, by George Harmon Coxe: It was a tidy Florida motel with all the important conveniences: a beautiful stretch of beach, a handy night club with a shapely chanteuse up front, and a wicked roulette wheel in the back. But when John Gannon—a wealthy sportsman with a penchant for suicide—showed up, the front fell away!
Carnal Psycho, by Duane Rimel: They were beautiful and they were passionate—so he had to destroy them all—in a way so shocking that readers will gasp!
Murder in Las Vegas, by Jack Waer: The big-time hood lay dead on Steve's bed with three slugs from Steve's gun in his gun—yet Steve Walters hadn't the slightest idea how he had gotten there. The wayward blonde who alone could clear his name, had taken one call to many. When Steve burst into her apartment, he found her, all right—with her throat cut!




















was language he understood. He produced a thick fold of bills. He had a hard time finding anything smaller than a fifty but he finally discovered a twenty. He put it down and pushed the ten aside. “You got a bet,” he said. “Why?” “Because to make the charge stick you’d have to offer the money and agreement as evidence of larceny. You’d be a sucker to take the chance after all the trouble you went to, to get them back from Gannon.” Willie considered the words, his eyes busy with thought. He

happened to him? He just walk out, or what?” “I don’t know what the hell happened to him,” she sobbed. “I know what I hope. The hell with him. Listen, honey, take me over there and set me down, will you? I got to sit down and I don’t think I can make it by myself.” He slipped his arm inside hers and started across to the sofa. She made it for three or four steps, then collapsed and fell heavily to the floor. He knelt, got one of her arms around his neck and lifted her. She wasn’t as heavy as he

you’re in real trouble, call somebody else. Early that afternoon I was surprised to hear Goofy Joe clip-clopping across the ramp. I looked out, seeing the familiar shambling figure in faded blue overalls. Joe was in a hurry. “Come on in,” I yelled, before he reached the door. The mild weather had held amazingly. And the next morning it might be snowing. He opened the door cautiously. “It’s all right, Joe.” He moved in swiftly, standing against the door. He was breathing fast. “Take it easy,

looked at him quickly. “I didn’t know you were a bartender,” she said. “What did you think I was?” “I don’t know.” They were alone in the elevator, and after it started down she laughed shortly to herself. “You know what I really thought you were?” she said. “Some kind of a cop.” “Oh? What made you think that?” “Oh I don’t know. Sometimes you act like it.” He was glad to have the information. It was something to watch in himself. CHAPTER 8 Girard Fenelon was a small, harassed-looking

out, she murmured. He looked around and she was watching him from the bed, drowsy and quiescent, one naked arm dangling over the edge. He leaned over and kissed her quickly. “Good morning, Margarita.” Her eyes swung slowly to look up at him. “Is mañana now, Joe?” The Venetian blinds were closed beside the bed and he opened one of them to let in a little light. “We’ll go now,” he said. “I’ll take your things to my car—mi chiquito automóvil. When you’re dressed, we’ll go.” He saw uncertainty

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