"Newman, Kim - The Pierce-Arrow Stalled, And..." - читать интересную книгу автора (Newman Kim)

Dillinger Squad expected the outlaw to face trial. Purvis also reckoned
the Sage deal was phony; Hoover would have her packed her off to Cluj
before she could blab her part in the downfall of Public Enemy Number One.
This was a Bureau pinch, credit would not be shared. There was a war on
between Hoover's Bureau of Investigation and Ness's FSF; and since Ness,
the President's blue-eyed Mr Law, brought in Capone, Hoover, lagging
behind, wanted to claim this score for himself.
Gable was in prison, prowling behind bars, spitting defiance. Powell knew
the homicide for which Gable was convicted was justified, but he was
obliged to call for the chair. Any DA that pally with a mobster was dirty,
Purvis knew. A few years back, the movie would have hushed it up, but an
earlier scene had shown Powell taking a bribe from his friend, fixing a
concealed weapon beef.
The movie was nearly through. Although clocked at 93 minutes, Manhattan
Melodrama seemed to run longer than the Ring Cycle. The con threatened
Powell, promising to spill the dirt in a last-minute confession. The DA
took out a phial and poured it down Gable's throat. He called for guards,
claiming the hood was trying to kill himself with acid. Gable wouldn't be
singing now, his vocal cords were eaten out. Purvis was impressed: the
curl of smoke from the dripping ruin that had been a mouth was authentic.
He'd once seen a frail acid-sloshed by Charlie Floyd; the movie effect was
identical. The warders dragged Gable down the Last Mile to the Death
House.
All around, people were readying to leave, gathering coats and hats.
Purvis's hand was in his jacket, fingering the cigar. A girl, complaining
that this movie was too rough, pushed out early, bewildered date in tow.
The finish was a kicker, Gable's eyeballs cooking as they hit him with the
juice. He jittered against the straps, moustache aflame. A scream
scratched and Gable's head exploded in a shower of gray sludge. Purvis had
never seen anyone get the chair, but guessed this was an exaggeration.
The end title rolled and the house lights went up. His hands were
sweat-slick. The next minutes would make him the most famous lawman in
America after J. Edgar Fruitbowl and the Gang-Busting Ness Monster. He
stepped into the foyer, surveying the emerging crowds. Women were shaken,
the men nervously laughing. Finally a red dress appeared, with Anna Sage
inside it. She was alone, face a study in conflicting agonies.
'It vas Polly,' she explained, 'she vas upset ... by the thing vith the
acid ... she valk out ... she drag Johnny out ...'
Purvis wheeled about, pulling his automatic. All around, agents did the
same. In the crowds, they could not see the Public Enemy. People scattered
in panic. A lot of G-Men would be posted to Alaska.
'Johnny,' Sage whined, 'he is gone, no ... ?'
Purvis took his cigar, bit it, and spat out the end, spattering wet
tobacco over a poster. A brown stain obliterated Gable's grin.

Following King Kong, complete nudity and bizarre sex were linked with a
certain genre, a cross-breed of pulp adventure, monster fantasy,
primitive eroticism and dark poetry. The first male member in mainstream
movies belonged to Johnny Weissmuller, who removed his loincloth for a
healthy underwater embrace in Tarzan and His Mate. Among the highlights