钱德勒短篇侦探小说全集 2
出版日期:2015-5
ISBN:978753607302X
作者:[美] 雷蒙德·钱德勒
页数:472页
内容概要
雷蒙德•钱德勒（1888－1959）是美国最伟大的小说家之一，其作品被收录到权威的《美国文库》中，是美国推理作家协会(MWA)票选150年侦探小说创作史上最优秀作家中的第一名。
钱德勒以其黑色冷峻的故事风格以及对人性的深刻洞察力，形成了教科书式的硬汉派文体，备受村上春树、艾略特、加缪、钱钟书等中外大师级作家所推崇，被人称为“大师的大师”。他还与希区柯克、比利•怀尔德等大牌导演合作，是好莱坞炙手可热的编剧，其担任编剧的电影《双重赔偿》和《蓝色大丽花》获得了多项奥斯卡奖提名。
书籍目录
找麻烦是我的职业
狗痴
午街取货
黄裤王
山中太平
红风
宾格教授的鼻烟
青铜门
作者简介
雷蒙德•钱德勒擅于塑造冷峻、坚硬、黑暗的故事氛围。他的短篇小说步步惊险，孤独危险的灵魂遍布大都市各个角落，明星、妓女、混混、生意人、私人侦探、警察……为了各自的目的明争暗斗。主角裹挟在阴谋当中，凭借老辣身手和精明世故，看穿一个个险恶的心机，揭开隐藏在黑暗中的惊人内幕。
本丛书收录了钱德勒一生创作的全部25篇短篇小说，这些作品是他的硬派侦探美学中不可分割的一部分。相比于他赖以名世的长篇小说，这些故事更加暴烈，情节的剧烈转折让人猝不及防，结尾出人意料又耐人寻味。同时，钱德勒的短篇小说也是长篇小说某些构思的源头，正式通过写作这些惊心动魄的短小故事，钱德勒逐渐探索并塑造了一个教科书式的硬汉世界，成为后世著名作家眼中的大师。
本书为小说全集的第二册，收录篇目有《找麻烦是我的职业》《狗痴》《午街取货》《黄裤王》《山中太平》《红风》《宾格教授的鼻烟》《青铜门》。
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说到侦探，你的第一印象是什么？如果用这个问题问我，我眼前会立刻浮现出一个风度翩翩的睿智人物的形象，他安静地坐在摇椅上抽着烟斗，在文字游戏间解开了一切谜团——这是广为人知的Arthur Conan Doyle笔下的侦探Sherlock Holmes的形象。这个形象实在是太知名了，让我以为所有的侦探都应是这样。然而，Raymond Chandler的侦探却不是这样。他笔下的这些侦探们，无论是Philip Marlowe还是其他侦探，都不复英国派侦探的绅士形象，也不再显得那么“万能”。在小说中，他们常常会深入虎穴取得证据，有时甚至会身处险境，例如，在《红风》中，Marlowe是一场凶杀案的目击者，因而受到凶手灭口的威胁，然而在搏斗中他制服了凶手。而另一方面，Chandler的侦探小说与一般侦探小说不同之处在于，他的小说真实展现了上世纪三四十年代美国社会的风貌——在侦探小说的表皮之下，有一个现实主义的核。这一点足以让他的侦探小说堪比严肃文学。他的侦探们也不再仅是警方的帮手，而是接受各种委托，与各色人等打交道，揭开一个又一个内幕。警方一定代表正义么？不，在《狗痴》中，警察甚至陷害了主角侦探，最终主角将一切真相公之于众时，我才恍然大悟。这是一种被称为“冷硬派”或“硬汉派”的侦探小说风格，也正如封底的一句话所说的那样，“钱德勒笔下的侦探马洛，突出的是性格。案件，则是为了性格的展开。这种硬汉，引领了至今大部分侦探小说的方向”（阿城）。据说，1995年，美国侦探小说作家协会会员票选史上最佳男侦探，Marlowe超过Holmes勇夺第一。Marlowe真是不一样的侦探。2015.8.1PS：最初认识Chandler是在北师大版高中英语教材后附带的小说欣赏，是《no crime in the mountains》（山中太平）的片段，之前一直没有国内出版社出版这篇短篇，这次终于有了，虽然翻译略显生硬…… -
贴一个英文版，新星老版和这个新版的对比吧ONEGeorge Millar, night auditor at the Canton Hotel, was a dapper wiry little man, with a soft deep voice like a torch singer's. He kept it low, but his eyes were sharp and angry, as he said into the PBX mouthpiece: "I'm very sorry. It won't happen again. I'll send up at once."He tore off the headpiece, dropped it on the keys of the switchboard and marched swiftly from behind the pebbled screen and out into the entrance lobby. It was past one and the Carlton was two thirds residential. In the main lobby, down three shallow steps, lamps were dimmed and the night porter had finished tidying up. The place was deserted-a wide space of dim furniture, rich carpet. Faintly in the distance a radio sounded. Millar went down the steps and walked quickly towards the sound, turned through an archway and looked at a man stretched out on a pale green davenport and what looked like all the loose cushions in the hotel. He lay on his side dreamy-eyed and listened to the radio two yards away from him.Millar barked: "Hey, you! Are you the house dick here or the house cat?"Steve Grayce turned his head slowly and looked at Millar. He was a long black-haired man, about twenty-eight, with deep-set silent eyes and a rather gentle mouth. He jerked a thumb at the radio and smiled. "King Leopardi, George. Hear that trumpet tone. Smooth as an angel's wing, boy.""Swell! Goon back upstairs and get him out of the corridor!"Steve Grayce looked shocked. "What-again? I thought I had those birds put to bed long ago." He swung his feet to the floor and stood up. He was at least a foot taller than Millar."Well, Eight-sixteen says no. Eight-sixteen says he's out in the hall with two of his stooges. He's dressed in yellow satin shorts and a trombone and he and his pals are putting on a jam session. And one of those hustlers Quillan registered in Eighteleven is out there truckin' for them. Now get on to it, Steve-and this time make it stick."Steve Grayce smiled wryly. He said: "Leopardi doesn't belong here anyway. Can I use chloroform or just my blackjack?"He stepped long legs over the pale-green carpet, through the arch and across the main lobby to the single elevator that was open and lighted. He slid the doors shut and ran it up to Eight, stopped it roughly and stepped out into the corridor.The noise hit him like a sudden wind. The walls echoed with it. Half a dozen doors were open and angry guests in night robes stood in them peering."It's O.K. folks," Steve Grayce said rapidly. "This is absolutely the last act. Just relax."He rounded a corner and the hot music almost took him off his feet. Three men were lined up against the wall, near an open door from which light streamed. The middle one, the one with the trombone, was six feet tall, powerful and graceful, with a hairline mustache. His face was flushed and his eyes had an alcoholic glitter. He wore yellow satin shorts with large initials embroidered in black on the left leg-nothing more. His torso was tanned and naked.The two with him were in pajamas, the usual halfway-goodlooking band boys, both drunk, but not staggering drunk. One jittered madly on a clarinet and the other on a tenor saxophone.Back and forth in front of them, strutting, trucking, preening herself like a magpie, arching her arms and her eyebrows, bending her fingers back until the carmine nails almost touched her arms, a metallic blonde swayed and went to town on the music. Her voice was a throaty screech, without melody, as false as her eyebrows and as sharp as her nails. She wore highheeled slippers and black pajamas with a long purple sash.Steve Grayce stopped dead and made a sharp downward motion with his hand. "Wrap it up!" he snapped. "Can it.. Put it on ice. Take it away and bury it. The show's out. Scram, now-scram!"King Leopardi took the trombone from his lips and bellowed: "Fanfare to a house dick!"The three drunks blew a stuttering note that shook the walls. The girl laughed foolishly and kicked out. Her slipper caught Steve Grayce in the chest. He picked it out of the air, jumped towards the girl and took hold of her wrist."Tough, eh?" he grinned. "I'll take you first.""Get him!" Leopardi yelled. "Sock him low! Dance the gumheel on his neck!"Steve swept the girl off her feet, tucked her under his arm and ran. He carried her as easily as a parcel. She tried to kick his legs. He laughed and shot a glance through a lighted doorway. A man's brown brogues lay under a bureau. He went on past that to a second lighted doorway, slammed through and kicked the door shut, turned far enough to twist the tabbed key in the lock. Almost at once a fist hit the door. He paid no attention to it.He pushed the girl along the short passage past the bathroom, and let her go. She reeled away from him and put her back to the bureau, panting, her eyes furious. A lock of damp golddipped hair swung down over one eye. She shook her head violently and bared her teeth."How would you like to get vagged, sister?""Go to hell!" she spit out. "The King's a friend of mine, see? You better keep your paws off me, copper.""You run the circuit with the boys?"She spat at him again."How'd you know they'd be here?"Another girl was sprawled across the bed, her head to the wall, tousled black hair over a white face. There was a tear in the leg of her pajamas. She lay limp and groaned.Steve said harshly: "Oh, oh, the torn-pajama act. It flops here, sister, it flops hard. Now listen, you kids. You can go to bed and stay till morning or you can take the bounce. Make up your minds."The black-haired girl groaned. The blonde said: "You get out of my room, you damned gum-heel!"She reached behind her and threw a hand mirror. Steve ducked. The mirror slammed against the wall and fell without breaking. The black-haired girl rolled over on the bed and said wearily: "Oh lay off. I'm sick."She lay with her eyes closed, the lids fluttering.The blonde swiveled her hips across the room to a desk by the window, poured herself a full half-glass of Scotch in a water glass and gurgled it down before Steve could get to her. She choked violently, dropped the glass and went down on her hands and knees.Steve said grimly: "That's the one that kicks you in the face, sister."The girl crouched, shaking her head. She gagged once, lifted the carmine nails to paw at her mouth. She tried to get up, and her foot skidded out from under her and she fell down on her side and went fast asleep.Steve sighed, went over and shut the window and fastened it. He rolled the black-haired girl over and straightened her on the bed and got the bedclothes from under her, tucked a pillow under her head. He picked the blonde bodily off the floor and dumped her on the bed and covered both girls to the chin. He opened the transom, switched off the ceiling light and unlocked the door. He relocked it from the outside, with a master key on a chain."Hotel business," he said under his breath. "Phooey."The corridor was empty now. One lighted door still stood open. Its number was 815, two doors from the room the girls were in. Trombone music came from it softly-but not softly enough for 1:25 AM.Steve Grayce turned into the room, crowded the door shut with his shoulder and went along past the bathroom. King Leopardi was alone in the room.The bandleader was sprawled out in an easy chair, with a tall misted glass at his elbow. He swung the trombone in a tight circle as he played it and the lights danced in the horn.Steve lit a cigarette, blew a plume of smoke and stared through it at Leopardi with a queer, half-admiring, half-contemptuous expression.He said softly: "Lights out, yellow-pants. You play a sweet trumpet and your trombone don't hurt either. But we can't use it here. I already told you that once. Lay off. Put that thing away."Leopardi smiled nastily and blew a stuttering raspberry that sounded like a devil laughing."Says you," he sneered. "Leopardi does what he likes, where he likes, when he likes. Nobody's stopped him yet, gum-shoe. Take the air."Steve hunched his shoulders and went close to the tall dark man. He said patiently: "Put that bazooka down, big-stuff. People are trying to sleep. They're funny that way. You're a great guy on a band shell. Everywhere else you're just a guy with a lot of jack and a personal reputation that stinks from here to Miami and back. I've got a job to do and I'm doing it. Blow that thing again and I'll wrap it around your neck."Leopardi lowered the trombone and took a long drink from the glass at his elbow. His eyes glinted nastily. He lifted the trombone to his lips again, filled his lungs with air and blew a blast that rocked the walls. Then he stood up very suddenly and smoothly and smashed the instrument down on Steve's head."I never did like house peepers," he sneered. "They smell like public toilets."Steve took a short step back and shook his head. He leered, slid forward on one foot and smacked Leopardi open-handed. The blow looked light, but Leopardi reeled all the way across the room and sprawled at the foot of the bed, sitting on the floor, his right arm draped in an open suitcase.For a moment neither man moved. Then Steve kicked the trombone away from him and squashed his cigarette in a glass tray. His black eyes were empty but his mouth grinned whitely."If you want trouble," he said, "I come from where they make it."Leopardi smiled, thinly, tautly, and his right hand came up out of the suitcase with a gun in it. His thumb snicked the safety catch. He held the gun steady, pointing."Make some with this," he said, and fired.The bitter roar of the gun seemed a tremendous sound in the closed room. The bureau mirror splintered and glass flew. A sliver cut Steve's cheek like a razor blade. Blood oozed in a small narrow line on his skin.He left his feet in a dive. His right shoulder crushed against Leopardi's bare chest and his left hand brushed the gun away from him, under the bed. He rolled swiftly to his right and came up on his knees spinning.He said thickly, harshly: "You picked the wrong gee, brother."He swarmed on Leopardi and dragged him to his feet by his hair, by main strength. Leopardi yelled and hit him twice on the jaw and Steve grinned and kept his left hand twisted in the bandleader's long sleek black hair. He turned his hand and the head twisted with it and Leopardi's third punch landed on Steve's shoulder. Steve took hold of the wrist behind the punch and twisted that and the bandleader went down on his knees yowling. Steve lifted him by the hair again, let go of his wrist and punched him three times in the stomach, short terrific jabs. He let go of the hair then as he sank the fourth punch almost to his wrist.Leopardi sagged blindly to his knees and vomited.Steve stepped away from him and went into the bathroom and got a towel off the rack. He threw it at Leopardi, jerk‡d the open suitcase onto the bed and started throwing things into it.Leopardi wiped his face and got to his feet still gagging. He swayed, braced himself on the end of the bureau. He was white as a sheet.Steve Grayce said: "Get dressed, Leopardi. Or go out the way you are. It's all one to me.Leopardi stumbled into the bathroom, pawing the wall like a blind man.新版乔治·米勒在卡尔顿旅馆做审计员，那天正值他上夜班。他是个短小精悍，瘦削结实的人，他的声音低沉温柔，就像唱情歌的歌手一样。他压低了声音对着电话交换机话筒说话，但他的眼神锐利，喷着怒火：“非常抱歉，不会再有下次了。我马上派人上去。”他摘下耳机，把它丢到交换机上，迅速从玻璃屏风后面朝门厅走去。已经夜里一点了，卡尔顿旅馆的入住率达到了三分之二。三级浅浅的台阶下的大厅里灯光昏暗，值夜班的门童也已经清扫完毕。这个地方空寂无人——家具摆在空旷的空间里显得暗淡朦胧，地上铺着华丽的地毯。从远处传来细微的收音机声。米勒走下台阶，快步朝声音的来源处走去，穿过拱门，看到一个男人在一张浅绿色的长沙发上舒展着身体，惬意地躺着，整个旅馆的垫子好像都放到了这张沙发上。他侧躺着，双眼迷离地听着离他两码远的收音机里传出来的音乐。米勒吼道：“喂，你！你是这个旅馆的私家侦探呢，还是旅馆的私家猫啊？”斯蒂夫·格雷斯慢慢地回过头来看着米勒。这是一个身材修长的黑发男人，约摸28岁，安静的眼睛深陷，嘴形显得十分温柔。他朝收音机伸出一个拇指，笑着说，“是金·莱奥帕蒂，乔治。听听这小号的音色，就像天使的翅膀一样优雅，小子。”“好极了！赶紧上去，把他从走廊上弄走！”斯蒂夫·格雷斯吃惊地看着他，“什么——又来了？我以为我早就把这些家伙弄上床了。”他站了起来，至少比米勒高了一英尺。“哼，816的房客可不是这么说的。816说他和他的两个助手到了走廊上，他穿着黄色缎面裤子，手上拿着一把长号，和他的两个伙计开起即兴爵士演奏会来了。811的一个妓女——昆兰登记入住的，也出来给他们助阵了。赶紧去看看吧，斯蒂夫，这次可一定得把事情摆平了。”斯蒂夫冷漠地笑笑，说，“莱奥帕蒂根本就不属于这里。我可以用乙醚吗？或者直接用我的警棍？”他沿着浅绿色地毯走了出去，穿过拱门和大厅到了电梯前，只有一台电梯里亮着灯，还在使用。他带上门，乘坐电梯来到八楼，电梯一停，他就迈步走到了走廊上。噪音像狂风一样向他席卷而来。墙上充斥着回音，五六扇门被打开了，站在门口穿着睡袍的房客们都恼怒地盯着他们。“好了，各位，”斯蒂夫赶忙说，“这绝对是最后一次了，回去休息吧。”他绕过角落，狂热的音乐把他震得都要站不住脚了。三个男人并排靠墙站在一扇门边，灯光从里面流泻出来。中间那个吹长号的有六英尺高，看起来强壮而优雅，留着细细的胡子。他面红耳赤，眼睛在酒精的作用下闪着亮光。他穿着黄色缎面短裤，短裤的左腿上鲜明绣着名字的缩写字母——其他什么都没穿。裸露的皮肤是棕褐色的。和他一起的两个助手穿着睡衣，就是常常见到的那种玩乐队的帅气青年的样子，他们都已经喝多了，但还不到烂醉如泥的程度。一个神经质的吹着单簧管，另一个则抱着次中音萨克斯风在咆哮。在他们面前大摇大摆地晃来晃去的女孩时而漫步，时而疾行，把手摆成拱形，眉毛也高高挑起，手指使劲地向后弯曲，深红色的指甲都快碰到手臂了——她看起来就像一只搔首弄姿的喜鹊。这个金发女孩随着音乐左摇右摆，她的声音嘶哑刺耳，没有一点节奏感，跟她的眉毛一样不着调，像她的指甲一样尖利。她身上穿着黑色睡衣，腰间系着长长的紫色腰带，脚上蹬着高跟拖鞋。斯蒂夫·格雷斯僵硬地停了下来，凌厉地做了一个往下压的动作。“收起来！”他厉声说道，“装起来，给我安静下来。把这些东西都收起来，滚回去。表演已经结束了，滚——现在就滚。”金·莱奥帕蒂把大号从嘴上拿下来，大吼道：“给这个私家侦探好好表演表演！”这三个醉鬼吹出了一段断断续续的音符，墙壁都颤动了。女孩疯癫地笑着踢出了一脚，她的拖鞋砸到了斯蒂夫的胸前。他在空中把拖鞋接住，扑向女孩，一把抓住了她的手腕。“很厉害，嗯？”他咧嘴一笑，“就先把你抓起来。”“抓住他！”莱奥帕蒂喊道，“给我狠狠地打！使劲地踹他的脖子！”斯蒂夫一下把女孩抱起来，把她夹在胳膊下面，跑了起来。他抓着她，仿佛手里只是多了一个包裹一样，她却试图要踹他的脚。他笑了起来，扫了一眼房里亮着灯的边。衣柜下面放着一双男人的褐色粗革皮鞋。他又跑到了第二个亮着灯的门边，挤进去，一脚踹上了门，转身扭动门上的钥匙把门给反锁上了。当即就有一个拳头捶在了门上，但他不加理会。他推着女孩沿着短短的过道往里走，直到经过了浴室才放手。她踉跄着从他身边走开，背靠在衣柜上，喘着粗气，满眼怒火。一绺被汗水浸湿的金发垂到了她的一只眼睛前面。她拼命摇摇头，咬紧了牙关。“你想被赶出去吗？小姐？”“去死吧！”她啐了一口，“金是我的朋友，懂吗？你最好别碰我，大侦探。”“你和那帮人一起巡演吗？”她又向他啐了一口。“你怎么知道他们会住在这里？”另一个女孩四肢摊开地躺在床上，她的头顶着墙壁，黑色的头发散乱地盖在她苍白的脸上。她的睡衣的裤腿上有一道裂口。她无力地躺在床上，发出呻吟声。斯蒂夫尖刻地说：“噢，噢，撕破睡衣的表演。在这都砸锅了，小姐，彻底砸了。给我听着，你们这群小鬼，赶快滚到床上去，一觉睡到明天早上，否则的话现在就给我滚出去！你自己选吧！”黑发的女孩又发出了呻吟。金发女孩说：“滚出我的房间，你这该死的混蛋！”她把手伸向后面，抓过一面小镜子扔了过来。斯蒂夫躲开了，镜子摔到了墙上，完好无损地落到了地上。黑发女孩在床上翻了个身，疲累地说：“别闹了，我不舒服。”她闭着眼睛躺在那里，眼皮不停地颤动。金发女孩扭着屁股穿过房间走到了窗边的一张桌子旁，在玻璃水杯里给自己倒了半杯威士忌，一口咕噜喝了下去，斯蒂夫都来不及拦她。她一下子被剧烈地呛到了，杯子一松，手脚一软，倒在了地上。斯蒂夫不悦地说：“这玩意儿可把你撂倒了，小姐。”她蜷缩着身子摇摇头，呕了一下，抬起涂着深红色指甲油的指甲去擦她的嘴。她试图站起来，腿在身下一滑，身子往侧面一摔，马上就睡着了。斯蒂夫叹了口气，走过去把窗户关紧。他帮黑发女孩翻了个身，把她的身体在床上放平，然后抽出压在她身下的被子，在她的脑袋底下放了个枕头。他又把金发女孩从地上抱起来，扔到床上，把两个女孩的被子都掖到她们的下巴那儿。他打开气窗，关掉天花板上的灯，打开门出去后，又在外面用链子上的通用钥匙从外面把门锁上。“旅馆生意，”他轻轻地说，“呸。”此刻，走廊里空荡荡的。还有一扇房门开着，里面亮着灯，房号是815，两个女孩就住在他们隔壁的隔壁。低低的大号声从房里传出来——但对凌晨1∶25来说，还不够小声。斯蒂夫·格雷斯走进了房间，用肩膀推了门，径直地走过了浴室。房里只有金·莱奥帕蒂自己。这个乐队指挥这会儿摊手摊脚地坐在一张安乐椅上，手周边放着一个脏兮兮的高脚杯。他演奏大号时在空中挥舞出一个完整的光圈。斯蒂夫点燃了一支香烟，吐出一口烟雾，用一种怪异的眼神盯着烟雾后的莱奥帕蒂——一半是崇拜，一半是轻蔑的样子。他轻声说：“演出结束了，黄裤子。你的小号吹得很棒，大号也不赖。但在我们这用不着。我已经告诉过你一次了。停下来，把那玩意儿收起来。”莱奥帕蒂邪恶地朝他一笑，又胡乱地吹出了一些音符，听起来就像恶魔的笑声。“滚你的，”他冷笑道，“无论何时何地，莱奥帕蒂想干吗就干吗。还没有人敢碍他的事呢，浑球。滚开吧。”斯蒂夫耸耸肩，走近这个皮肤黝黑的高个男人。他耐心地说：“把长号放下来，大个子。大家都已经睡了，他们跟你可不同。在乐队里你是个了不起的人物，但在别的地方，你只不过是个有钱人，而且名声臭得不得了，还一路臭到迈阿密，又从迈阿密臭回到这里。这是我的工作，你要是再吹那个玩意儿，我就把它绕在你的脖子上。莱奥帕蒂放下了大号，拿起手肘边的酒杯里喝了一大口酒。他的眼睛闪着恶毒的光，他又把大号抬到了嘴边，深呼吸用力一吹，那声音震得墙壁都晃动了。然后他突然快速地站起来，把大号往斯蒂夫的头砸下来。“我从来都不喜欢私家侦探，”他冷声说，“他们闻起来就像公共厕所一样。”斯蒂夫往后退了一小步，摇了摇头。他斜眼一瞥，向前走了一步，给了莱奥帕蒂一拳。那一拳看似很轻，但莱奥帕蒂一直踉踉跄跄地穿过了房间，四肢摊开地一屁股坐到了床脚边的地上，他的右手手臂垂在一个打开的行李箱上。有那么一会儿，这两个人都没动。然后斯蒂夫一脚把大号踹开，将香烟在玻璃烟灰缸里捻灭。他黑色的眼睛里一片茫然，但他仍咧着嘴笑，露出了一口白牙。“如果你想要找麻烦的话，”他说，“我就是从专门制造麻烦的地方来的。”莱奥帕蒂笑了，笑容很淡，也有点紧张。他的左手从行李箱里伸了出来，上面握着一支枪。他的大拇指扣在保险机上，稳稳地拿枪指着他。“跟这个家伙一起制造点麻烦吧。”他说，然后扣动了扳机。在紧闭的房间里，枪声听起来震耳欲聋。衣橱上的镜子被射裂了，玻璃到处飞溅。一块银色的镜片像刮胡刀刀片一样割开了斯蒂夫的脸颊，鲜血从他的皮肤里像细线一样地流了出来。他一个俯冲，右肩一下跟莱奥帕蒂光秃秃的胸膛撞在了一起，他的左手把枪从金手里甩开，枪滑到了床下。他又敏捷地翻到右边，撑着双膝站了起来。他用粗重的声音厉声说：“你惹错了对象，伙计。”他扑向了莱奥帕蒂，用尽全力抓着他的头发把他拖到了脚边。莱奥帕蒂尖叫出声，在他的下巴上打了两拳，斯蒂夫咧嘴一笑，继续用左手拧着乐队指挥柔顺的黑色长发。他用左手转动了一下，莱奥帕蒂的头也随之转了过来，他的第三拳落在了斯蒂夫的肩上。斯蒂夫顺势抓住手腕使劲一扭，乐队指挥哀号着跪了下去。斯蒂夫又拉着他的头发把他拽了起来，放开他的手腕，往他的肚子上打了三记凶狠的短拳。当第四拳就要落到他自己的手腕上的时候，他松开了头发。莱奥帕蒂眼睛一黑，跪了下来，开始呕吐。斯蒂夫走进浴室，从里面拿了一条浴巾出来，他把浴巾扔给了莱奥帕蒂，猛地把开着的行李箱拽到床上，开始往里面扔东西。莱奥帕蒂擦了擦脸，站了起来，但仍在干呕。他摇摇晃晃的，抓住了衣橱的一端撑着自己，脸色像纸一样苍白。斯蒂夫·格雷斯说，“穿上衣服，莱奥帕蒂，不然的话你就这么光着身子出去吧。这对我来说都一样。”莱奥帕蒂像个瞎子一样扶着墙壁跌跌撞撞地走进了浴室。新星老版卡尔顿旅馆的夜班审计员乔治·米勒是个瘦削结实、短小精悍的人，声音轻柔低沉，好像唱情歌的歌手。当他对着电话交换机的话筒说话时，他尽量降低声音，但是他的眼睛很锐利，喷着怒火。“很抱歉，以后不会再发生这种事情了。我马上叫人上去。”他摘下耳机，将它丢在交换机上，迅速从玻璃屏风后朝门厅走去。此时已是凌晨一点多了，卡尔顿的入住率达到了三分之二。三级浅浅的台阶下的大厅内灯光昏暗，守夜的门卫已经清理完毕。这里显得空荡荡的——宽敞的空间内摆着看上去朦朦胧胧的家具，地上是奢华的地毯，从远处隐隐约约传来收音机的声音。米勒走下台阶，快步走向传出声音的地方。他转了个弯，穿过拱门，看见一个男人舒展着身子惬意地躺在一张淡绿色的长沙发上，全旅馆的靠垫好像都拥在了这个人的身边。他侧身躺着，双眼迷离地听着两码之外的收音机的声音。米勒咆哮道：“嘿，你！你是这里的私家侦探还是私家猫？”史蒂夫·格雷斯缓缓转过头盯着米勒。他蓄着黑色长发，大约二十八岁，沉静的眼睛深陷，嘴唇显得相当温柔。他笑着朝收音机伸出一个拇指。“是莱奥帕迪·金，乔治。听听那小号的音色，跟天使的翅膀一样美，真好！”“好极了！快回去楼上，把他弄出走廊！”史蒂夫·格雷斯满脸惊讶。“什么——又来了？我以为我老早就让那些家伙上床睡觉了。”他将双脚放到地上站起来，看上去至少比米勒高一英尺。“哼，八一六的房客可没这么说。八一六的房客说他带着两个助手到了走廊上。他穿着黄色缎子短裤，正拿着长号 和他的伙计们在即兴演奏爵士乐。一个住在八一一的混混儿，昆兰登记入住的，也出来替他们助兴。快上去——史蒂夫，这次可得把事情处理好。”史蒂夫讽刺地笑笑，说：“反正莱奥帕迪不属于这里。我可以用氯仿麻醉药吗？或者只能用我的警棍？”他迈开长长的腿，踏着浅绿色的地毯穿过拱门和大厅，朝唯一亮着灯并在工作的电梯走去。他把门关上，搭乘到八楼。电梯一停，他就踏入走廊。噪音宛如狂风一般劈头盖脸朝他扑来，连墙壁都在微微发颤。穿着睡袍的客人正满脸怒容地站在五六扇敞开的门边张望。“好啦，各位，”史蒂夫连忙说，“这绝对是最后一次。别紧张。”他转过一个墙角，狂热的音乐震得他几乎站不稳。在一扇灯光由里面流泻而出的门的附近，有三个人贴着墙壁站成一排。中间拿着长号的那个有六英尺高，体格强壮，神态优雅，蓄着整齐的八字胡。他的脸涨得通红，双眼在酒精的作用下闪着亮光，身上穿着一条黄色缎子短裤，左腿裤管上用黑线绣着大大的名字的缩写字母——除此以外，别无他物，裸露的皮肤呈棕褐色。那两个和他在一起的人穿着睡衣，是那种普通的长得不错的乐队小伙子，都喝醉了，但还不到烂醉如泥的程度。一个在疯狂地吹着单簧管，另一个则拿着次中音萨克斯管在发狂。在他们前面神气十足地晃来晃去的女孩忽而慢行忽而疾走，同时挥着胳膊、高扬着眉毛，将手指使劲向后弯曲，深红色的指甲几乎快碰到胳膊了——她那样子宛若一只搔首弄姿的喜鹊。这个金发女孩随着音乐摇摇摆摆，她的声音沙哑尖厉，毫无节律可言，就像她的眉毛一样不合调，像她的指甲一样尖得刺耳。她穿着高跟拖鞋，黑色睡衣上系着长长的紫色腰带。史蒂夫猛地停住脚步，用手狠狠地做了一个往下压的动作。“收起来！”他吼道，“装起来！忘了这些吧！把东西拿走藏起来！表演结束了！滚——现在就滚！”莱奥帕迪·金将长号从嘴边拿开，大声叫喊：“是旅馆侦探。这可是大排场呢！”三个醉鬼吹出一串不流畅的音符，所有的墙壁都在颤动。女孩傻乎乎地笑着踢出一脚，一只拖鞋砸到史蒂夫的胸前。他在拖鞋落地之前将它抓住，接着冲向女孩并攫住她的手腕。“很厉害，嗯？”他咧嘴一笑，“我首先就逮你。”“揍他！”莱奥帕迪尖叫起来，“打得他满地找牙！使劲踹他的脖子！”史蒂夫胳膊一挥，一把将女孩抱离地面，用胳膊夹着她拔腿就跑。他就像夹着一个包裹一样轻轻松松地跑着，而她一心想踢他的腿。他笑着瞥了一眼一个有灯光的门道，里面的衣橱下放着一双男式翻毛皮鞋。他继续朝第二个有灯光的门道跑去，冲进去并一脚把门踢上，转身扭动门上的钥匙将门反锁上。当即就有一个拳头捶在门上，他丝毫不加理会。他把女孩沿着短短的过道往内推，直到经过了浴室门才放手。她急忙从他身边挣脱，背靠在衣橱上，喘着粗气，眼中喷着怒火，一绺湿漉漉的金发垂下来盖住了一只眼睛。她激动地摇着头，龇牙咧嘴。“小姐，你想被踢出去，是吗？”“去死吧！”她啐了一口，“金是我的朋友，懂吗？大侦探，你最好别碰我。”“你跟那帮家伙一起跑江湖吗？”她又朝他啐了一口。“你怎么知道他们会来这里？”另一个女孩头朝墙壁摊手摊脚地横躺在床上，黑头发散乱地盖在苍白的脸上，腿上的睡裤有一道撕裂的口子。她软绵绵地躺在那儿呻吟着。史蒂夫严厉地说：“噢，噢，好个撕睡衣表演。就在这里躺下睡觉，小姐，乖乖躺下！听着，小家伙们，现在就上床睡觉，安安静静待到明天早上，不然就滚蛋！做个决定吧！”黑发女孩还在呻吟。金发女孩说：“滚出我的房间，你这该死的侦探！”她将手伸到背后，砸出一个小镜子。史蒂夫赶紧闪开，镜子摔在墙上，完好无损地落到地上。黑发女孩在床上翻了个身，疲累地说：“别闹了，我病了。”她闭上眼睛，眼皮在不停地抖动。金发女孩扭动着臀部穿过房间走向窗前的书桌，在玻璃水杯里给自己倒了半杯威士忌，一咕噜喝了下去，史蒂夫根本来不及阻挡她。她噎得很厉害，杯子一松，手脚一软，倒了下去。史蒂夫阴沉着脸说：“那玩意儿把你撂倒了吧，小姐。”女孩蜷曲着身子摇摇头，然后打了一下嗝，抬起指甲上涂着深红色指甲油的手去擦嘴。她想站起来，但脚一滑，又侧身跌下，很快就睡过去了。史蒂夫叹了口气，走过去关上窗户，插上插销。他让黑发女孩翻了个身，将她的手脚摆平，然后抽出压在她身下的被子，在她的头下塞了个枕头。接着，他把金发女孩从地上抱起来丢到床上，替她们把被子盖到下巴处，又打开气窗，将顶灯熄灭。他打开门锁，走出去后又用链子上的通用钥匙从外面把门锁上。“旅馆生意，”他轻声说，“哼！”现在走廊上已经空空荡荡了。有灯光照出来的那扇门仍然敞开着，房号是八一五，和女孩子们的房间隔着两扇门。轻柔的长号声从那儿飘出来——但就凌晨一点二十五分而言，它还是不够轻柔。史蒂夫·格雷斯转身走进房间，用肩膀顶着门把它关上，从浴室门口经过，一直往里面走去。莱奥帕迪·金独自一人待在房间里。这个乐队指挥撒手撒脚地坐在一张安乐椅上，手肘边摆着一只不太干净的高脚杯。他吹奏长号时让它在空中画了一个紧凑的圆圈，灯光在号身上流转。史蒂夫点燃一根香烟，吹出一团烟雾，然后透过烟雾凝视着莱奥帕迪，脸上带着怪异的神情——半是崇拜半是藐视。他轻声说：“熄灯了，黄裤小子。你的号吹得很动听，这长号也不错，但是我们这里用不着。我已经告诉过你一次了。省省吧！把那玩意儿收起来。”莱奥帕迪顽劣地笑笑，胡乱吹出一些音符，好像魔鬼的笑声。“去你的！”他冷笑道，“不管何时何地，莱奥帕迪爱怎么做就怎么做，没有人能管得了他，侦探。省点儿力气吧！”史蒂夫耸耸肩，走近这个皮肤微黑的高个子，耐着性子说：“把你那‘火箭筒’收起来吧，大人物。别人想睡觉了，他们对这种事很挑剔。你在乐队里是大人物，在其他地方不过是个有钱的家伙，恶名昭彰，从这里臭到迈阿密又臭回来。我拿人薪水替人办事。你要是再吹那玩意儿，我保证把它绕在你的脖子上。”莱奥帕迪放下伸缩喇叭，端起手肘边的酒杯喝了一大口。他顽劣地眨着眼睛，又把长号举到嘴边，吸足一口气用力一吹，那声音震得墙壁颤动起来。接着，他猛地站起来，拿着那乐器朝史蒂夫头上砸下去。“我从来就不喜欢私家侦探，”他讥讽地说，“他们就像公共厕所一样臭气熏天。”史蒂夫往后跳开一小步，摇摇头。他斜眼一瞥，一个箭步向前，朝莱奥帕迪挥出一拳。这一拳看似轻松，但莱奥帕迪往后滚过整个房间瘫在床脚边，坐在地板上，右手垂在打开的行李箱里。有一阵两人都没有动，然后史蒂夫将长号踢开，在一个玻璃盘里拧熄香烟。他的黑眼睛里没什么表情，但他的嘴巴却在微笑，露出了白白的牙齿。“如果你想找麻烦，我就是从专门制造麻烦的地方出来的人。”莱奥帕迪笑了，但笑容很淡，有点儿紧张。他的右手从行李箱里抽出来了，手上多了一支枪。他用拇指打开保险，稳稳地举着枪。“用这个制造点儿麻烦吧。”他说着就开枪了。密闭的房间里，枪声听起来震耳欲聋。衣柜的镜子碎裂了，玻璃纷飞，一个碎片像剃刀一样划破了史蒂夫的脸颊，鲜血像一条细线似的涌出皮肤。他一个俯冲，右肩撞到莱奥帕迪赤裸的胸膛上，左手把枪扫到了床下。然后，他敏捷地翻滚到右边，双膝撑地直起了身子。他声音粗重地厉声说：“你选错对象了，老兄。”他朝莱奥帕迪扑过去，扯着他的头发使尽全力把他拽起来。莱奥帕迪大叫，打中史蒂夫的下巴两次，但是史蒂夫毫不在乎地笑笑，左手还是揪着乐队指挥乌黑柔顺的长发。然后，他转动左手，手下的那个脑袋也随着扭动，这时，莱奥帕迪的第三拳打中了史蒂夫的肩膀。史蒂夫趁势抓住那手腕使劲一扭，乐队指挥哀号着跪了下去。史蒂夫又抓着他的头发把他拎起来，放开他的手腕，往他的腹部挥了三拳——相当精彩的短拳。当第四拳就要落到他自己的手腕上的时候，史蒂夫松开了那把头发。莱奥帕迪摸索着瘫在地上，呕吐起来。史蒂夫走进浴室，从架子上取了一条毛巾并将它丢给莱奥帕迪，然后把打开的行李箱甩到床上，开始把东西往里面丢。莱奥帕迪抹了一把脸，站起来的时候仍在呕吐。他脸色惨白，左摇右晃，于是赶紧抓住衣橱一端稳住自己。史蒂夫说：“穿上衣服，莱奥帕迪，不然就这样走出去，反正对我都一样。”莱奥帕迪就像一个盲人一样扶着墙壁跌跌撞撞走进了浴室。
精彩短评 (总计7条)
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翻译很差，“借鉴”了很多老版的翻译，然而很多地方还自作聪明的改错了= = -
我居然看到某篇落款有此致敬礼...一个好翻译是多么重要。我的最佳：青铜门 -
翻译基本上很渣。《狗痴》算是《再见，吾爱》的雏形。《红风》很棒。最后一篇没弄明白…… -
翻译莫名其妙 ，还是再看一遍漫长的告别吧 -
宾格教授的鼻烟这个短篇我比较喜欢，红风也不错。有温情的硬汉更打动人心。 -
我的使命就是制造麻烦 -
钱德勒早年短篇小说合集。供不上玩味，拿来消闲倒绰绰有余。（其中两篇菲利普•马洛）