MacDonald John D. Скачать все книги 42 Количество книг

Adam saw they were a beautiful couple, and the boy was just like his father — except for one quality Adam has discovered years before...

Considering the late John D. MacDonald’s obvious love for boating and the sea, it’s surprising that so few of his short stories had nautical backgrounds. This one, published in a yachting magazine just a few months after his death, makes fine use of that background while reaffirming MacDonald’s position as one of the leading American mystery writers.

With murder — or worse — in his little black bag he roamed the underworld — the timid little salesman of eternity who gagged at killing — yet killed for a gag!

A good cop never managed to get tough enough to keep things from getting to him, and stinging the few soft parts he has left inside...

When an author turns out several stories a month — and they’re all first-rate, which is unusual — you’d think, rightly, that he’d been in the game a long time. But that’s not the case with John D. MacDonald. Even though he falls into the first category, he definitely doesn’t fall into the second, because he’s only been writing about a year. Never even wanted to be a writer.

What would you do about a beloved pet who had lived too long? This family faced a crisis which could happen in any household...

In the clammy recesses of the cement stairwell, she discovered the terrifying truth: she was the patsy, and her role was to die — screaming!

The plan was simple at first, and then, when we started, I knew that this conspiracy to hijack the Syndicate was the master of all of us. But I was smart... so damned smart, and I knew we could play with murder and not get burned!

Lovely night-club thrush Laura Lynn hires a man with a ready gun, so that when you next see her name in a column, it won’t be under — obituaries!

An interesting proposition on the importance of being ugly.

At rare intervals we find ourselves in the odd position of publishing a book we cannot describe on the jacket flap. This is a baffling sample of the genre. On the most obvious level, it is a wry, unsentimental, perceptive account of how to co-exist with two cats of astonishing longevity. On another level, it is an illuminating portion of informal autobiography of one of the more successful writers of fiction of our times. Additionally, it is a careful, authentic observation of the domesticated feline, of Roger and Geoffrey, gentleman cats of humor, intelligence, protocol, and delicately savage heritage. Perhaps most interesting of all is this backstage glimpse of the writer at home, his perceptions and prejudices, his use of the materials of life, in homes in Texas, New York, Mexico, and Florida, while he was publishing six hundred pieces of magazine fiction and forty-seven novels. Wondering how to classify this intriguing work, we asked Mr. MacDonald’s advice, and he wrote to us saying, “Your guess will be better than mine. All I know is that some years back I decided to do a book about cats, and related matters. Roger is pushing twenty. I think it would be nice to award him a little neighborhood adulation while he is still one of the group.”

All we know is that those who never make the acquaintance of one house guest, a goose named Knees, are impoverishing themselves. And we predict Ol’ Rog is due for more than “a little neighborhood adulation.”

When lightning plays along the baselines and match point stands between hell and glory — a wrong guy needs more than the right racket — to meet a champion’s thunder!

Eighteen years in organized baseball. How much longer could he be the perennial hot shot? How much longer could he kid them into thinking he was great?

No one remembered Singer Washburn now; the years had chugged by, and the old grey train had carried him far past the time when he’d be champ, past the time when he’d be retiring. Then he saw this kid Joe, with a mean streak in him, and knew that Singer Washburn wasn’t useless yet — there were a few things he could do, and maybe doing them would somehow make up for what he’d lost...

With a little work I could take care of Barrow’s boat — or his wife...

...when a double-crossing dick gets involved with a ritzy blonde and a hypo-happy psychiatrist.

Nobody ever knew why grandfather did the things he did — but somehow they always helped us grow up...

To a young boy there is nothing more tragic than to be left out of things — even the wrong things.

His feet would run, while his heart stood still — until he remembered: “Death is a victory — if it comes at the hands of a coward!”

Steve Harris, private-eying for a notorious gambler, had to make a play for a wild killer’s loyal sweetheart — to unearth ninety grand in bloody gold.

Painting, foreign climes, girls who were fresh, tweet and young... all could be his; now to get rid of Myra!

They were racketeering vultures who’d flown the coop to Mexico — and I had to cage them as stool pigeons.