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Zusatztext “Along with Raymond Chandler, Cornell Woolrich practically invented the genre of noir.” — Newsday Informationen zum Autor CORNELL WOOLRICH (1903–68), considered by many to be the inventor of the noir genre, wrote his first novel while still attending Columbia University. Many screenplays have been based on his mysteries, including Night Has a Thousand Eyes, The Leopard Man, and Rear Window . RICHARD DOOLING ’s novel White Man’s Grav e was a finalist for the 1994 National Book Award. His writings have appeared in The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, and The New Yorker . His most recent novel is Bet Your Life , a modern take on noir detective fiction. He also writes for the ABC series Stephen King’s Kingdom Hospital . Klappentext On a mild midwestern night in the early 1940s, Johnny Marr leans against a drugstore wall. He's waiting for Dorothy, his fiancee, and tonight is the last night they'll be meeting here, for it's May 31st, and June 1st marks their wedding day. But she's late, and Johnny soon learns of a horrible accident--an accident involving a group of drunken men, a low-flying charter plane, and an empty liquor bottle. In one short moment Johnny loses all that matters to him and his life is shattered. He vows to take from these men exactly what they took from him. After years of planning, Johnny begins his quest for revenge, and on May 31st of each year--always on May 31st--wives, lovers, and daughters are suddenly no longer safe. Leseprobe 1. Parting They had a date at eight every night. If it was raining, if it was snowing; if there was a moon, or if there was none. It wasn’t new, it hadn’t just come up. Last year it had been that way, the year before, the year before that. But it wasn’t going to keep on that way much longer: just hello at eight, good-bye at twelve. In a little while, in just a week or two, their date was going to be a permanent one; twenty-four hours a day. In just a little while from now, in June. And boy, they both agreed, June sure was slow in coming around this year. It never seemed to get here. Sometimes it seemed they’d been waiting all their lives. Well, they had. Literally, no figure of speech. Because they’d first met, you see, when she was seven and he was eight. And they’d first fallen in love when he was eight and she was seven. Sometimes it does happen that way. They would have been married long ago; last June, the June before, the very first June that he was a man and she was a grown-up girl. Why hadn’t they? What’s the one thing that always interferes, more than any other? Money. First no job at all. Then a job so small it wasn’t even big enough for one, let alone for two. Then his father died. In October, after one of those wasted Junes had gone by. His father had been a brakeman on the railroad that went by there. A switch had been defective and cost his father his life; and though he hadn’t asked for anything, the railroad must have been afraid that he would, and so in order to save themselves money, they hurriedly, almost eagerly, paid him a smaller amount than what they were afraid he was going to ask for later, as soon as it had occurred to him to do so. And thus they came out ahead. It was still a vast amount—to him, to her. Eight thousand odd, after the lawyer turned it over to him. It had originally been fifteen. But most lawyers, the lawyer told him, would have taken a straight fifty per cent out of it, and he hadn’t, so he was quite a considerate lawyer. Anyway, now they could get married the succeeding June, and that was all they cared about. It had to be June, she wanted it June; it wouldn’t have been like a marriage at all if it had been...
