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- Herausgeber: Al-Mashreq eBookstore
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Serie: Doc. Turner Series
- Sprache: Englisch
Hell, Incorporated by Arthur Leo Zagat is a spine-tingling journey into the underworld of corporate malice and supernatural intrigue. When a powerful and enigmatic company promises to deliver ultimate success at a steep price, its clients soon realize they've entered a nightmarish realm where the stakes are higher than they ever imagined. As the boundaries between the mundane and the infernal blur, the protagonist must navigate a labyrinth of deceit and malevolence to uncover the true cost of their ambitions. With dark forces at play and every deal leading deeper into the abyss, will they escape with their souls intact or be consumed by the infernal machinations of Hell, Incorporated? Prepare for a chilling exploration of ambition and darkness.
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Seitenzahl: 32
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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Table of Contents
Hell, Incorporated
Synopsis
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Table of Contents
Cover
Hell, Incorporated
Synopsis
Old Doc Turner and his young friend, Jack Ransom, praised Allan Forbes for sending thousands of slum boys to summer camps—until the astute, elderly druggist read little Izzy's cryptic letter—and deciphered a message of unutterable doom!
The Spider, June 1940, with "Hell, Incorporated"
1
ALL day, Morris Street's littered gutter and cracked sidewalks had shimmered in the sun's midsummer blaze. No relief had come with darkness; only a breathless and more dreadful heat.
Shirt-sleeved, and with their collars open at the throat, Andrew Turner and Jack Ransom sat on rickety chairs in front of Doc Turner's ancient drugstore. The little pharmacist seemed frail, stooped by the burden of his long years. His silken mane and bushy mustache were white as his immaculate linen; his great hawk's nose was webbed by threadlike red capillaries. Ransom, burly beside him, was one-third the other's age. Boyish freckles still dusted Jack's, blunt-jawed countenance. His carrot-hued mop of hair was tousled and unkempt. His grey eyes were crinkled with young laughter.
A strangely assorted pair to sit thus in wordless intimacy, but the course of their comradeship was stranger still. For Doc Turner was more than druggist to the aliens who swarmed Morris Street and its purlieus. He was their champion against the human wolves who prey on the helpless poor. In Doc's forays against those meanest of crooks, Jack Ransom, garage mechanic, was the good right fist that made effective the subtler finesse of Doc's brain.
They had been talking idly of certain stirring experiences in the past, but now it had grown too hot to talk. Or, perhaps, some not quite realized premonition of a new adventure held them silent.
Certainly there was no intimation in the thronged scene before them of what the night was to bring. Red-eyed hucksters sought to protect their greens, but lettuce and cabbages withered swiftly despite the use of watering cans. Slow-moving on the sidewalks, lax-bodied women, toil-worn men, had fled their cheerless flats to the furnace in search of a breeze that did not exist. Over all, hung odors of the slums and poverty.
Overhead, rumbled a train on the brooding black trestle of the "El." Yellow rectangles of light skimmed the crowd's heads. The train's thunder dwindled and the hoarse cries of the peddlers could be heard again, the racket of late trucks on the cobbles between the curbs; the shuff-shuff of broken shoes on pavement. Thin but insistent, another sound underlay all these, the fretful whining of a thousand sleepless, heat-tortured babes.
Doc Turner stirred. "Queer," he murmured, "what a difference their not being here makes."
"The kids?" Jack nodded. He too had noticed the absence of one accustomed strain in the symphony of the slum's dreadful summer night. "Yeah. This same time last year you'd hear them screaming as they ducked out from under the trucks, yelling in the gush from fire hydrants turned on when the cops wasn't looking, razzing the peddlers while they swiped bananas from the carts, and all of them hollow-eyed, sick with the heat. Tonight they're up there in God's green mountains. In my book, this here Allen Forbes rates a diamond halo."
"Buddies, Incorporated," Doc mused. "Remember how every newspaper hammered at it all spring, every radio commentator, every minister and priest and rabbi?"
