THE SILENT WALL Matty Matthews has been to the town of Forza d'Aguil before. Stationed there with a small group of soldiers during WWII, it was here that Matty fell in love with Rosanna. It was a sweet, short-lived affair until the soldiers unexpectedly got orders to pull out. Matty never got to say goodbye. Now he's back in Sicily, drawn to the mountain town after all these years. But the citizens of Forza d'Aguil are easy to offend, and when Matty inadvertently crosses Pino, the mafioso sabotages his leaving. Trapped in Forza d'Aguil, hemmed in on all sides by the oppression of the town and its silent citizens, he's stuck in the middle of mafia country with no way out. He has only the help of the innkeeper Vinciguerra, a man he can't understand, and the passion of the sweet Sophia. Or is she part of the sinister web, too? THE RETURN OF MARVIN PALAVER Marvin Palaver dies at the worst possible moment in life, just when he is coming out even with his nemesis, fellow scrap seller Sidney Minsk. He is so close. The contract is signed and Sydney has just bought back his own scrap, the deal of a lifetime. Marve knows happiness supreme. But as the tears of joy make his eyes swim, there comes a bump in his chest, and he is dead before he hits the floor. But death doesn't stop Marvin. His masterful schwindel must be complete. So Marve finagles his way back to the material plane for a bit of artful ghosting. Sidney has hidden the contract away, confident that he's the only one who knows about it. All Marve needs to do is get him to reveal it--he should live so long

KILL THE BOSS GOOD-BY Tom Fell, the boss, is gone, and Pander has temporarily taken over the rackets in town. He's got some ideas of his own how the bookies should be operating. The business needs some fresh blood. Then Fell is back, back from his rest at Desert Farm where Dr. Emilson has been treating him for manic depression; back with Cripp, his right-hand man. Fell knows he's been gone too long, that Pander has stepped in and made some changes. Pander thinks he's got the big bosses behind him, but what he doesn't know is that Fell may be manic, but he knows what he wants--power. And nobody is going to stop him from taking it. MISSION FOR VENGEANCE Eight years ago they were running guns, then something went wrong and they were all running for their lives. Farret spent some time in a South American prison but now he's back and out to even the score. One of the four betrayed him, and Farret knows you got to keep the score even on these things. John Miner owns a ranch and is engaged to Getterman's daughter, Jane. He's the first to find out about Farret. But Farret isn't interested in Miner yet. First he's got to settle with Lena; and after that, Metz. And if it isn't Metz who set him up, Getterman is next. But sooner or later, it all comes down to Miner. Miner brought him into the group--and his is the biggest score to settle of them all.

THE MEN FROM THE BOYS Marty Bond had been a famous cop in New York. But that was before he was "retired" from the force. Now he's a house dick at a crummy hotel, pimping, rousting, drinking too much. His stomach is killing him, and it comes as no surprise when the doctor says it might be a tumor. Knowing he must have cancer, Marty starts to plan a quicker exit. That's when his stepson comes to him. An auxiliary cop working the streets, Lawrence thinks there was something fishy in a meat seller who cries robbery one minute, then changes his mind the next. Marty tells him to forget about it. But the kid investigates anyway, and is almost beaten to death. Now Marty figures it's time to take Lawrence's suspicions seriously. But what can an ex-cop on the skids do when all he has left are a few old skills, a cynical heart, and the little time remaining?

Two men are killed outside the Grand Cafe on Amsterdam Avenue. There's no connection between them, but the widow of one hires Barney Harris, a 250-pound auto mechanic, to sniff out police corruption and find her husband's killer.

She was an expensive call girl and spending a night with her came high. But he never figured on a price as high as murder. The photograph did justice to her generous statistics. Any private eye would enjoy tracking her down, and Hal Darling was no exception. Her name was Marion Lodge. She'd put her impressive body to good use as a call girl before she'd dropped out of sight almost a year before. Hal was being paid a fortune to find her. But someone else was also looking for Marion-with a knife. Hal had to get her fast, or the killer would strike first.

It was a few minutes before eleven when I unlocked our door. The dumb lamp we had in the two-by-four "foyer" was on. The lamp looked like a drippy flower and cost fifty-seven bucks strictly because it was imported from Denmark. If all their lamps are like this job they must be blind over there. I could just about make out the couch opened as a bed, was surprised Mary was in the hay so early. I called out softly, "Babes?" She didn't answer.

I sat there, waiting in this dull Bronx back yard, the gun in my right pocket, safety off. It was simple... wait till he was on top of me, one shot in the heart... then run across the lot to the car. Sid had an ordinary looking heap; nobody would notice it, or the license number. The license number-that was one of the chances I had to take-one of the too-many chances. But this would work, if my luck held out. IF... IF... Damn, I hoped to hell he didn't have a wife and kids, looked too young for that, but even if he did-I had a wife and kid, too. God knows I didn't want to kill this detective, but I was caught in this web, had to do it. Had to... No point in thinking about that-more important to think of some way of disposing of the gun. Couldn't pull the same gag about losing it on Tony again. Well, have to work that out, somehow. Sloppy thinking on my part not to plan.... Hell with plans, no time for it. Not like the other one. Marshal Jameson, the promising young sculptor, sitting on his butt in a strange Bronx back yard on a sunny afternoon... carefully planning his second murder. I grinned, a sour, nervous grin-I was damn near bawling. Me, who'd never hurt a fly, waiting with a gun for a... I heard a car stop in front of the house. It was five to three. The dick was on time. I stood up and peered around the corner of the alley. He was alone. I waited: no running from this, no backing out. Or was killing the easy way out for me?

"The place seemed to be filling up with uniformed cops. I felt trapped. I shrugged and headed for the door. Suddenly I wasn't as much angry as plain tired. All I wanted was to get out of this rat trap, return to Rose and our boat; get the hell back to Ansel's island where the only problem was whether we'd sleep all day or go underwater fishing. I don't know, maybe I was nuts. Or everybody else was." Originally published in 1959.

It was my first day in Paris but the feeling was still with me: like I was getting ready to explode, as if my guts were a lit fuse racing up to my brain. Being cooped up gets me that way, although I was camped in a big room in this swank hotel. Twelve bucks a night and it was the best hotel room I'd ever been in. I'd docked at Le Havre the afternoon before, came straight to this fancy joint from Gare St. Lazare, like they told me to