The Second Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK™: 23 Classic Mystery Stories
- Автор: Деминг Ричард
- Год: 2016
- Язык: английский
- Год: Wildside Press
- ISBN: 9781479423507
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «The Second Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK™: 23 Classic Mystery Stories». Краткое содержание книги:
“It must be Quinnel,” Ross decided. “Paleface answers the description you got of his bodyguard Bugsy.”
“I guess,” Black said without enthusiasm.
They watched as the quartet crossed the lobby toward the main entrance to the hotel. When Ross made no move to intercept them, Black looked at him questioningly.
“It’s the other bodyguard I want to talk to,” Ross said. “Since Bugsy seems to be on duty, maybe he’s still up in Quinnel’s suite. If Quinnel and Bugsy take off somewhere, it will give us a clear field.”
Bix Lawson separated from the others at the door after bowing to the woman and giving his huge friend a comradely slap on the shoulder. He started back toward the bar while the others went on out, the pale bodyguard going first.
Ross moved on toward the elevators and Sam Black gloomily trailed him.
As Ross had hoped, they found the second bodyguard alone in suite seven-o-seven. The man with the missing earlobe looked a little startled when he saw Sam Black, then shifted his gaze to Clancy Ross.
“I’m Clancy Ross,” the gambler told him. “You’ve met Sam Black and know he could blow your alibi for last night higher than a space ship. Let’s have some conversation.” The sunburned man considered things only a moment before stepping aside and holding the door wide open. Ross and Black walked into a large room furnished with a sofa, several easy chairs, a television set and a small portable bar. Other rooms gave off it on either side.
Ross selected an easy chair, sank into it and lit a cigarette. Black dropped his hat on an end table and seated himself in the center of the sofa. The sunburned man remained standing, his back to the door.
“Is your real name Eaton or Horton?” Ross asked.
“Horton. What do you want?”
“Just some conversation. You walked out of my club just before my bookkeeper was gunned down last night. You either did it yourself or saw it done. I dropped by to find out which.”
Horton gazed at the gambler expressionlessly for a long time before saying, “You guys didn’t say anything to the cops about my being at the club, did you?”
“What makes you sure of that?”
“The boss checked up. On you, I mean, not with the cops. You wouldn’t spill to the cops because you like to wash your own laundry.”
Ross gave him a bright smile. “Since you know how I operate, we can save a lot of explanation. I imagine you deny gunning Stoneman yourself.”
The sunburned man’s lips formed a cynical grin. “You imagine right, mister. Isn’t that a sort of dumb question?”
“Because you d give the same answer even if you had killed him? I don’t think so. As I said before, either you killed him or saw it done. You walked out too closely ahead of the shooting to be more than yards from the entrance when it happened. Since you claim you didn’t kill the man, you must have seen who did. All you have to do to convince me you’re innocent is give me a description of the real killer.”
The bodyguard snorted. “I don’t know a thing, mister. I was gone before the shooting started.”
Ross shook his head. “I don’t think you understand,” he said patiently. “You had to see the shooting if you didn’t do it yourself. If you can’t describe the killer, I’ll have to assume you’re it. I don’t think you’d like that.”
Horton’s face abruptly lost all expression. “Is that a threat?”
“Of course,” Ross said easily. “Were you people under the impression you could walk into town and start bumping off my employees without risking a hearse ride back to Chicago?”
After staring at Ross in astonishment, the bodyguard emitted a deliberately humorless laugh. “Who you think you’re talking to, buster? We know all about you. You’re an independent. You’ve got no backing from Bix Lawson, and Bix wouldn’t lift a hand to help you out of a jam. Matter of fact, I think he’d be pleased to see you go down. You better scram out of here before I get mad. And don’t come back.”
He started to pull the door open as Ross punched out his cigarette and came to his feet. With a resigned expression on his face, Sam Black folded hands in his lap and leaned back comfortably.
Walking over to the door, Ross pushed it shut again with one hand and casually gave Horton a backhand slap with the other.
With a grunt of anger the bodyguard lashed out with a left hook. Easily the gambler deflected it with his right palm, whooshed the air from the man by sinking his left into his stomach, then grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head downward at the same time he brought up a knee. When the gambler flung him back to smash against the wall, blood spurted from both Horton’s nostrils.
Without giving the man time to recover, Ross grabbed his necktie with one hand, put the other behind his head and hurled him halfway across the room to crash headfirst into an easy chair. When Horton fumbled at his armpit and groggily tried to scramble back to his feet, Ross’s open palm caught him full across the mouth, knocking him back to a seated position. The man made no further attempt to reach for a gun.
Fastidiously the gambler wiped his bloodied palm on the bodyguard’s shoulder. “Now how about that description?”
Horton glared up at him with hate, his jaws clenched. Unemotionally the gambler slapped him twice more, full swings which jolted the sunburned man’s head first one way and then the other, spattering droplets of blood in either direction.
Ross waited inquiringly for a moment, when the man still showed no inclination to speak, cocked his right fist and reached for a handhold in his hair.
“Hold it,” the bodyguard said thickly. “It was a woman.”
Ross let his hands drop to his sides. “Know her?”
Horton shook his head, his expression enraged but wary. Ross waited while he pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and sopped up some of the blood flowing from his nose.
“It was dark out and I only glanced at her once,” Horton mumbled through the handkerchief. “I don’t even remember if she was a blonde or brunette. She was maybe in her late twenties, not bad looking, but I couldn’t give any more description than that if you beat me all night. She was double-parked in a blue sedan. A Ford, I think, though maybe not. All these new cars look alike to me. My car was at the curb right behind her. I got in, waited for her to move so I could drive out, and then this guy came out of the club. She leaned over to the right-hand window, let him have it and drove away. I scrammed after her.”
“Catch the license?”
The man shook his head. “I didn’t want any part of it.”
“Now,” Ross said, “we come to the jackpot question. What were you doing at the club last night?”
“Just looking for a good time.”
Ross shook his head. “You were hunting for someone. Who?”
Horton looked up at him and Ross let his china-blue eyes grow opaque.
The bodyguard estimated his chance of getting away with sticking to the story that he had merely been out for a good time, decided he didn’t have any.
“Benny Stoneman,” he said sullenly.
“Oh? Why?”
“Don’t you read the papers? The boss is in line for an income-tax rap. Stoneman used to be his bookkeeper. Big John wanted me to talk to him to make sure he said the right things if he was ever called to testify. He didn’t want to look him up personally, because if the Feds ever got wind of a contact between him and Benny, they’d probably yammer about coercion. You know how it is.”
“No, I don’t,” Ross said. “I pay my income tax. So why didn’t you just ask for Benny?”