Hot Bullets for Love. Gentry Nyland

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ I see what you mean. But”—the coldness crept back into his voice—“it’s your job now. Take it or leave it. I usually pay for what I get and I expect results.”

      In spite of the arrogance Raleigh’s voice was tired. For a few minutes Joe had actively disliked him until he remembered that he wasn’t a well man. Illness had wiped some of the steel from the handsome features and Joe suddenly felt sorry for him. He said, “And I take it I’m to find the root of the trouble and nip it or see that Richard doesn’t get clipped?”

      “That’s it exactly, South.” Raleigh relaxed against the pillows. For a moment he actually looked embarrassed. “And there’s another thing. Er . . . ah . . . I’d rather Richard wouldn’t know that I’ve . . . ah . . . hired a bodyguard for him. I’m sure you will get better results that way.”

      Joe hid a smile. The Raleigh pride must be protected. He said with a straight face, “Will he think I’m a Russian prince or just a long-lost cousin?”

      The smile that crossed Raleigh’s mouth this time was attractive. He said, “This must sound like a penny thriller to you, South. No, I merely told him that I was expecting an old friend from Montana You needn’t bother about the town. Dick has never been west of Philadelphia.”

      Joe said, “Okay,” and waited. This ought to be good.

      “You’ll have to stay at the house, of course,” Raleigh reached for the dressing gown and took out a bunch of keys. “There’s the key to the place on 78th Street. You should find Dick there sooner or later. Naomi is staying at a friend’s apartment in Gramercy Park.”

      Joe took the key and scribbled the house number on a scrap of paper. He said, “Okay. Anyone else I’ll have to cope with out there?”

      “Only the maid. The other servants are on holiday until I get out of here.”

      Joe said, “I’ll keep you posted.” Raleigh didn’t answer. At the door Joe looked back. The patient’s eyes were already closed.

      The subway back to the hotel was crowded. Those suits in Raleigh’s closet and the nurse. Did the nurse come with the room or the room with the nurse? And who did you have to be to get a nurse like that? A sign on a platform said Times Square.

      The Hotel Brant loomed through the weather like a gray ghost Carton and Kierney were no longer there. The suitcase hadn’t been completely unpacked and it took only a few minutes to finish the job. He added a respectable camel hair topcoat, some clean shirts socks and the half empty pint of rye Kierney had deserted. He didn’t remove the neat .82 under the pile of shirts at the bottom of the suitcase. There wasn’t anything in the closet that looked like Montana. The Homburg he was wearing wouldn’t have passed for a half-gallon hat in Hoboken. He did it the easy way. On a shelf in the closet was a walking stick Carton had affected when he first came to New York. Joe took it. He looked around to be sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Then he called Pete. As he swung through the street door the rain-washed cab skidded to a stop at the curb. Joe made a dash for it and climbed in.

      Pete said, “Lousy weather we’re havin’, ain’t it?”

      Joe grinned and gave him the 78th Street address.

      The Raleigh residence was typical of others in the immediate neighborhood. Built when quality of workmanship meant something, and Dutch conservatism still exercised its influence with moneyed New Yorkers, the house stood with quiet dignity in the shadow of streamlined apartment buildings to the right and left.

      Pete looked at the hundred-dollar bill in Joe’s hand.

      “Aw, Joey. I told you I couldn’t change that. Who d’ya think I’m workin’ for? Brink . . .” Joe silenced him with a lifted hand. He said.”

      “Don’t worry, Pete. I’ll have the change later on. Stick around somewhere. I might need you this evening.”

      The button Joe pressed emitted low, musical chimes. Light footsteps approached. Through the translucent glass the figure looked trim and neat.

      “Not bad, maybe,” Joe mused.

      The girl who opened the door was as black as Joe’s Homburg. Her figure was not as inviting as Gannon’s. Joe said, “Holy cripes!”

      She said, “Peace, it’s wonderful!” and grinned widely, showing glistening teeth. One of Father Divine’s educated converts. He followed the neatly clad maid through the foyer into a spacious, beautifully appointed room.

      “That fire’ll be fine to get some of the rain out of me, but I need a drink, too. How about it?”

      She grinned, took the reversible, hat and stick and hung them in a closet. She returned a few minutes later with a syphon of seltzer, whisky in a cut-glass decanter and a small silver dish of ice cubes, which she put down on a table.

      “My name is Precious Lamb,” she informed him. There was no trace of Dixie in her voice. She probably had never been south Of Newark. “Just pull the cord when you want to go to your room.”

      Joe was pouring whisky into the glass. At the door she turned and said to his back, “Peace! It’s wonderful.” He swung around, but she was gone. He added ice to his glass and addressed the door. “Not from you, sister. Not from you.”

       Chapter Three

      JOE SLUMPED into a wing chair in front of the fire and pushed a footstool into position. All the comforts of home. Somebody else’s home. Three hundred and fifty dollars a month for sitting around in front of a fireplace drinking somebody else’s liquor. Somebody else’s maid to wait on you. To hell with Communism.

      He took a sip from his glass and surveyed the room. In one corner was a Chickering grand piano. He picked up his drink and fingered the keys. In the middle of Dinah a telephone rang in the room across the hall. When the bell continued to ring he followed the sound and picked up the receiver. The voice that came over the wire was high and arrogant. Joe explained his presence.

      “Oh yes.” It was Richard Raleigh. “Uncle Park said you’d be getting in this afternoon. I’m anxious to meet you.” Joe thought the voice was mocking. “Have you had dinner?”

      When Joe answered in the negative, Richard said, “Why don’t you come down and join us? We’re at the Timbuctoo. You’ll be in time for a round of cocktails. The Timbuctoo is on 52nd Street between Sixth and Seventh.”

      Joe agreed and hung up. He was startled by a small sound and turned to find Precious Lamb in the doorway dressed for the street.

      “This is my night off,” she told him. “I think I’d better show you to your room before I leave.” She picked up his bag and he followed her upstairs. She opened a door into a pleasantly proportioned bedroom facing the rear of the house.

      She busied herself arranging his things in a highboy. When she had finished she moved toward the door.

      “I think you’ll find everything you need for tonight. I’ll be back early to get your breakfast.”

      Joe said, “Peace! It’s wonderful.”

      She grinned and went without comment.

      Whoever had given the Timbuctoo its name had chosen it for euphony. Joe couldn’t СКАЧАТЬ