Johnny looked at her; he felt that somehow she sounded very well pleased with herself. The corners of the small mouth turned downward as though she had difficulty in repressing a smile. She turned her face sharply away when she noticed Johnny's inspection of her; the smugness on her features as she toed her wastebasket under the desk puzzled him. And then suddenly he had a feeling. All his life he had acted on impulse; he reached for the folder beside the typewriter, and sensing his movement Mavis grabbed for his arm.
"Here! What do you think--"
He was too quick for her; her voice was still echoing angrily as the ruler slid into her lap and he picked the folder up and opened it.
"You give me that!" The blonde girl snatched the heavy ruler from her lap, rose with a jerk and pointed it at Johnny. He stared down at the top carbon in the stack in the folder whose glossy, hard-backed surface retained a perfect copy of his dictated letter.
"I can see a man lacks a little something in privacy around here, Mavis. This your own idea?" He began to flip through the carbons in the folder, each a one-time-used perfect impression of a typed letter.
"You get your big nose out of there!" Mavis dropped the ruler on the desk as she came around it on the run. She came like a man, hands doubled into fists, swinging for the body. Johnny caught a flailing arm and spun her in against himself, pinioning her as she struggled within the circle of his arm.
"A nice racket," he said in her ear. "An out-of-town businessman drops in and dictates his bid on a contract, and with a fresh carbon you've got a copy. Whaddya do then? Look up his competition and peddle it to them?"
Her position proved to be a tactical mistake. She lifted a foot and viciously raked the length of his shin with a high heel. She lifted the foot again, but she had his attention now. He dropped the distracting folder and transferred the freed hand to the nape of Mavis' attractive neck. In two long strides he frog-marched her back to her desk, bent her over it, picked up the ruler and solidly swatted the tight skirt's most prominent characteristics. Mavis yelped shrilly and nearly bucked the desk over. Johnny tossed the ruler back on the desk as he let her go, and she straightened up, holding onto herself.
"I hope you weren't wearin' a girdle, kid," Johnny told her. He stooped to retrieve the folder of carbons from the floor. "Shall we call it a draw? I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours." He pulled up the leg of his slacks and looked down at the long scrape on his shin, oozing blood two-thirds of its length. He looked back at Mavis. "Your turn, kid." She stood motionless, hands behind her, two bright, angry tears in the brunette eyes. "Chicken, huh?"
Her voice was hoarse. "You give me back that folder!"
"Later. If Russo gets shook about it, send him around to see me." He looked at her thoughtfully. "Or is this a strictly Mavis Delaroche production?" He smiled at her silence. "I don't know why you rate Ed Russo so high, kid; pound for pound you got better action. Let's see you sit down. You know what the song says--it only hurts for a little while." He turned to the door, then glanced back and waved to the tall girl's still-standing figure. "Think of me when you look in the mirror tonight, kid."
He closed the office door quietly from the outside.
CHAPTER 11
He woke from an uneasy sleep with a long shudder; Ellen had called him. He had heard her so plainly that he half sat up and stared dazedly around the familiar room. He was soaked with perspiration, and his mouth was dry and cottony.
He pushed himself woodenly to the bed's edge, and the hot knife came alive, and bit and twisted. Ellen would never call him again, because he had let her down when she needed him. Ellen, who of all people had deserved a break, and hadn't had one. Her killer was still walking around loose, no doubt planning other murders, and Johnny Killain, who had solemnly promised himself that he would avenge her, was stumbling along in the dark like a blind fool.
He knuckled fiercely at his eyes and stood up. In the shower's hissing water he promised himself all over again. He'd find this killer, wherever he was. And whoever he was. He'd find him, and when he did--
He turned off the water and in the silence stared blindly at the white tiled wall.
Ellen...
He leaned against the low counter and watched a dark-haired, white-uniformed girl at the right-hand end of the large desk beyond it. The girl wrote busily, referring occasionally to a little book at her elbow. Johnny glanced behind him; the waiting room of the Landry Cat and Dog Hospital was a beehive of activity. There had been a dozen people waiting in the comfortable chairs when he had arrived, and it seemed to him that two more had since come in for every one who had left.
The desk area beyond the counter was efficiently busy. The girl in front of Johnny was expediting the discharge of the recovered animals; at the other end of the desk a blonde was admitting the newcomers. To the left of the desk was a heavy, paneled door, through which each time it opened came a ringing chorus of barks. With the door closed there was no sound; Johnny realized that Jeff had soundproofed this waiting room, in addition to the money he had spent out in back. No wonder he hated to leave.
A white-jacketed attendant emerged from the back and deposited a black carrying case on the counter in front of Johnny. "That's not--" Johnny began as the attendant turned away, then bent for a closer look. The pink nose and white whiskers crowded up against the neat wire mesh looked familiar; Johnny pushed the tip of a finger through the mesh, and Sassy nipped it enthusiastically.
Johnny laughed. "You've got to be feelin' better if you've got all that ginger, baby doll. Jeff's got you travelin' in style."
"Here's her diet, Mr. Killain." The dark-haired girl handed him a closely written half-sheet. She smiled impersonally and looked for the next name on her list. "Dr. Landry will mail you the bill."
Johnny hesitated, but the girl had already called the next name. He picked up the carrying case, and backed off a few feet. If he knew Jeff Landry there never would be a bill, mailed or otherwise. Should he try around at the back to say thanks? Probably do Jeff no favor, he thought to himself, at the rate people were still coming in. Jeff must be busier--
He heard the voice first; he hadn't seen the big man enter. He must have pushed up to the counter out of turn, because Johnny could see resentment on one or two faces, and there was a hush in the waiting room. Johnny looked at the expensively dressed beefy body, and the light-colored panama with its too-wide brim, at the round moon face and the livid scar drawing down a corner of the heavy mouth. "--tell me why I had to rush over here?" the overpowering bass rumbled through the room.
The dark-haired girl looked doubtful. "You're Mr.--"
"Morton. Charles G. Morton."
Oh, fine, Johnny thought. He set down Sassy's carrying case. Charles G. Morton? The last time Johnny had set eyes on this fine-feathered bird--which had been last night--his name had been Tim Connor.
"Morton?" The dark-haired girl turned over papers on her desk. "Oh, yes." She looked up in sudden uncertainty. "It was Mrs. Morton we called--"
"I know, I know," the big man boomed. "Mrs. Morton is a bit indisposed. She called me at the office and asked me to stop by here and see what this mysterious call is all about. Now will you please tell me why I'm here, young lady? I'm a busy man."
There was no mistaking the girl's nervousness. She rose abruptly. "If you will please step inside, Mr. Morton, Dr. Landry will--"
"Young lady!" The girl quailed before the roar. "If Dr. Landry called my wife, will you kindly have him step out here and tell me why? I'm sure the doctor's time is valuable, but so is mine."
The girl was nearly in tears. "He's just inside, sir--"
The big man seemed to swell. "He's as close to here as I am to there. What kind of nonsense is this? You'll have me thinking in a moment he doesn't want to see me."
The girl flew out through the paneled door, and Charles G. Morton leaned back negligently against the counter and half turned to survey the waiting room as if to measure the extent of the audience reaction. His casual glance p
assed over Johnny, hesitated, swiveled back and focused--hard.
He's coming over here, Johnny thought. Play a hunch. Morton, Schmorton. This water buffalo is up to no good. What have you got to lose? Play the hunch.
Charles G. Morton apparently didn't like loose ends; he moved away from the counter like a man of action. Chest to chest with Johnny, he looked at him scowlingly. "I know you. What--"
He broke off as Johnny shook his head ever so slightly and tapped the carrying case at his feet with his toe. The big man looked down at it puzzledly. "Ed sent me over," Johnny told him, trying to put a sense of urgency into his voice.
The opened mouth snapped shut and reopened. "Ed sent you? Ed sent you? Am I going crazy?" He tried to muffle the boom of the thunderous voice. "Is this guy off the hook? Has--" He broke off again as the paneled door swung open to admit Jeff Landry.
One look at Jeff's white, strained face was all that Johnny needed to know that his hunch had been a good one. He picked up his carrying case and put a forceful hand on Charles G. Morton's elbow. "Inside, Tim. Got to straighten this out quietly."
Unwillingly the big man permitted himself to be shepherded through the door. Jeff Landry looked at Johnny and followed them inside. Johnny closed the door, and stood with his back against it.
"Now suppose you tell me--" Tim Connor began in the familiar shattering roar, then stopped as Johnny raised a hand.
"Jeff." Johnny's voice was quiet. "Mr. Morton's dog died.
It was a statement.
Jeff looked surprised. "It was a cat, but it died, all right. I called his wife--"
"Poisoned," Johnny interrupted, again in the flat statement.
"Yes." Jeff paused. "You knew? How--"
"I didn't know, Jeff." Johnny moved away from the door, casually. "But Mr. Morton knew. Didn't you, Mr. Morton?"
"What's all this tomfoolery!" "Mr. Morton" glared from Johnny to Jeff and back again. He made up his mind suddenly and advanced on Johnny, the round face dark. "You sucked me in here, wise guy! I--"
The resonant voice died to a gasp as Johnny put a palm in the center of the cream-colored sport jacket and shoved firmly. Tim Connor staggered back on his heels a quick half-dozen steps, his arms flailing the air. Beside Johnny in the narrow corridor Jeff Landry took a quick step forward. "Is this the guy?" he demanded tensely. "Is he the one?"
"Easy, Jeff," Johnny counseled. He turned back to the big man. "You should have bought a program, Tim. You guessed wrong on the lineup; I'm in the other dugout."
Bitter anger mottled the moon face. "I won't forget this, Killain. I'll cure you of meddling. I'll drop a ton on you."
"That's for later. Right now let's clean house here."
"Right now I'm getting out of here!" Tim Connor fixed his panama more firmly with an impatient tug at the brim. "And God help the man who tries to stop me!"
At his first step Johnny moved fast; he crowded up against the beefy figure, and Tim Connor retreated the step as his right hand darted under the cream-colored jacket. Johnny pivoted on the ball of his left foot and muscle-punched the reaching right arm with a line-drive right-hand smash. The big man's face went white, and his arm dropped limply as his body caromed from the wall. He made no effort to resist as Johnny snaked the snub-nosed revolver from the shoulder sling under the sport coat and tossed it back to Jeff.
Johnny looked at Tim Connor's suddenly shriveled face and at the left hand supporting the right arm. "You're gettin' old, Tim. You're about fifteen years and forty pounds away from gettin' out of here your way. You want to try mine?"
"I'll... get you for this, Killain--" The voice was still deep, but the vibrancy was gone. The heavy body was half crouched forward, but not aggressively; the face looked sick. "I'll... Let's hear your proposition."
"Conversation."
Tim Connor considered Johnny. "And?"
"If it reads you walk out of here."
"Just a damn minute!" Jeff Landry tried to push by the bar of Johnny's extended arm. "If this is the guy that poisoned those animals he's not going to walk out of here!"
"Listen to me, Jeff." Johnny said it quickly; he pushed the veterinarian back down the corridor and out of Tim Connor's hearing as he lowered his own voice. "You got a lot of money invested here, and you had a close call. We got a break and you're out of the barrel, but you go working this guy over he can tie you up indefinitely with assault charges and damage suits. Use your head."
"Those animals--" Jeff began stubbornly, and paused. He took a slow step backward. "Get him out of here, then. Fast. Before I change my mind."
Johnny walked back to Tim Connor. "Let's hear it, Tim."
The beefy man swallowed visibly. "Hear? What else is to hear? You laid it all out on the drawing board."
"I want to hear it from you, and right now. That's a soundproof door there, and Jeff is a little restless. Talk."
"If I do I walk out?"
"If I think I'm hearing it all."
"I was hired to scare Landry away from this address," Tim Connor said abruptly. "It figured that a little bad publicity ought to change his mind that his lease couldn't be bought up." He hesitated, and his eyes went warily to Jeff. He cleared his throat tentatively before continuing. "I sent two people in with dogs which had already been fed a pill set to dissolve in ten to twelve hours. This last time it was a cat." He hesitated again and shrugged. "That's it; somehow you caught it. I still don't see how--"
"Who hired you?" It was Jeff's voice; Jeff's glasses were in his pocket, and his tone was shrill.
Tim Connor replied promptly as he kept an uneasy eye on Jeff. "Man named Dave Richman."
Jeff looked at Johnny, who shook his head. "Never heard of him. It figures. This kind of thing filters down from five or six removes away from the operator like Connor here. With a lot of time and trouble and money you might be able to trace it back. You might. There's a better way."
"There's a way to do it right!" Jeff said it between his teeth, and then his shoulders slumped tiredly and he turned away. "All right; I said it before. Do it your way. Get him out of here."
Johnny nodded. "You heard the man, Tim. Get lost." The big man needed no second invitation. With a careful eye on Jeff he sidled to the door and eased himself out into the waiting room. Johnny stepped into the doorway to make sure he kept on going, and he smiled at Jeff as he stepped back inside. "He hit just about three of the high spots on the way across the room."
"I shouldn't have let him get away with it," Jeff said leadenly. The fingers of the hand that traced the lean jawline trembled visibly. "Those helpless animals--"
"You did it right, Jeff. You were vulnerable. Still are, until you rivet this down. This is what you want to do--call up... Say, are you listening?"
"I'm listening. Go ahead."
"Call up your landlord and tell him to send this lawyer around, that you want to talk to him. But do it fast, before this gets back to him. He'll think you want to settle. When you get him in here, the first thing you do is bounce his tail a foot off the floor. Then you tell him about Tim Connor and Dave Richman like you had them stuffed in your hip pocket. Tell him they've blown the whistle on the whole racket. Tell him that the next thing that goes wrong around this place you're comin' after him and nail his ears to the nearest telephone pole. Can you do that?"
"My pleasure, believe me." Jeff drew a shallow breath. "How can I ever thank you, Johnny? I'm just beginning to realize I'm out from under this nightmare."
"You're not out till you muzzle this lawyer," Johnny pointed out. "If you don't make him think he's a hostage he's just going to try something else." He stooped to pick up the carrying case. "You know who you should really thank? White stuff here."
"The kitten?"
"It was a kitten Connor--or Morton--sent in, wasn't it?"
Jeff's eyes widened. "A white Persian!"
"Sure. It was supposed to be this one. It came to me while I was listenin' to Connor bellow outside. I intercepted Sassy here one step short of her being t
urned over to Connor's partner. She was earmarked for here. When the delivery broke down they had to get a replacement."
Jeff Landry ran a finger lightly across the front of the wire mesh, and Sassy's pink nose followed it interestedly. "Eight lives left, little one. You don't look worried. Johnny, she has a gold lifetime pass around this place, and I hope she never needs it." He put out his hand, and Johnny took it.
"Glad it worked out, Jeff."
"So am I, Johnny. So am I."
On the street Johnny was surprised to find a light rain falling. He walked up to the corner and caught a westbound cab just when he began to think he was going to have to start walking. In the cab he ran up the windows and took Sassy out of her carrying case. She seemed delighted to see him; she frisked around his feet on the floor and made several brisk, stinging sorties up his shins and thighs. He had difficulty getting her back in the case when they reached the hotel.
He walked down the alley and in through the subbasement entrance and rang for the service elevator. While waiting he removed his shirt and draped it over the black plastic case. When the elevator door opened Johnny got aboard, and Charlie, a wizened gnome with a facial tic who operated the service elevator on the middle shift, nodded grudgingly. He glanced at the shirt-covered case in Johnny's hand as the elevator started up. "What'cha got there, John?"
"King cobra. Take a look?"
"Pass. Knowin' you, it could be."
They rode in silence to the sixth floor, and in his own room Johnny unlatched the drop-down front of the case. Sassy crept out cautiously, took a long look around and with tail aloft and four white paws twinkling galloped to the refrigerator, where she crouched expectantly. Johnny smiled, then remembered the diet list. He slapped his pockets experimentally, pulled it out and studied it. He glanced down at the vigilant kitten. "I got a feelin' you're not gonna approve of this, baby doll."
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