Fletcher Flora - The Second Fletcher Flora Mystery MEGAPACK™ - 20 Classic Mystery & Crime Stories!

“Hell Has No Fury” was originally published in Dime Detective Magazine , April 1953.

“The Closing Trap” was originally published in Detective Story Magazine , May 1953.

“Hell for Hannah” was originally published in Dime Detective Magazine , August 1953.

“The Collector Comes After Payday” was originally published in Manhunt , August 1953.

“Fair Game” was originally published in Manhunt , September 1953.

“May I Come In?” was originally published in Manhunt , January 1955.

“Kill Me Tomorrow” was originally published in Manhunt , December 1955.

“Trespasser” was originally published in Manhunt , September 1957.

“Most Agreeably Poisoned” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , October 1957. Copyright © 1957, 1985 by Fletcher Flora.

“Sounds and Smells” was originally published in Ed McBain’s Mystery Book #3 1961.

“A Cool Swim on a Hot Day” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , November 1961. Copyright © 1961, 1989 by Fletcher Flora.

“IQ — 184” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , September 1962. Copyright © 1962, 1970 by Fletcher Flora.

“Settlement Out of Court” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , July 1963.

“For Money Received” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , October 1964. Copyright © 1964 by Fletcher Flora.

“The Capsule” was originally published in Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine , December 1964. Copyright © 1964 by Fletcher Flora.

“The Tool” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , December 1964. Copyright © 1964 by Fletcher Flora.

“One Enchanted Evening” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , June 1965. Copyright © 1965 by Fletcher Flora.

“Something Very Special” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , September 1965. Copyright © 1965 by Fletcher Flora.

“A Lesson in Reciprocity” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , August 1966. Copyright © 1966 by Fletcher Flora.

“The Average Murderer” was originally published in Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine , August 1967. Copyright © 1967 by Fletcher Flora.

Originally published in Dime Detective Magazine , April 1953.

Hal Decker sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. The bed was really just a shelf, hinged to the stone wall. High above it, sunlight lanced through a narrow opening and fell across the floor in four parallel segments, divided by the shadows of bars.

When the heavy grill clanged shut behind me, Hal lifted his head from his hands, his dull eyes mirroring for a moment a trace of a smile that had the nervous character and brevity of a tic.

“Sol,” he said. “Solomon Burr. Sorry to have to get you into this mess, boy.”

I sat down on the bed beside him. It was no kind of bed to induce sleep in a guy who probably wasn’t sleeping well at best.

“Sorry, hell,” I said. “In my office, a client’s a client, and it’s a long way between.”

The tic-smile flickered again. “Hard times? In that case, how are you going to like working for free?”

I shrugged. “It’s practice, anyhow.”

“Sure. Thanks, Sol. Funny, isn’t it. How things turn out, I mean. Few years ago, we were cracking law books and drinking short beers together — just friends. Now everything’s changed. Now we’re lawyer and client, all mixed up in a big, beautiful murder case.”

“We’re still friends, Hal. You know that.”

“Yeah, I guess I counted on your feeling that way, Sol. Not that you can do much. A guy charged with murder has to have a lawyer, that’s all. It’s strictly a dry run.”

“You haven’t been convicted yet.”

His laugh was short and ugly. “No, not yet. But I’ve been framed for a conviction, and it’ll come in time. I’ve been framed by an expert, Sol. All that’s left to do is to hang me on the wall.”

I found a pack of cigarettes and shook one out for him. “Maybe you’d better brief me,” I said.

He drew smoke deeply into his lungs, letting it ride out on a long, quivering sigh. The smoke rose heavily in the still air, drifting and thinning in the shaft of sunlight.

“Funny,” he said again. “Funny how the little things never have any significance, until you’re about to lose them — like a cigarette.” He pulled himself up short, repeating his humorless laugh. “This case won’t do you any good, Sol. This one you’ve already lost.”

“That’s what you said before. Just for exercise, suppose you let me go through the motions of being a lawyer, anyhow.”

He stood up, moving into the slanting projection of the sun and lifting his head to look up along its angle to the distant patch of sky beyond. I was sorry to see him like that, looking up through bars into the rationed light of day. We’d been good cronies once, we’d had good times over those beers. Even now, we hadn’t seen much of each other since, memories of the past stirred and came alive again.

Hal was primarily muscular; he’d never really had the cut of a lawyer. After we’d gotten out of law school, while I was hanging out a shingle, he’d gone into enforcement. The metropolitan police department was crying for law students at the time; the idea being that the best way to eliminate inefficiency and corruption was to get top grade personnel. It was one of those movements that the old timers get prodded into now and then by a temporarily-aroused public.

After a while, when the public goes back to business as usual, the reform dies quietly, ignored by the veterans in office. The lure was last promotion in a field that has an appeal for a certain type. Hal was the type, and he’d gone in. But he hadn’t stayed long. In one way or another, he fouled up and he’d landed outside fast, education and efficiency be damned.

Maybe, now, he read my thoughts. Moving out of the sunlight, and returning to the shadows, he said, “You ever hear why I was bounced off the force?”

“No.”

“I thought not. It was hushed up at the time, but it makes a good story. Career of an educated copper — Dick Tracy with a degree.” His voice sank to a low level of bitterness. “One night we were cruising out East Market, Old Finnegan and I. We were working double-harness. He was breaking me in, getting me started on that nice career everyone was talking about. We got a call to stop at a place over on Forest, a few blocks away. Seems a gang of kids were raising hell in an apartment over there. Well, they were raising hell, all right.

“We walked right into the middle of a flowering tea party — reefer smoke as thick as fog. One of the young guys cut up rough, and I had to put him to sleep. When we booked them, it turned out that this kid was the mayor’s nephew, the nephew of handsome Danny Devore himself. That’s it — story of a career boy — the end.”

“You sure that’s all? I hear you made a threat. To be precise, I hear you promised to kill Danny and eat him for breakfast.”

His shoulders sagged, and his head fell a little forward. He pressed the heel of his right hand against his forehead. “I got a little drunk. A guy says crazy things when he’s drunk.”