Dan Marlowe - The Fatal Frails

He stood on the curb and waited for a cab. He'd have to find some way to smooth down Rogers' ruffled fur. He liked Jimmy Rogers.

It had been quite an evening. Quite an evening.

In the lobby of the Duarte Johnny caught Paul Sassella's head nod, and turned to confront Madeleine Winters rising from an armchair. She came directly to him, her green eyes large in the pale oval of her face. “I want to talk to you. Privately,” she said huskily.

“Just a minute.” Johnny walked over to Paul behind the bell captain's desk. “What time did she get here?” he asked the stocky Swiss in an undertone.

“Three minutes ago. Less, maybe. Hadn't even gotten the chair warm.”

“Any excitement around here?”

“Marty had a no-pay skip on the middle shift. He checked in on our shift. Rollins wants to see you in the morning.”

“Okay,” Johnny grunted. “I'm goin' up an' change.” He walked back to Madeleine Winters. “Let's go upstairs.”

“I called the hospital and they said you'd left against their advice,” she said on the elevator. “I came right over.”

“You sure did,” Johnny agreed. “You had farther to come than I did.”

“You certainly don't look as though you were shot,” she said in the sixth floor corridor, almost trotting to keep up. “If I hadn't seen you hit-”

“It wasn't much of a hit,” Johnny said patiently. He was going to get rid of this woman in a hurry, that he knew. He was in no mood for small talk. Key in hand he stopped at 615, and froze instantly. One glance was enough to show that the lock had been forced with no particular finesse. “Stay back tight against the wall!” he threw over his shoulder at the blonde, and barreled inside with a rush.

The hard-flung door banged off the inside wall. Johnny stood just inside the threshold, and for once in his life stared blankly at the welter of upside-down chairs, torn-up bed, torn-down curtains, overturned chest of drawers, and dumped-out refrigerator. The floor was a tangled litter of bedclothing, cushions, pillows and papers thrown down from table drawers.

Recovering, he made a quick circuit of the room. The bathroom and the closet were the only places anyone could hide, and there was no one there. He turned to find Madeleine Winters surveying the devastation from the doorway. “A pig couldn't find its little ones in here if it didn't hear them grunt,” he said wryly.

“Didn't that expression sound more like 'Un cochon n'y retrouverait pas ses petits a moins de les entendre' the first time you heard it?” the blonde inquired.

“Maybe it did,” Johnny admitted absently, his eyes roaming the wreckage of his room. His attention sharpened. “What was your name before it was Winters?”

“Maillard.” She gestured at the room. “You haven't even looked to see if anything's missing.”

He didn't answer her. He walked over to a chair with its bottom slashed, and handfuls of coarse, wiry hair dribbling out, and kicked it gently. “I sure wish I'd stumbled in here while this was goin' on,” he said in a thinking-out-loud voice.

Madeleine Winters' voice rose. “You haven't even- ”

“I heard you,” Johnny interrupted her. He righted a chair and sat down. “I don't need to look. It wasn't here.” He bent stiffly to unlace his shoes, then changed his mind, got up and went to the phone. “Ring Housekeeping, will you, Sally?” he asked when she came on the line. “Amy?” he inquired of the languid drawl that eventually answered. “Killain. Hustle your tail on down here. Bring an appetite for hard labor.” He hung up and removed his jacket and shirt, carefully.

“But what are you going to do?” the blonde cried forcefully. “Nothing at all?”

“Do? I'm goin' to work,” Johnny said blandly. He removed a uniform from the closet and draped it over the chair back. He noticed that the pockets in some of the other clothing had been ruthlessly slashed, and his lips tightened.

“Work!” the blonde exclaimed scornfully. “I don't understand a man like you in a place like this, Killain.”

“I like it here.” Johnny sat down, and tackled the shoes again. He glanced upward to note the petulance of Madeleine Winters' expression. “I like it fine. Nobody bothers me. Look around when you go back downstairs. You see a night manager? No. You see a house dick? No. You see Killain. It gives a man a little room to spread his wings. Around here I do it my way, an' the brass don't ask me how I get it done.”

The blonde spoke swiftly as he paused. “Killain, I can make it worth-” She stopped suddenly at the sound of a knock at the door.

Amy, the tall colored girl who handled housekeeping nights, sidled in with her attention directed downward at the broken lock. “Mist' Johnny, somebody done bust-” she began, then straightened and saw the room. “Hoo-ee!”

The pretty face crinkled in an impudent grin. “Who you gone an' got mad at this time?”

“This time I wasn't here,” Johnny told her. “I hope you brought a shovel.” He redirected his attention to Madeleine Winters. “Go ahead,” he invited her.

“I can't talk now,” she protested sulkily, an eye on Amy, who was examining her with bright-eyed interest. “Okay,” Johnny shrugged. “Good night.” “Good night?” The green eyes flattened at the corners in the manner of a cat's. “Don't get on your high horse with me, Killain. I came-” She turned suddenly to Amy. “You'll excuse us for just a moment, please?” She really had a charming smile when she wanted to use it, Johnny reflected.

Amy promptly dropped the shredded curtains she had been gloomily regarding. “I'll get my cleanin' things,” she said, and went out.

Johnny forestalled the blonde before she could speak. “You came over here to buy something?” It took her by surprise. “Well, no. I came-“ “You came to put me on the pay roll so you'd have me handy in the oat bin when it come time to slam down the lid.”

“I don't see how you can say that. I never intended-” “You're not buyin',” he interrupted. “That leaves Palmer.” “I didn't say I wasn't buying,” she said quickly. “I said that wasn't my idea in coming here tonight.”

“You figure whoever got Arends winged that one at you tonight?” he asked her casually.

Her features seemed to shrink, and she circled her lips rapidly with the tip of her tongue. “I don't know. I need help. Don't you see that I could buy the thing from you tonight, and wind up dead before morning? It wouldn't solve anything for me.”

“But it would for me. All I want is to convert.” She chose to disregard this completely. “Come to work for me, Killain,” she pleaded. The vibrant voice was artistically husky. “I do need help, and I promise it wouldn't be the worst job in the world. I need someone like you.

Jules Tremaine would kill me as quick as he'd look at me. He proved that tonight.”

“Sorry,” Johnny said curtly.

The beautiful face looked pinched. “You mean-you won't?”

“That's what I meant.”

The change of expression was instantaneous. Madeleine Winters hitched her fur stole about herself with a vicious twist of her shoulders. “I won't forget this. You won't, either.”

“That's better,” Johnny said approvingly. “For a minute there I was afraid you were goin' soft on me.”

She was already on her way to the door. Only the broken lock prevented a really effective slam. Amy thrust her head cautiously inside before entering. “You is shuah rough on 'em, Mist' Johnny. That one got steam comin' out of her ears. She pretty enough to expect to have it the other way aroun'.” Amy's silvery giggle rippled through the room.

“See what you can do with this mess,” Johnny told her. He finished dressing and headed for the service elevator and the lobby. He found Paul in the cloakroom. “A guy about six-one, Paul,” he began without preliminary. “Looks slender, but isn't. Walks like he had a poker up his back. A real cold face an' eyes. Crew-cut gray hair, if he didn't have a hat on.”