Dan Marlowe - Killer with a Key

She nodded, and went back out to the phone. When she re-entered the room her lips were curved upward in a smile. “He wanted to know how badly you were hurt this time.”

“Sounds as if he knows Johnny,” Detective Rogers said dryly. He adjusted the set of his shoulder holster inside his jacket and looked down at Johnny on the sofa. “I'll be running along. Be a little careful where you get your exercise.”

“What did he mean by that?” Lorraine asked curiously when the door had closed behind the slender man.

Johnny stretched carefully. “That's just his way of tellin' me not to go lookin' for the guy that sent the muscle. He's warning me not to let him catch me jumpin' on someone's foot.” He fingered the lump under his ear. “He thinks I need to look.”

“And you don't?”

“You're damned right I don't. I racked this boy Russo up the other day, so here he is, in spades. This time I'll braid his tail for real, only it's got to be a little private, with Jimmy watching from the sidelines.” He looked at her appraisingly. “You happen to wonder how come he was outside where he had a ringside seat for the corrida?”

“Why, no-” Her eyes narrowed. “He was watching me?”

“Or me. Could've followed me over here. Maybe it's seeing us together gives him an itch. Jimmy's a good boy. Don't underestimate him.” He made his voice casual. “Which brings us back to why it'd be a good idea for you to unbutton a little about what happened the night-”

“That's enough, Johnny.” She cut him off. “We've been all through that before, and the answer is no.”

“I could get tired of workin' a one-way street,” he told her softly. “I've told you things you'd have had trouble findin' out. I'm closer to things than you're likely to be. You're Vic's wife; I'd like to steer you right on this-”

He stopped when he saw her expression; he knew that he had said the wrong thing again. “You're not here because I'm Vic's wife,” she said flatly. “You're here because you think I have information that you want. Whether I do or not is problematical, but I've told you before and I'll tell you now for the final time. I'm not about to let you pull the house down around my ears because of your own personal involvement!”

The heat in her tone fanned his own fire; for an instant he balanced on the razor edge of forcing the issue to a showdown, before belated common sense came to the fore. She knows, Killain, and you don't. She may not know the murderer, but she knows more than you do. You cut yourself off from the possibility of learning what she knows, and you've bitten off your nose to spite your face. This is a strong-willed, determined woman. He spoke abruptly. “How about me takin' a shower?”

“If you keep your head dry. I'll get you towels.” Under the steaming hot water he soaked the mounting ache in his bones, and in the mirror he inspected the brass-knuckle-raised purple welts under his ribs. He dried himself carefully.

Lorraine tapped on the bathroom door. “The cab driver brought your clothes,” she called. “I put them in the bedroom.”

He felt better after the shower. In the bedroom he dressed hurriedly; he wanted to get back to the hotel. He transferred money, keys and wallet to the fresh slacks and made a little bundle of the fragments he had removed in the bathroom. “New man,” he announced upon re-entering the living room.

Her eyes were speculative. “From personal observation I don't believe there was very much the matter with the old one.” She continued before he could take advantage of the opening. “You know you're going to have a head like a gourd in the morning?”

“Maybe I should take a little something to justify it?”

“I wouldn't recommend it.” Her inspection of him was deliberate. “If you're mad I hope you don't stay mad. I do need your access to information.”

“Well then, why-”

“Because the situation almost certainly calls for halfway measures, and you don't know how to use them. As you just proved out on the street.”

Johnny boiled out the door without even saying good-by; he simmered down a little during the cab ride back to the hotel, but he was still under a driving head of steam when he entered the lobby and approached the bell captain's desk. “Thanks, Gus.” He raised his eyes aloft. “Russo around?” Gus crooked a finger across the lobby. “In the bar.” The dark-eyed glance lingered on the patch over Johnny's eye. “You and Russo?”

“Not yet.” Johnny crossed the lobby rapidly and felt a sense of release at the sight of Ed Russo in the third booth from the door, sitting across from a big man in a light-colored, wide-brimmed panama. He walked down to the booth; anticipation was so strong he could taste it. The semi-public nature of the scene concerned him not at all; here was the man. He placed both hands on the table edge, leaned forward slightly, and waited.

Ed Russo looked up carelessly from his low-voiced conversation; the thin mouth tightened, but he did not break off until it became apparent to him that Johnny had no intention of moving on. “What the hell, Killain?” he demanded forcefully. “This is a private conversation.”

Johnny considered the dapper man; it was not the reaction he had expected.

Russo was addressing his companion. “This is the guy I was telling you about that tanked me, Tim.” He turned back to Johnny, eyes on the brow patch. “For you, I hope it's nothing trivial, mister. All your troubles should be major.” His voice sharpened as the bitterness showed through. “I got fifty bucks right here says you can't take me again, wise guy.” Johnny blinked. He sends three goons to entertain you, and now he wants to bet you fifty he can do it himself? Whoa, Killain. Wrong script. Back up and get a fresh start. Russo was getting impatient; the lean, arrogant features were poised upward. “Well, sonny boy? I'll take you for fun, money or marbles.”

“You couldn't take one side of me,” Johnny growled, but the riposte was mechanical. To himself he was forced to admit that Ed Russo's response seemed genuine.

The dapper man flushed darkly; he started to rise. “Right now I'll show you, hot shot. Out in the alley.”

The big man across the table from him put a hand on Russo's arm; he spoke for the first time. “Business before pleasure, Ed.” He sounded quite jovial; Johnny looked at the expensive dark brown gabardine slacks and the cream-colored sport coat; the man had a round moon face and a livid scar that pulled down a corner of the heavy mouth.,

“You're right,” Russo was saying in evident disappointment. He sat down again slowly. “Not tonight.” He looked up at Johnny. “But any time after tonight. Any time at all. Right, Tim?”

Tim looked at Johnny; he removed a fat cigar from his breast pocket and rolled it lightly between his palms. “He looks healthy to me, Ed. What makes you think you can take him?”

“You think I can't?” Russo was angry again. “I'll bet you fifty, too. I never saw a bull like that I couldn't take!”

“You know I ride with you, Ed.” The big man said it soothingly; Johnny thought that he had never heard a deeper voice than the big man's heavy resonance. “Does it hurt to mention the guy must weigh as much as I do?”

“I don't care what he weighs. I won't be half splashed the next time he takes his sucker shot.” He rapped impatiently on the table with the bottom of his shot glass and looked around for the waiter. “Come on. Let's have one more drink and get moving.”

He had so obviously dismissed the interruption from his mind that Johnny straightened a little self-consciously; as he backed away uncertainly, until he stood with his back to the bar, Russo and the big man were again engrossed in earnest conversation.