Dan Marlowe - Killer with a Key

“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.

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 passed 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-”