Dan Marlowe - Doorway to Death

“Willie's going to have to make a few changes in his routine.” She smiled at Johnny sweetly. “I'm working on it.” “Willie could fool you, kid. Willie 'n me-” The smile vanished. “Willie 'n me,” Shirley mimicked savagely. “Damn Willie and you! And damn you and Willie I'm sick of the combination eternally dinned in my ears! Doesn't either of you have a life of your own any more?” She turned furiously and flounced out through the foyer, her high heels clicking spitefully, and Johnny stared after her.

“Boy,” he murmured finally. “Boy, oh boy. Happy days are here again. Rack 'em up in the other alley, Sam.”

Very thoughtfully he resumed his interrupted progress to the street.

The shades were drawn in the apartment bedroom, and if it was not dark, Johnny decided, it was at least a pleasant twilight. He could see the shape and outline of the larger objects in the room but not the details. He sighed, stretched lengthily, and turned his head to look at the pale blur of Sally's relaxed figure on the bed beside him. “I ate too much, ma. You shouldn't feed me like that.”

“Once a pig, always a pig,” she murmured drowsily, and Johnny smiled and ran a palm lightly over a smooth shoulder. Sally's head came up abruptly from the pillow. “Listen, man, are we going to sleep, or are we going to play? Make up your mind.”

“I feel like talkin', ma. Reach me a cigarette.”

She groaned in protest. “I'm sleepy, Johnny-” He could feel her movement as she stretched to reach the night table, and in the near darkness her features were indistinguishable as she leaned back over him. Her hair swirled about the lighter oval of her face as she traced the shape of his lips with an enquiring finger before inserting the cigarette, and light flared in her hand, flickered, and steadied to an even glow. Johnny stared up over the cigarette lighter into the soft brown eyes and the revealed thin features, shiningly translucent in the flame. He drew deeply on the cigarette, and Sally released the lever action on the lighter, and the cloaking twilight again rushed in upon them.

She snuggled back along the length of his body, and then almost at once she lifted her head again. “Well, buster, what happened to all that conversation?”

“I'll get around to it.”

“Oh, come on. If you don't have anything to say, at least let me sleep.” She came up on an elbow and peered down into his face, trying to make out his expression. “Or do you have something?”

“Well, did I tell you Willie'll be in tonight?”

“You know perfectly well you didn't tell me.” She dropped back on the pillow, and he could hear the edge of resentment in the soft voice. “I can see where I'll be a bachelorette for sure while he's in town. Did he call you?”

“Cable. He's in Europe. Or was. Gonna be kinda nice to have ol' Willie around.”

Her voice had softened. “You think a lot of him, don't you?”

“Willie's all right.”

“What makes him such a hero, outside of having a few dollars?”

“Hero? Aww, hero's a dirty word, Sally. What you need to remember about Willie is that when the heroes are takin' to the trees Willie's just gettin' into second gear.”

“He certainly doesn't look it.”

“You don't know him like I do, ma. We've seen a few tough sunrises come up over the horizon, Willie 'n me.” He lay there remembering.

When Sally spoke again her tone had changed. “Have you talked to Lieutenant Dameron since last night?”

“No, and that reminds me-I ought to call him. I found out somethin' about that.” He dragged on the last half inch of cigarette and stubbed it out with a long reach over her shoulder. “You don't ever want to be hangin' by anything tender while you're waiting for the police to call you with information, ma.”

“Even when you're helping them?” She sounded indignant. “And after what you did for them last night?”

“Toe's a little touchy about my help. He's afraid I'll go off half-cocked in the action and jeopardize his official position. He wants me, but he wants me under wraps. And that thing last night wasn't such a much I did for them. The butcher would have found him anyway when he opened the box this morning, so I only got them about twelve hours. 'Course sometimes twelve hours is a hell of a lot but this time I don't see that it means much.” He grinned into the darkness. “Hell of a thing to have in your mind, but you know all I could think of last night? I was picturin' Karl, the butcher, walkin' into that box this morning if we hadn't found the stiff. Karl's always half smashed goin' to work anyway, account of the cold.”

Beside him he could feel Sally shiver, and he reached for her. He slipped an arm about the slim body and drew her closer to him, and after a moment he could feel her lips on his cheek. “I'll be glad when this is all over,” she sighed.

“I got a feelin' we're close to the payoff window right now.”

“It's getting so I'm afraid to go to work nights. And it's not much better here when you're not around, since that man was here the other afternoon.”

“That man is in the sneezer, ma. You can scratch him from the entries.”

“Yes, and I love the way you and Paul didn't tell me a word about it when it happened.”

“Just savin' your nerves a bruise. You get shook too easy.”

She sniffed audibly, and he tightened the arm around her and listened to the hissing intake of her breath. After a moment he disengaged the arm, slipped it from beneath her, sat up, and slid off the bed. Sally's head lifted as she tried to follow his movements in the shadows. “What are you doing, Johnny?” She sat up as he returned and knelt on the bed beside her.

“Johnny Killain, you haven't any pants on!” she accused him as he reached for her.

“Welcome to the club,” Johnny said.

Sally was in the shower when the phone rang, and Johnny rose from the bed to answer it. “Yeah?”

“Johnny? Dameron.”

“Hey, I got something for you.” The bathroom door opened, and Sally's head and shoulders appeared, swathed in a towel. He formed the word “Joe” silently with his lips, and she nodded and went back inside, closing the door. “The guy in the locker last night, Joe; his name's Frank Lustig, and he was registered into 938 the night he was killed. He was killed right in the room, and when they took him down to the kitchen in the room service elevator to dispose of the body Dutch broke up the party.” The line hummed emptily a moment. “I'll buy pair of that,” Lieutenant Dameron's voice said into the little silence. “Let me tell you why I called, though. Jimmy just called me from the hotel. He'd gone over to talk to that cook who was with you when you found the body.”

“Don't tell me he'd bugged out on you-?”

He could hear the dry rasp in the other voice. “Oh, he was still there. Jimmy broke in the bathroom door and found him in the tub. Both wrists slashed, he bled to death very tidily.”

“Christ! We needed to talk to that guy.”

“I doubt we can extradite him from where he is now.” The lieutenant's voice sounded less forceful than usual. “I'd counted myself on talking to him. I think he could have given us a few answers. That was a good move on your part last night, incidentally.”

“An accident. Sitting in the kitchen it came to me all of a sudden that Dutch hadn't said 'clocks' like Manuel thought; he'd said 'box,' and he knew what he was talking about. Right now I'm not sure it was a good move at all. The butcher would have found him this morning anyway, and we'd have still had Hans. Jimmy said he was in up to his hips with the shylocks, but that's a strong rebuttal.”

He had a better reason or thought he did. The body may have been registered into 938 like you say, but his name wasn't Frank Lustig. It was Frank Rieder, and he was Hans Rieder's younger brother.”