Dan Marlowe - Doorway to Death

The slender features hardened. “There is no deal. I've considered you rather carefully in your various aspects since you first came to my attention, and I'll tell you truthfully it was with some regret that I decided I couldn't afford the luxury of your dynamic support. I could buy you, but intuition tells me you wouldn't stay bought. When we go upstairs, I'll-”

“I'm in for fifty percent, or we don't go anywhere,” Johnny cut across the mild voice.

The little man's smile was unruffled. “Don't you suppose I've taken the measure of the man a little better than that, Johnny? Certainly you could sit here and defy me, receive a bullet in your head, and leave me to get away as best I could without the material for which I've expended so much time and trouble. But do I really need to say why I'm sure that won't be necessary? Isn't it much more in keeping with your character that you'll cheerfully accompany me upstairs and look forward confidently to turning the tables upon me at some stage of the proceedings?”

“You must be quite a poker player, Freddie.”

“I've played the game. Well?”

“Seems to me if I got to take you, I might as well do it right here. Unless there's a financial point to my takin' you on upstairs?”

“If you were to take me on successfully, a point in the neighborhood of a quarter of a million, handled in the proper channels?”

“Dollars?”

“Dollars. My share-” He smiled. “-yours if you can make it yours-will approximate that.”

“I'd like to see a quarter million on the hoof at that.”

“You'd be disappointed. It's microfilm, probably in a capsule no larger than your little finger.”

“Microfilm? What the hell-”

“I suppose you thought it would be at least the crown jewels? Jewels are out of date in this commercial modern world, Johnny. These films are a complete reproduction of some very recent developments in oil. Evaluations, leases, maps, tentative agreements, drilling sites, proposals. And they didn't come from the papers of a private company.” The manager shifted in his chair. “We're wasting time. Have you decided?”

“Let's go upstairs.”

“Fine. One word of advice-”

“Yeah?”

“The time will come upstairs when you sense the opportunity or the necessity of rushing me. I'm aware that due to your tremendous animal vitality you may expect that the impact of a bullet will not stop your charge. Don't count upon it. This revolver carries a lead bullet without a jacket. The rifling in the chamber is a bit worn. The combination results in a slug that wobbles even at a short distance, and I feel I should point out to you that such a slug in the back of your head would make it extremely difficult to identify you from your pictures.”

“You mean it'd take my face off on the way out.”

“Precisely.”

“I'll draw cards to the proposition that you can't hit me in the head, Freddie. And if you hit me anywhere eke it's not gonna do you much good, because I'll anyway reach you, and when I do you're odds on to pray for a better world.” He stood up slowly and easily, put down his glass gently, and walked over to the desk. He leaned forward deliberately with his hands resting knuckles down on the surface and stared down at the little man who had backed off in his chair a precautionary few feet at Johnny's approach. “Come on, you little bastard. Let's see how much nerve you've really got.”

“Fine,” Ronald Frederick said again as he got to his feet. “We won't use the elevator; I'd be a little too accessible to you. How many flights on the stairs?”

“Six.” Johnny walked to the door, slipped off the chain latch, and unbolted it. He glanced out into the deserted corridor, and without looking behind him started for the door down the hall marked EXIT. In back of him he could hear the whisper of the little man's feet on the carpeted floor.

“Careful!” Ronald Frederick snapped as Johnny put his hand on the fire door which opened outward onto the landing. “Move slowly and hold that door open.” Johnny glanced over his shoulder; over the shortened distance the revolver was openly trained upon his back, and for the first time the manager's face was strained and ugly.

Johnny shrugged. Ronald Frederick followed him through the door, body tensely withheld to maintain the maximum distance between them, and Johnny turned to the stairs. On the first turn he could see from a corner of his eye that the revolver had been thrust beneath the manager's jacket so that only the butt emerged; it was unlikely that a casual glance would notice it.

Johnny climbed steadily and behind him he could hear increasing sounds of distress. At the twelfth floor landing the manager called a halt. “Hold it for a moment.”

Johnny turned to look at the slender figure stationed a consistently careful ten feet away, a hand on the protruding mm butt, the chest heaving and a faint sheen on the forehead. “Nerves gettin' you, Freddie?”

The little man's attempt at a smile was only partially successful. “I prefer to consider it a lack of condition, but on the other hand, we are not all nerveless invertebrates like yourself.”

“If you were gonna walk away from this, Freddie, I'd suggest a gym class. Since you're not, it doesn't matter.”

“Subtlety is not your forte, Johnny.” The revolver muzzle emerged from under the manager's arm and considered Johnny appraisingly. “You can put away the psychological needle. Let's go.”

In the twelfth floor corridor Johnny made two left turns with Ronald Frederick on his heels and came to a stop at the second door on the right, and the little man glanced up at the room number 1224 and shook his head gently.-His voice was hushed. “I seem fated to consistently underestimate you, Johnny; here I had the solution in my hand. Was that a spur-of-the-moment backfire about the blonde when I stumbled over you coming out of here that evening?”

“Yeah.”

“It's a pity we couldn't have collaborated upon this affair. Truly a pity. I could have used your flair for ingenuous action.” He frowned suddenly, and the lowered tone took on a suspicious edge. “You say our man is in here? I did verify from the housekeeper that it was a woman in the room. At the time it seemed to substantiate your-ah- histrionics.”

“That's his wife. He checked in this mornin', and they gave him 1226 and threw open the connectin' door to make a suite with the bathroom in between.”

“Mmmm. The woman complicates matters. However, we're committed. Here.” He tossed Johnny a pass key. “Lock the door of 1226. Quietly.”

Johnny inserted the key and turned it delicately until it caught with only the very faintest click of tumblers. The manager nodded, listened a moment until he was satisfied that the faint sound had attracted no attention inside, and motioned Johnny back to the door of 1224. “Get us inside. Walk in ahead of me. And remember: whatever happens in that room, my eyes will never leave you.” The voice was tense but in good control; the manager re-checked the position of the revolver under his jacket to make sure it was as nearly concealed as possible and stationed himself so that Johnny's bulk as he rapped on the door partially concealed him.

The door opened with its usual caution, but when the woman saw Johnny she smiled and opened it wider. “Good evening. I missed you at dinner. I wanted my husband to meet my benefactor.”

“Got tied up, ma'am. This is our manager, Mr. Frederick, with me. The floor below is complainin' about a leak. Could we take a look?”

“Why, I guess-”

Johnny walked forward slowly into the center of the bedroom, stopped, and turned. Ronald Frederick was closing the door, and as he stood with his back to it his eyes ranged the room quickly. Johnny could see him glance at the card table with its customary tablecloth and the remains of dinner for two. An open bottle of wine with its contents a third gone stood sentinel amidst the dirty dishes. A wine glass still half full was at one end of the table, and an empty counterpart was still in its inverted before-using position at the other. On the floor three bulging valises, one partly open, took up more than their share of space.