Dan Marlowe - Doorway to Death

Johnny wiped his lips with the back of his hand and sighed. “Goddamn Joe Dameron. All right; you got the floor.”

“Thank you. I'm sure you'll agree that once one scratches the surface, the situation is not-well-ordinary. Item: I come to work three months ago, to be informed by my predecessor about the night bell captain with the pipeline to the summit.”

“Which you verified.”

“Which I verified. Oh, indirectly, I assure you. I learned also that said bell captain was accounted by all the senior citizens here to be truly that rara avis, a devil with the ladies. You will forgive me for thinking that that seemed to type the bell captain? And that is why I feel that I should-perhaps? — apologize.”

Johnny rose from his own chair to retrieve his guest's empty glass. He took his time in the process of refilling it, head cocked a little to one side as though listening to an inner voice. “Apologize?”

“Precisely. In view of what I heard this afternoon, it's a bit deflating to the ego to realize that one has so baldly underestimated an associate's talents.” He accepted the rallied glass.

“I wouldn't let it worry me,” Johnny told him, but the little man shook his head vigorously.

“The lieutenant was, you must admit, quite explicit. You seem to be a many-sided individual.”

“You don't want to pay too much attention to Joe. Oh, it did happen a few years back that a guy was dropped down in a new arena, and the equipment fitted.”

“And the lieutenant offered you an opportunity to re-test the equipment?” The silence built up in the room, and Ronald Frederick waved his glass deprecatingly. “No eavesdropping, I assure you, Johnny. But the lieutenant so obviously admired the equipment, and staged the meeting so carefully, surely I'd be something sub-human if my curiosity weren't piqued? Everything seemed so-ah-factual, in his exposition. Was it in the O.S.S.?”

“For a while.”

“And then?”

“Partisans.”

“Mmmmm. You speak French, then? Italian? Spanish? But of course; it would be a requirement.” He revolved the glass in his hand, considering. “And our Mr. Martin was a part of all this?”

“Willie? The greatest.”

“Really? One would scarcely-I've had barely three words with him, except at the final interview, but he hardly seemed-”

“You've got to see him in action. Best front man in the business. You know that hustle-bustle thing of his, the way he lights up everything he touches?”

“Incandescence?”

“Yeah. Willie's got brass-bound guts, and he can talk the birds right out of the trees in half a dozen languages. He was the man. I was just along to bulldog him out alive when the roof fell in on an operation.”

“A bit less difficult to see now why you're here under such circumstances. Or should I say auspices? It must be an unusual relationship.”

“Maybe. It doesn't seem so unusual to me.”

“I see. Johnny, I've enjoyed your hospitality as much as I've-ah-abused it. I'd like to have the opportunity of reciprocating some time soon. Even a little vicarious excitement stirs the sluggish blood occasionally, hmm? Goodnight, and thanks.” He put down his empty glass, smiled briefly, and departed, and his host sat for some time staring at the closed door.

Johnny roused himself and finished his own drink. He stacked the glasses in the sink and left for the captive service elevator. Aboard, he headed down, and in the lobby he started in the direction of the public phone booth in the corner, changed his mind and veered toward Sally's switchboard. “I'm goin' out for a couple minutes, ma.”

“Blonde or brunette?”

“Blind date. Do something for me. Make a list of all the calls while I'm out, and I mean all.”

“What are you up to now, Johnny?”

“Be glad to let you know when I find out. Be right back.”

“Oh, give the girl a better break than that!”

He grinned, waved to Vic hunched over his transcript, and walked out through the foyer and turned left toward Broadway and the Villa Nueva, the night club four doors down the street. Its garish outside illumination contrasted sharply with the low-ceilinged, smoke-filled cavern which he entered. Johnny made his way through the closely packed tables to the phone booth in the farthest corner and dialed Lieutenant Dameron. The phone rang quite a while before it was answered. “Joe? Killain. Couple of things occurred to me.”

“Jesus! They couldn't wait till morning?”

“You office types sleep too much.”

“We might if we didn't associate so damn much with other types. Well?”

“Did your people run a check on the hotel employees, Joe?”

“Naturally.”

“Everybody?”

“What the hell? Certainly, everybody.”

“Anything I should know?”

“Why the hell should you know anything? You're not on the team, as I was informed by you personally. Now what's on your mind?”

“Not a damn thing, if that's your attitude.”

“It's not my attitude, Johnny. It's yours.”

“I think I was just propositioned, Joe.”

“You were?” Interested awareness took over the voice, to be followed immediately by suspicion. “What do you mean, you think?”

“Went fifteen rounds an' never laid a glove on the guy.”

“Now there's a switch-”

“There has to be a reason they picked this place.”

“When we know that, we'll know a lot more, too. Who propositioned you?”

“I've got something else on my mind, Joe. I've had a chance to sort out this Max Armistead thing, and I don't like it. You didn't ask me if I'd killed him, Joe.”

The silence was fractional. “I know you don't use a gun. And I might as well ask the Sphinx.”

“I think there was another reason.”

The silence was longer this time. “So maybe I was afraid of the answer.”

“But afraid of the answer, you'd take me on? I could look for a lotta backin' from you if they tied it to me later on, Joe?”

“What are you getting at, Johnny?”

“You know what I'm gettin' at. If I'd said yes to you this afternoon, you'd have put me under your umbrella till I'd pulled your chestnuts outta the fire here. Then what?”

The voice was tired. “You didn't ask for a written contract.”

“And a damn good thing, I can see now, you Irish sonofabitch. You never did assay very high to the ton in my book, Joe, and if I wasn't rustin' completely away in this plush birdcage for something to do I'd kiss you off for good. I'm tellin' you now: you stay the hell out of my way.”

The voice was sharper. “Don't get ideas, Johnny. Don't meddle in something that's none of your business. Don't make me prove I'm a cop.”

“And don't you make me laugh. The next corner I turn that you're around, I run right over the top of you.” Johnny banged up the receiver and boiled out of the booth to collide with an underdressed cigarette girl carrying her wares on a neck-slung tray.

“Why, Johnny! I've missed you-” She was tall and dark, with long slender legs in full length opera hose, brief shorts and a briefer bra of black satin. She was an extremely good-looking girl, with flawless pale features under jet black hair.

“I'm in a hurry, Shirley.”

“You and that boss of yours are always in a hurry. Relax; you'll live longer. He tell you when he'd be back?”

“He didn't say.”

“You're not even a good liar, Johnny. What did he tell you?”

“I said I was in a rush, Shirl.” He tried to edge by her past the close-crowded tables, and she stepped into his path.

“Why don't you drop by some night in the master's absence and warm up the couch, Johnny?”

“That shade of mauve makes me bilious.”

She tapped her teeth with a silvered fingernail. “Not anti-social, are you? Or did you just remember your Boy Scout oath?”