A Short Bier by Frank Kane

Author:Frank Kane [Kane, Frank]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781440540301
Publisher: Prologue Books
Published: 1960-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

chapter

13

Johnny Liddell pushed through the double glass doors bearing the legend Johnny Liddell — Private Investigation, walked into his outer office. Pinky, his auburn-haired secretary, sat behind the small reception desk, pecking away at the keys of the big electric typewriter, taking excessive care not to fracture the polish on her long fingernails. She looked up, recognized him with no show of enthusiasm.

“Don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re the man I work for.” She swung her chair around, scowled at him. “Nice of you to drop around.”

“Look, Pinky, don’t bug me. The only sleep I’ve had in the past thirty-six hours is what I could grab on the plane. And that wasn’t exactly a career.” He stopped at her desk. “Anything new?”

“Nothing you’d be interested in,” she told him sweetly. “Just four or five cases I had to turn down because they wanted immediate action. And you I couldn’t reach. We are still in the business?”

“I’ve got a case. You know I’m handling the Jensen killing for the Dispatch. What do you think I — ”

Pinky smiled. “I have heard of an agency having more than one case at a time.” The smile faded. “You could have put a couple of men on these cases if you didn’t have the time. But the clients wanted to talk to you personally, so I had to refer them to Acme.” The smile was back acid-sweet. “Red Daniels down in Acme says gee, thanks. I told him not to mention it.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was only money.”

“It’s a more convertible commodity than you’re likely to get paid off in by that Rexall redhead. At least money we can take to the bank.”

“I’m not working for Muggsy. I’m working for the Dispatch. ”

The girl at the typewriter sniffed. “So what’ll they pay you off with? A lifetime subscription? You can’t run a business this way, Johnny — ”

“Save the lectures until after I get a little shut-eye, huh, Pinky?” He drew the envelope with the penciled names of the Spanish restaurants from his pocket, tossed it on the desk. “Get me an address on each of these places, will you?” He waited while she studied his scrawl, checked the spelling. “If I don’t wake up by 6:30, wake me. Okay?”

Pinky nodded, watched him head for the inner office.

He closed the door behind him, pulled down the blinds, stretched out on the worn leather couch. In less than five minutes, he was sound asleep.

It was pitch dark in the office when Johnny Liddell opened his eyes. He got up, felt his way to the desk, snapped on the lamp. His wristwatch showed 9:30. He swore under his breath, headed for the outer office. The reception desk was empty, a piece of paper was stuck in the typewriter roller.

He tugged it out, read it:

I checked the places you left with me. The addresses are on the attached sheet. I didn’t wake you because none of these are restaurants. They’re mostly bars and night clubs. No action until around midnight.

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