Deadline, 2 A.M. by Robert L. Fish

Author:Robert L. Fish
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504012706
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road

Sunday—1:05 P.M.

Marty’s Oyster House, in common with most bars and restaurants in that section of San Francisco, was far from being overly busy on an early Sunday afternoon, but that in no way tended to improve its notoriously terrible service. Porky Frank, sitting in a booth to the rear, saw Reardon begin to push through the etched-glass doors and put out a hand, catching a waiter on the wing. Porky’s surprise was even greater than that of his bagged quarry; the waiters at Marty’s were usually more elusive. Still, Porky had one and he did not intend to free him until he had put him to good use.

“An extra dry martini, up, and a large beer,” he said, disregarding the hurt look on the face of the waiter. “The martini with a olive.”

The waiter nodded, unsurprised at the order. Anyone impolite enough to snatch at waiters instead of letting them come to you at their own pace was quite apt to be the type to use a beer chaser for a martini. Still, one of the rules of the house was that once you were pressed into service whether against your will or not, you actually had to serve the customer. It was a rule the waiters at Marty’s intended to fight bitterly at their next contract negotiations, but for the moment it was in effect.

“Dry olive and beer,” he said into his drooping mustache, and headed for the bar.

Reardon dropped into the booth across from Porky and nodded. Porky returned the greeting and considered the lieutenant gravely for a moment before coming to the conclusion that enough preliminaries had been observed and that it was time to move on.

“You look rested, Mr. R,” he said equably. “Tell me, what’s new on the case?”

Reardon looked around for a waiter and saw with astonishment that one was approaching their table laden with martini and beer, and seemed intent upon serving them. He turned back to Porky with a frown of curiosity.

“It was nothing,” Porky said modestly. “I caught him when he wasn’t looking.”

“But you caught him, which is what counts.” Reardon’s tone was properly congratulatory. He looked around and realized he was hungry. He accepted his beer, held the waiter by the arm while he ordered a hot roast beef sandwich with mashed potatoes. The waiter shrugged philosophically, and wrote it on his pad. What people did with their stomachs was no concern of his. Reardon released the waiter and turned to Porky. “Well?”

“I asked you first,” Porky said a bit reprovingly. He saw the look that crossed Reardon’s face but was not intimidated. “I repeat, I asked you first. Mainly because there is nothing new from my end. I wanted to meet with you to see if you had anything. Maybe it would tie in with the nothing I’ve got. You understand?”

“Roughly.” Reardon took a large draught of his beer and set the glass down. He wiped his lips and considered Porky. “We received the tape, the way the man said on the telephone.

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