Detective Fiction May 1951 by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Pulp
Publisher: Detective Fiction
Published: 1951-05-16T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 4 - A Man Named Sulla

AT SEVEN he parked his car near the office at Rio Azul and walked in. A young man with golden hair gave him a smile.

“Miss Webster, please.”

The smile remained fixed. Limpid brown eves. shifted away from Johnny’s face. “Number eighty, sir. Directly behind the office, sir. Shall I ring her?”

“Don’t bother.”

He circled the office and went down the line of courts. The one nearest the office was eighty-four, the next eighty-two. A step beyond eighty-two he paused. The dusk had that odd purple look as on the previous night. Light shining through the screen door of Lia’s room was yellowish against the dusk.

Lia was saying, “What I do on my own time is my own business.” There was clear bright anger in her tone.

Johnny moved closer but he could not make out what the man’s voice said.

“Then I’ll leave right now,” Lia said. “I was a fool even to consider staying here. It won’t do me any good to have to say I worked for a crooked—” The impact of palm on flesh was unmistakable, as was Lia’s startled gasp of pain.

Johnny tore the screen door open and went in fast. Lia stood against the far wall, her fingertips to her cheek, tears standing in her eyes. The stocky man facing her was turning as Johnny hit him.

The solid shock that ran up his arm felt good. As the man rocked back, lifting thick arms, Johnny hit him again. The man took grotesque little running steps backward, arms waving. Johnny heard a quick footstep behind him. Instead of turning into the expected blow, he dived forward, turning then in a crouch, just as the stocky man hit a small end table and crashed backward to the floor, crushing the table lamp. The man who had come up behind Johnny had evidently been standing to one side of the door and surprise had slowed his reaction time as Johnny had plunged into the room.

He was a big man with a face as hard and tight as a chiseled stone, except for the rubbery mouth. His full arm swing with the flat of an automatic had missed the back of Johnny’s skull and he stood off balance, in much the same position as a baseball pitcher who has just put a strike over the plate.

Johnny dived for him, and the man tried to step back and hit him with a backhand sweep of the gun at the same time. Johnny ducked under the blow and tensed his neck muscles as the top of his head struck the pit of the big man’s stomach. As the breath whoofed out of the man, Johnny clapped his hands down on the backs of the man’s knees. The man hit flat on his shoulders and his head snapped back against the floor.

Johnny held. his fist ready and decided that any further blow would be superfluous. The automatic was a foot from the limp hand. He snatched it up and turned toward the man who had fallen over the end table.

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