Jacob Lomax 02 Blood Stone by Michael Allegretto

Author:Michael Allegretto [Allegretto, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Private Investigators, Hard-Boiled
ISBN: 9781480462755
Google: OFNRAgAAQBAJ
Amazon: 1531801544
Publisher: Avon Books
Published: 1990-01-01T21:00:00+00:00

22

I MADE THE LONG drive back to Denver.

Archuleta, alias Villanueva, had given Mr. Fyfe a phony address in Vail. I wondered, though, if there were some reason why he’d picked Vail. Of course, it could have been the same reason he’d picked “Villanueva”—no reason at all. And his California driver’s license might or might not mean he’d been living out there. One fine deduction after another.

When I got home, it was well after dark, and I felt tired and ready for bed, and then irritated when I remembered I didn’t have one. But I woke up in a hurry when I saw my apartment door standing wide open. I moved toward it, gun in hand, hoping whoever had trashed my place four nights ago was in there now having some more fun.

Then I relaxed. From inside I could hear Mrs. Finch, my batty old landlady.

“I told you he wasn’t here,” she squawked from the center of my furnitureless living room. “If you want to wait for him, you can do it outside. Now, git. I won’t have strangers loitering in my house.”

Her powdered cheeks were flushed and her tiny fists were on her hips. She glared up at Detectives Healey and O’Roarke. The men looked besieged.

“You heard her,” I said. “No loitering.”

“And as for you”—she aimed a gnarled finger at my nose—“I haven’t decided whether you can stay in this house or not. You’re on probation, mister, remember that.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I’d only lived there for three years.

She bustled out, ruffled but righteous. The detectives seemed relieved.

“Dalrymple wants to see you,” Healey said.

“Tell him I’m busy.”

“Now,” the Asian O’Roarke said.

“Am I under arrest?” I was in no mood to trade quips with cops, particularly Dalrymple.

“Not unless you won’t come with us,” Healey said. “And we’ll take the piece.”

They stood there, unmoving as only cops can, as if getting their way was a foregone conclusion. I gave Healey the magnum.

“Careful,” I said, “it’s loaded.”

We drove downtown. Lieutenant Dalrymple was waiting, heavy and solid, behind his desk. His mouth was pressed in a tight line and his eyes were cold and without emotion. Shark’s eyes. He told me to sit. Healey and O’Roarke stayed in the background.

Dalrymple held up a piece of paper. “I’ve got a complaint here signed by a Cosmo Runderman, night manager of the Frontier Hotel, and a—”

“His name is Cosmo? You’re kidding, right?”

“—and a Winetta Essex, one of the residents. They both state that you impersonated a police officer and harassed them.”

“I did neither.”

“You passed yourself off as a cop, Lomax. That’s against the law.”

“I never said I was a cop and I never showed them any stinking badges. Can I go now?”

“Also, you’ve been carrying a gun without a permit.”

Healey stepped up and put my magnum on the desk, grip toward Dalrymple, muzzle toward me.

“I’ve got a permit for that,” I said.

“It was revoked when you were charged with Zack Meacham’s murder.”

“No one told me.”

“Doesn’t matter. Carrying a concealed weapon is a felony. It wouldn’t look too good if you were busted a few days before your preliminary hearing.

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