Kill-Box by Lawrence Lariar

Author:Lawrence Lariar
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2018-11-29T13:44:20+00:00

CHAPTER 16

I spent the next afternoon at the International.

I knew two important members of the staff of the International. I had more than a nodding acquaintance with Lund, the house dick, a man of great integrity and unquestioned loyalty and boundless honesty and very few brains.

On my way to the desk, I circled the lobby away from a certain door and a certain small corner where I knew Lund would be.

My friend at the desk was Caldecott Chambers. Many years ago I had done a favor for Chambers and he was the sort of white collar mole who never would forget my face or the debt of gratitude he owed me. He was the assistant manager, a thin, small, sallow gentleman with a deep and penetrating memory.

His memory placed me in my proper niche and his hand was out for mine before I reached the desk. He took me inside and sat me down near him and gave me a small cigar and a wide smile and all the time I wanted.

I told him nothing but asked him plenty. His answers came slowly, only after he had checked them against the background of his memory. He went over the Goodson record and corroborated all of Max’s information. He added nothing about Goodson’s outside life.

I said: “Is your list of steadies large?”

“Quite. This is a new hotel and we’ve always had people who want to live here permanently. We have an average middle-class rental on most of our rooms, and when the customers stay for a long time we make allowances to keep them here permanently. Good business.”

“And, Goodson—do you know where he came from?”

“I couldn’t answer that. It’s not our business.”

“Is it ever?”

He thought a moment. “Sometimes, when we take on a phony who pays for a month and then decides to ride on his credit and skip. But Goodson is as regular as clockwork.”

“I don’t blame him. It’s a good hotel. It must be good to rate the convention of atomic brains you’ve got here. How’d you happen to get them?”

He smiled. “One customer invites another. Miss Mary Wyndham brought that gang here, I’m sure.”

“How come?”

“She’s a steady. She’s had a room for the past six months.” He winked at me slyly. “She doesn’t do our place any harm, Steve. Best looking blonde I’ve seen in our lobby.”

“Or any other lobby,” I added. “I know her.”

“A nice girl. And we’ll never stop thanking her for bringing her uncle’s group here. The publicity’s been wonderful.”

I finished my cigar and thanked him and went out. I strolled the lobby of the International, playing games with myself and enjoying the ebb and flow of life before me.

The soft seats in the center were filled with all manner of people: fat buyers from out of town, heavy-bottomed matrons on the loose for a fling in town, thin-legged girls gabbling in groups, and the flotsam and jetsam of characters from Broadway and Flatbush and the hinterlands of the big city.

It was a lush lobby, high ceilinged and bright with the gilt of classic décor.

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