Larry Kent 794 Hello Dolly ... Goodbye by Don Haring

Author:Don Haring [Haring, Don]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: murder mysteries, thriller books, spillane, hard boiled crime fiction, piccadilly publilshing, don haring, larry kent detective
Publisher: Piccadilly
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7 … bait? …

I wandered back to a bar and grill. Not Pete Grills’ Nighter. I figured the next time I went there, the guy with the glass eye would be unfriendly. I ordered a toasted sandwich and fed myself on Scotches till it came ... meanwhile, I looked into the bar mirror and began working it all out.

One, Ester Newell wasn’t top dog in the kennel. Two, Mickey and Kelso thought she was, and they did as they were told and were probably scared of her. Which meant Ester had done something which warned them that crossing her up could mean a sticky end. Three, the guy in the other room who had thrown three slugs my way, was probably in control. I hadn’t seen his face, but the general cut of the guy impressed me. Big, efficient, shrewd and smooth. He’d fit with a woman like Ester.

I finished off the last Scotch and rang my office. There’d been a few incoming calls. Nothing to drag me away from Joe Hoffner’s problem. Nor anything that needed doing so urgently I shouldn’t go and have a chat with my buddy, Joe.

Hoffner was sitting at his desk, smoking a cigar, and looking as if he’d tear strips off any guy who wished him a good evening. So I just sailed in and sat down. He didn’t seem interested to see me. Or glad. Not annoyed either. I thought maybe the guy he’d put on to tail me, had tailed me, without my knowing it.

He broke the ice, with, “That cop’s goin’ to fry for taking a bribe from you, Kent. He’ll pound a beat long after the end-of-the-world prophets have tossed it in. Cops earn legitimate money. None other.”

“Okay,” I said. “So I won’t waste any more of my money.”

“You won’t waste any more of ours either. We gave you an open account. Let’s see how it’s coming.”

I pulled out a list of names, and shoved it in front of him.

“Strassen had some business with Kelso. Kelso is still in it, but Strassen’s brought out. I haven’t any solid ideas on him, but he’s an importation who’s been under the eye.”

“He’s clean,” said Hoffner. “We ran into that dead-end ourselves.”

I ran a line through Strassen’s name to impress on Hoffner that I was leaning his way. “Kelso’s in league with a woman named Ester Newell. Ester runs around the Nations Club looking for a guy to buy her a mink farm. So she says. I don’t think that’s right.”

“It’s not.” Hoffner reached below his desk and pulled out a file. I leaned forward while he flipped pages.

“Her real name is Ester Goodman, born in Los Angeles and migrated north when her old man died. She had a lot of dough till three months ago. Then it disappeared in one draw. Since then, she’s been going out with rich guys. That’s all we know.”

“You could’ve saved me time,” I told him. “And money. Your money.”

“Better to let you flex your muscles and get warm, Kent.

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