Naked Curse by Larry Kent

Author:Larry Kent
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: amateur detectives, kidnap, blackmail, private eyes, piccadilly publishing, don haring, larry kent, hard boiled crime novels, noir crime ebooks
Publisher: Piccadilly

6 … the first corpse …

After spending thirty-one hours recovering in hospital (someone had heard the rumpus at the construction site and phoned an ambulance—people are wary of contacting the police) I phoned Audrey who brought me some clean clothes and drove me home. She wanted to come up, but I sent her on her way. The first thing I did was pour myself three fingers of bourbon. I swallowed half of it neat, found some pain pills, chased them down with the rest of the drink, poured another, lit a cigarette. Then I phoned my client.

He was angry over my not contacting him. I calmed him down, told him what had happened. He didn’t interrupt once. When I was finished, he was quiet for a while. I had to say his name to make sure he was still on the line.

“It seems,” Grant said, “that you are making progress of a sort. What do you plan to do next?”

“Visit Miss LeStrang.”

He didn’t ask any questions nor make any foolish remarks. He just said, “Please contact me if you have anything of importance to report.”

I promised I would, cradled the phone, downed the bourbon, went and got my Corvette from the garage, drove downtown to Fifi’s apartment.

When I rapped on Fifi’s door there was no answer. However, the door down the hall opened and a cute blonde gave me a smile of welcome. I rapped again.

“It won’t do you any good to knock,” she said. “Her apartment is empty. She moved out.”

I walked to her. She was wearing a yellow ensemble that clashed with her blonde tresses.

“Come in and I’ll make you a drink,” the blonde invited.

I entered her apartment. She reeked of perfume. There were other smells in the apartment: incense, cologne, powder. Balanced on wooden clogs she jiggled to a cocktail cabinet.

“Make mine straight bourbon,” I said.

“A man’s drink, eh? How interesting. I prefer pink gin myself.”

She walked to me, a drink in each hand. Her fingernails were painted pink. I took the drink from her. She touched her glass to mine before I could pull it away.

“To friendship and understanding, Mr. …” A little smile, a flutter of lashes. “I don’t even know your name, do I?”

“That’s right.” I drank. It was good bourbon. I said, “You mentioned something about Fifi moving out.”

“Yes. It was yesterday morning, quite early. About nine o’clock, I would say.”

I could imagine what had happened. Smoothy Parker, contacting Fifi, telling her I was alive, ordering her to move out.

She moved her head to the side, like an inquisitive bird. “What are you, I wonder. I’m sure you’re not a policeman. If you were, you’d be quick to admit it. I know; I’ve had more than my share of experience with the ways of our protectors in blue. They can be positive monsters, I can tell you.”

“I’m not a cop,” I said. “As a matter of fact, there are those who say I’m the antithesis of a police officer.”

“Oh? Antithesis, eh?” She beamed approval.

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