Raise the Devil by Terence Faherty

Author:Terence Faherty
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2014-10-15T16:53:18+00:00

21

I beat my earlier time on the run, spurred on by Paddy, a man who thought traffic lights were nothing more than the city’s way of herding the tourists. The mossy Packard was still parked next to the overdressed little building. I pointed the car out to Paddy, but he was busy scanning the block and damning convertible tops. Long before we reached the door of the building, he had his hand in his coat pocket. He drew his gun as soon as we stepped inside.

I led the way up the stairs, my own automatic out and cocked. I was considering the dilemma posed by De Felice’s front door, the one I’d found locked and had left the same way. If we knocked and Remlinger was inside, we might get a rude hello. If we kicked the door down and De Felice was still fingering his Luger, we’d get a noisy one.

It turned out to be worry wasted: The outer door was now unlocked. We listened at it for a moment. Then Paddy motioned me to go ahead quietly. The door did its bit, swinging open noiselessly. I saw the water cooler, the prop receptionist desk, and the door to the inner office, open wide. What I could see of the room beyond was empty. Two seconds later we were crossing the office threshold, me breaking left and Paddy right. There was no sign of Remlinger or Dillon. Of Guy De Felice, there were ten years’ worth of signs. But the man himself was gone.

“Damn,” Paddy said. “Has he flown the coop or has Remlinger snatched him?”

I found the answer on the threadbare carpet. It was a white card on which two numbers were written, one belonging to a disconnected phone and the other copied from the license plate of the car parked downstairs.

“Remlinger’s been here,” I said. “Clay Ford had this card in his wallet.”

“Too late,” Paddy said. “Too damn late.” He pushed back his hat with the barrel of his gun, which reminded him he was still holding the thing. He dropped it into his pocket. “I apologize, Scotty, for laughing at your theory that Remlinger happened to come and go at the airport while Brooks was accidentally providing a diversion. I just performed the same service for the guy, with my lollygagging.

“Well, there’s nothing for it now. We’ll have to search this place until we find the information De Felice was going to sell us. You say he told you it was here in black and white?”

“Yes, but Remlinger may have taken it away.”

“If he knew about it. With De Felice in the bag, he may not have bothered with secret messages. Take the reception area.”

It was the easiest job Paddy had given me in years. The only piece of furniture in the narrow room was an almost square oak desk without phone or blotter or calendar. De Felice’s last secretary must have taken them all in lieu of severance pay. Every drawer was empty, and there was nothing stuck to the bottom of any of them, not even a piece of gum.

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