Shoot If You Must (Prologue Books) by Richard Powell

Author:Richard Powell [Powell, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781440558511
Publisher: F+W Media, Inc.
Published: 2012-09-01T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

I STARED at him stupidly and hadn’t any idea what to do, and the idiotic side of my brain took charge and I found myself saying, “Pardon me, but have you seen a heart lying around?”

He looked at me blankly. Then he said, “How do you do?”

I had a wild urge to giggle. The guy should have pulled a gun or yelled for help or fled. One of us was crazy; at the time I wasn’t sure which. “Thank you,” I said. “How do you do?”

He said, “I am very glad to meet you.”

“Very good of you,” I said. “I’m very glad to meet you, too.”

He said, “This is excellent weather we are having, is it not?”

An idea fluttered in my memory. Last night I had paused outside a door along that right-hand corridor and had listened to a weird conversation between Voice One and Voice Two. It had gone somewhat like this conversation. I yanked a sentence from my memory, and said, “Have you visited the sights of Washington?”

He said in a parrot tone, “I have not done any sight-seeing. My health is not good.”

His remark clinched things. He was Voice Number Two.

I waited a moment, and he said just what I had been hoping for: the final phrase of the Voice One-Voice Two conversation. He said, “In fact, if you will excuse me …” He gave me a stiff little bow, turned, and went back down the corridor.

As soon as he was out of sight, I headed down the center corridor to Joan’s room. I had learned something of considerable interest. Voice Two was memorizing phrases of English, probably from a phonograph record. They were phrases designed to get him out of a conversation and away from strangers as quickly and quietly as possible. It might be worthwhile to find out why.

I located Joan’s room without any trouble because a dim light was seeping onto the hall carpet from under her door. Elsa’s door, across the way, was closed. I was afraid to knock on Joan’s door; the sound might rouse Elsa, or Joan might ask too loudly who was there. So I turned the knob and opened the door and slipped in. The next instant Joan and I both gasped. Mine was louder. I squinched my eyes shut. After this I would never be able to kid myself that she was just a little girl.

“I — I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I was afraid to knock.”

Joan giggled and said, “I could light a cigarette from that blush of yours, Andy Blake. You ought to be ashamed.”

“I am ashamed.”

“I meant ashamed of the blush. A big man like you blushing.”

“What do you want … a long, low whistle?”

“That would at least give me a chance to do the blushing. I understand that girls are supposed to, at a moment like this. But you look so scared, all I can do is giggle.”

“In case you don’t know it,” I said coldly, “I took a big risk coming here. It’s not a social call.

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