The Brass Halo by Jack Webb

Author:Jack Webb [Webb, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4405-4145-2
Publisher: Prologue Books
Published: 1957-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

JUD GALLANT

APPEARING NITELY

(except Mondays)

THE LUXOR ROOM

(Phone Ax 773-14 for Reservations)

“Like I was saying, Father, I think it’s time—”

“Indeed it is,” the young priest replied with an unusual lack of tact. She watched him move out of her kitchen, her thin face wrinkled with disapproval at the determination in his straight back, the stiff way he carried his broad shoulders. He was a great worry, her good father, so sweet and gentle except when the police started interfering with his ordained duty. She was half-a-mind to talk to His Excellency, the good bishop, next time he called. Bishop Croissant would fix it, yes, yes…. The clatter among the dishes took on a more satisfied note.

Once more in his study, Father Shanley again dialed operator. “Axminster 773-14, please.” He gave his own number at request.

“The Luxor Room.”

“May I speak to Mr. Jud Gallant, please.”

“Who’s calling?”

“Father Joseph Shanley.”

“I’m sorry, Father. Mr. Gallant has not come in yet.”

“When do you expect him?”

“His first show is at nine o’clock. Of course, at that time it will be quite impossible to get in touch with him.”

“I see. Could you give me a phone number where I might reach him?”

“I’m sorry, Father. It’s absolutely forbidden to give out Mr. Gallant’s private number.”

“This is very urgent.”

“I’m sorry.”

The priest cradled the phone and stared at the ceiling. This was a thing he should do in person. This was nothing to be left to a phone call. Whether Jud Gallant Edmonds wanted to remember it or not, he was a father, and it was time somebody reminded him of the fact. It was a desperate time, and if he did not know where his son was, he, with his money, his public favor, his far-reaching personal appeal, should bring those forces to bear.

Father Shanley got his black felt from the closet, clapped it on his head and went out into the hall.

“Now where would you be going at this hour?” his housekeeper wanted to know.

The priest smiled without humor. “To a night club,” he said, and went out the front door, closing it after him.

“Let me buy you a drink,” Little Augie said.

“Don’t mind if you do,” Sergeant Golden told him. “I’m on a postman’s holiday.”

“My pleasure,” the big man said and meant it. Here was a cop he could understand. He had been waiting to buy a cop a drink ever since this damned thing had happened. It made him feel more secure.

The hovering bartender took their orders.

“I’ve been talking to Gay,” Sammy began. He let it lie.

“Odd fellow. Hell of a good painter. That’s some thing he did of Domino.”

“Sure is. You’d think with the Norton girl around he wouldn’t have time to look at another.”

“Yeah, yeah. Say, you want to stay around and see that one.” Augie spread his hands expansively, “Sex appeal, Sergeant, she delivers it on a platter. No voice, you understand, but rhythm and personality and”—Augie paused and wrinkled his brow—”there’s some French words for it, had ‘em on a program once, you know, joy of living, that’s the way the fellow translated them for me.

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