The First Golden Age of Mystery & Crime MEGAPACK ®: Fletcher Flora by Fletcher Flora

Author:Fletcher Flora [Flora, Fletcher]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: sleuth, murder, mystery detective, crime
ISBN: 9781479407392
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2015-09-22T16:00:00+00:00

“Tell Mr. Kirby I’ll give the matter my careful attention.”

“Mr. Kirby wants us particularly to remind you of the urgency.”

“Fine. Consider me reminded.”

“Mr. Kirby wants us to remind you in a manner that you will remember.” This was the clue to go to work, apparently, for that’s what they did. I wasn’t very alert yet, it being several hours until dark, and I put up what might be called a sorry defense. In fact, I didn’t put up any defense at all. The mute suddenly had me from behind in a combination hammerlock and stranglehold, and the talker, looking apologetic, belted me three times in the belly. At the door, leaving me doubled up on the floor, the talker stopped and looked back, an expression of compassion spreading among the pocks on his flat face.

“Sorry, Mr. Sanders,” he said. “Nothing personal, you understand.”

I wasn’t able to acknowledge the apology with the good grace it deserved. After they were gone, I began to breathe again, and a little later I successfully stood up. The beating had been painful, but not crippling.

It was a break in a way, the beating was. It was the nadir of the streak, the worst of the bad luck, and now that things had got about as bad as they could get, they began immediately to get better. What I mean is, I took the ten percent I’d offered Kirby’s hired goons and ran it through another game of stud and brought it out multiplied by twenty. A little better than four grand in paper with not an IOU in the bundle. By midnight I had in my possession, as the talking goon had said, the full amount due and payable.

The next night at eight, I was at Kirby’s door. I rang the bell, and Kirby let me in. He was wearing most of a tux, the exception being a maroon smoking jacket with a black satin sash. I happen to have an aversion to satin sashes, on smoking jackets or anything else, and this put me in a bad humor. It made it more difficult than ever to be reasonable about the beating he had bought for me. Apparently I was wearing nothing to which he had a comparable aversion. His long, sallow face, divided under a long nose by a long, thin moustache, was perfectly amiable.

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