Cold In The Grave_A Kilroy Mystery by Stephen Mertz

Author:Stephen Mertz [Mertz, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781641191500
Publisher: Wolfpack Publishing
Published: 2018-04-16T22:00:00+00:00

11

I was on the run, now that the game was in play. I did not have a whole lot of time in which to operate. If you're lucky, you can stay underground in a city forever. Or you can find yourself pinched the first time you step out for a six-pack or a breath of fresh air. Like anything, it's a matter of playing the odds. Which is exactly what I was doing.

The address on Logan was an older brownstone, well maintained, with a definite air of aged respectability about it. You wouldn't guess that it could house the private get-away-from-it-all refuge of a Mafia Don. But it did, and I was betting that Sal Fallaci's little love nest would lack the tight security I'd undoubtedly run into if I had attempted to confront him at his mountain home in Evergreen.

This was not a confrontation that I was looking forward to, exactly, but I didn't see any other options open to me. I had no idea whatever where Robert Pierpont might have taken off to after what happened at his apartment, but I did know that Salvatore Fallaci fit into the picture someplace. His club, The Tattle Tail, and his hired muscle, Limp Gallagher and the Boines kid, were obviously involved. I had too few leads at the moment to overlook any of them.

I rode the cramped self-service elevator to the fourth floor of the brownstone and stepped out into a sedately carpeted hallway. I walked down to the door I wanted and thumbed the tiny, unassuming black button beside it. The sounds of muted chimes drifted to me through the panel from inside.

The door was opened by a woman, in her early twenties, with a bright red thatch of red hair worn short and stylish. Her slanted green eyes gave her a distinctly feline appearance. She had an exquisite body and there was plenty of body to see. Despite the season, she wore a two piece something that consisted of maybe enough material to clothe an undernourished parakeet. But on her it looked just fine. Rust colored freckles dotted bare shoulders and flecked her neck and upper shoulders right down to the firmly filled halter top. Her hips flared out right where they were supposed to, tapering down into a set of legs that belonged in a Penthouse centerfold.

I'd never seen Sal Fallaci, but I had a hunch this wasn't him.

“Is Sal around?” I asked brightly.

“Uh uh.” Her tone said that was meant to finalize that. “I'm Martha,” she said. A smile dimpled. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “I like to screw.” She stepped back inside the apartment, out of the doorway, offering me a cardiac-skipping side view. “Come on in. I only bite sometimes.”

Damn. This was no time for come-to-life sex fantasies. I was supposed to be solving a gaggle of homicides.

I followed her in. I was wearing my jacket open, with the .44 Magnum within easy reach in the shoulder holster if I needed it in case Martha proved to be Sal Fallaci's way of bringing the fly to the spider.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.