Jerry Tracy, Celebrity Reporter by Tinsley Theodore A

Author:Tinsley, Theodore A.
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-4013-5
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2013-08-27T04:00:00+00:00

He had left his cab waiting at the curb for him. He gave the driver Tess Roland’s address. Storm Signal! She had started the whole screwy business. A bad egg with a singing voice like an angel. He had never understood why Paul Yager had made such a play for her. Paul was a good guy, but he sure was a sucker for dames. Anyone with sense would have given the Storm Signal a wide berth.

The taxi hummed along the transverse road through Central Park and stopped in the Elegant Eighties. Tracy’s impeccable appearance got him a respectful nod from the doorman and a quiet-voiced, “Chilly night, sir.”

He didn’t answer. He was putting on his well-bred act. He had no intention of sending his name up to the Storm Signal and being told over the house phone in a throaty, million-dollar voice, to go roll his hoop. He clicked past the desk and paid no attention to the desk man’s hesitant “Ahem!” The elevator was open and he stepped in.

“Eight, please,”

“Who did you say you wished to see, sir?”

“I said, eight, please!”

The operator gazed at the flinty visage of his passenger, at the imported derby and the faultlessly correct overcoat. He stuck his head out irresolutely and passed the buck to the man at the desk.

“Dammit all!” Tracy said with quiet fury, “What are we waiting here for?”

“Okey, Charles,” the desk man murmured.

The car ascended in a silence as soft as down. Tracy got off at eight, walked leisurely down the hall, drawing off his gloves with slow deliberation. The moment the car sank he turned on his heel and went back to the stairs. He ascended to the twelfth floor, blessing the doorman of the Albion Theatre for his foresight in telling him the apartment number. Smiling, Jerry made a mental note to send Dinty a case of the punkest brand of gin Butch could locate; Dinty didn’t like good gin, said it had no body to it.

Tess Roland opened the door. She gasped and tried to slam it when she recognized her caller. But Jerry hadn’t expected to be welcomed with palms and hosannas. He was all set. He slid in like an agile moonbeam and clicked the door shut behind him.

Tess’s dark eyes flared. “Where do you get that push-in stuff? Out!”

He kept right on until he had entered the living-room.

“Merely a conference, babe. A small intimate powwow.”

He couldn’t tell whether she was angry or scared. Both, probably; that was why she was standing there like a dope, goggling at him. More than one emotion at a time was too much for her. Had it been plain rage, her nails would have been into him by this time. He sniffed the air of the room suddenly. His own voice got coldly menacing.

“Listen, Storm Signal—”

“I told you not to call me by that name!”

“A certain gentleman has disappeared. A guy with a bald head, a decent wife, and three sweet kids.”

“Nuts to you, Mister.”

“Where did your friend duck

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.