The Anatomy of Violence by Charles Runyon

Author:Charles Runyon [Runyon, Charles]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781440540264
Publisher: F+W Media, Inc.
Published: 2012-02-15T06:00:00+00:00

I reached the drug store five minutes ahead of Richard. I was in a booth when he came in. He wore a white bandage like a flag of truce on his forehead. He waved, then turned to the cigaret man and asked the time.

He walked over to the booth, grinning and setting his watch. “Hi, mom.”

I squeezed his hand and made room for him beside me. “Rich, we have to find Ann.”

“Has she disappeared?”

I nodded and gave him the letter. “This came today.”

Richard’s blue eyes moved quickly down the pages as he read the letter a paragraph at a time. He was nodding his head slowly when he handed it back. “Ann’s quite a girl. Now I know how the rotor cap got in my pocket.”

“Was she with you after you left the Barn?”

He nodded. “Let’s get out of here and I’ll tell you.”

“Tell me here.”

“It isn’t conspicuous enough.”

“You want to be conscipuous?”

“Laurie …” He took my hand and gave me a level look. “I intend to stand out like a black cat on a snow bank. I want people to see me and remember when they saw me. That’s one reason for the bandage. That’s why I asked about the time. You know why?”

I shook my head.

“I’ll run through it for you. Koch thinks he has me on this case, but you can never be sure about the law. Now I’m free on bond, but let’s suppose something happens. Say a house is broken into, a kid’s bike is stolen, a girl is … hurt, maybe. Who is the only vicious criminal at large in Curtright City?” He tapped his chest. “Richard Farham. And where was he at the time of the crime? Did anybody see him?” He looked at me with his eyebrows raised.

“I see, Rich. But let’s hurry.”

At the door I had to wait again while Richard spoke to a man stacking cigarets in slots. “What time do you have?”

“Nine thirty,” said the man without looking up. “Ten minutes later than the last time you asked.”

“You sure? I’ve got nine forty.”

The man sighed and called to the woman behind the soda fountain. “Selma, tell the man what time it is.”

“Nine thirty.”

The man turned back to his cigarets. “Better get that watch fixed, fella.”

We’d gone twenty feet down the street when Rich suddenly laughed. “It just occurred to me that I can’t help being conspicuous when I’m with you. You realize I’m supposed to have attacked you?”

I caught his arm and steered him toward a door. “Let’s go in here and talk.”

“That’s a poolroom.”

“I don’t care if it’s a slaughterhouse. I want to hear about Ann.”

We walked into the long, musty room. It was empty except for an owl-eyed man who ran the place. He held a wooden triangle in the crook of his arm and stared at me. Rich handed me a tapered stick he called a cue. “We’ll just slop a few balls around. He’ll never forget a beautiful girl who shoots pool at nine thirty in the morning.

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