The Living End (Black Gat Books Book 22) by Frank Kane

Author:Frank Kane [Kane, Frank]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective, Thriller & Suspense, Hard-Boiled
ISBN: 9781944520847
Publisher: Stark House Press
Published: 2019-11-04T11:00:00+00:00

14

By the time the Eddie Marlon show had celebrated its first birthday, there was no doubt in the minds along Radio Row that a new, potent force had come on the local scene. The impact of the show on the teen-agers was evident even to his least enthusiastic rooter, and the promised priority list on sponsors was now a reality instead of a boast.

A few days after his first anniversary, Eddie Marlon strolled into John K. Dickenson’s office. The blonde in the outer office eyed him with no show of enthusiasm.

“J. K. in?”

“I’ll see.”

Marlon grinned at her. “What are you giving me, you’ll see? He goes in through that door and comes out through that door. So, is he in or out?”

“He’s in,” the blonde conceded. “But I’ll have to announce you.”

“Don’t bother. He’s always glad to see me.” The thin man walked to the door, pushed it open. Dickenson looked up from a stack of papers on his desk, frowned his disapproval. The blonde stood behind Marlon in the doorway. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dickenson. Mr. Marlon wouldn’t let me announce him.”

Dickenson nodded to the girl, turned over the papers he had been reading. “That’s all right.” He nodded to Marlon. “Come in, Marlon.”

Marlon grinned at the blonde, shut the door behind him. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, J. K. A couple of things have come up and I figure it’s about time we got them cleared away.”

Dickenson watched the disc jockey as he crossed the floor and dropped into a leather overstuffed chair. “I guess you forgot we had a deal.”

“I don’t think so,” Dickenson told him evenly. “I believe we’ve been living up to our end?”

Marlon shrugged. “It shouldn’t have been hard. Not with all the money I’ve been bringing into the station.” He stuck a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “Or hadn’t you noticed?”

The station president nodded. “We’re very satisfied. The Eddie Marlon Show is all you said it would be.” He reached across the desk, picked a cigar from the humidor, started to remove it from its metal container.

The man across the desk from him touched a match to his cigarette, took a deep drag. “Too bad I can’t say the same.”

“I had no idea you were dissatisfied.”

“We have a lot more sponsors than we can handle. That means I’m passing up a lot of loot I should be getting. Am I right?”

Dickenson considered the statement judicially, nodded. “You could put it that way. But from our point of view, I’d rather you had more prospective sponsors than you can handle than not enough.”

Marlon studied the lighted end of his cigarette. “I think I’m going to need more time.” He rolled his eyes upward. “Say about three hours in the morning.”

The white-haired man stopped with the unlighted cigar halfway to his lips. “Three hours in the morning?”

“Yeah.”

Dickenson shook his head. “We don’t have that kind of time available, Eddie. Marty Allen goes off the air at nine, and—” He broke off, stared at the other man.

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