Read Online A Bullet Apiece by John Joseph Ryan - Free Book Online Page A

sickened me. I held my breath and swept them into the trash. Next, I pulled out a tall glass from the cabinet and filled it with ice. I poured in the scotch and drained away most of it in one gulp. I poured another. I’d sip this one.
    I sat down on the couch, waiting, wanting the scotch to hit home, but I knew Bertie Albanese would be wondering about me. Before anything, though, I needed to call Officer Hamilton to see what he knew—and to find out if Frederick was all right.
    I dialed the precinct.
    â€œOfficer Hamilton, please.”
    â€œHe’s out. Who’s calling?” More love from the desk sergeant.
    I asked if Officer Frederick had reported. That was a negative. That worried me. I played most of my hand and gave a hazy version of what had happened out at the Hanady place. The desk sergeant was gruff, but responsive. If one of their guys was in trouble, they weren’t going to screw around stonewalling me.
    Next, I dialed my answering service. The operator told me I had just one call, from a solicitor. If I had a contract for every five solicitors, I could retire.
    I got up and fixed a pressed-meat sandwich, and washed it down with some cold beer. Then I wet a towel and laid it across my neck. As I headed back to the couch, I flipped on the fans. Even though I’d left the windows fully open today, the apartment was still stuffy. I leaned back in my armchair to do some deep thinking about my next move, but next thing I new the phone was ringing.
    I’m usually a light sleeper, but for some reason I didn't recognize the jangle of the bells as the phone. For a moment I sat there, blinking, trying to clear my head. Still dazed, I picked up the receiver and stared at it. Then I pressed the receiver to my ear and listened.
    I knew it was a woman’s voice on the other end of the line, but I didn’t catch what was being said. At first I thought it was a joke—a woman speaking in a pale imitation of an Oriental accent. Then I got my head together. It was Kira Harto.
    â€œKira. Say that again. And slowly.” I fumbled for cigarettes that weren’t on the side table.
    â€œI tell you already, Misser Darvis. You listen or not? Is-s-s The Beef.”
    â€œWhat about him?”
    â€œHe dead. Outside our tavern. Come quick.”
    I swallowed and rubbed my hand over my face. “All right. Give me ten minutes.”

    I made it to Broad Jimmy’s in twenty, my head still throbbing. I expected to see police, and the press, vying for position outside the tavern, but the street was empty, save for a few parked cars. I didn’t like the look of this. I took my .38 out of the glove box, thrust a few slugs into the cylinder, and tucked the works into the back of my pants. I pulled on my light jacket, just to cover the gun. Damn. Three in the morning and still probably eighty degrees. My armpits were already good and wet.
    I walked up to the heavy oak door and tapped on the dark diamond glass three times. The door opened. If it weren’t for the hour and the circumstances, I’d have laughed. There was Broad Jimmy, wearing a bright yellow terry-cloth robe loosely tied over his round, protruding belly. His grey chest hair stood out in a furry ruffle above the knot, and he looked sleepy. It would be easy to discount the power under that robe, but knowing otherwise, I had no trouble keeping a straight face.
    â€œJimmy.” He stared back at me like a sleepwalker. “Ed Darvis.”
    â€œYeah, I know you, asshole. Who do you think I told Kira to call? Get in here.”
    Jimmy was a charmer no matter what time of day. I stepped inside and waited for Jimmy to make some gesture. Instead he strode behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of bourbon. It was only then I realized all the overhead lights were on. Maybe it was Jimmy’s giant frame in the ridiculous robe that distracted my attention beforehand. I looked around as I walked in to join Jimmy. The walls were a