Read Online Ask the Dice by Ed Lynskey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ed Lynskey
Tags: Mystery & Crime
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traffic light changes up on the hill. I didn't spot the red-blue roof bar lights ablaze on any squad cars. More steel scraped over steel.
"We're beginning to look conspicuous," I told Esquire. "Can you make it go any faster?"
"Quiet. I need my ears to hear the right clicks being made."
I bit my tongue as he fiddled away until the distinctive snick of the opened lock brought his triumphant lip smack.
"We're in, sweetheart."
"Thank goodness."
I followed him, slipping into Gwen's foyer, and then we pelted up her stairway. Her bedroom lay on the rear side. The coppery aroma had dissipated with her stiff removed from the brass bed and premises. Somebody had pulled up the bright orange spread over the sheets, and the pillows in their matching pillowcases were tossed against the brass headboard.
"How long had Gwen used these digs?" asked Esquire.
"Two, three years after she left home. Her parents got busted and are doing their bits at Leavenworth ."
"That's a mule's kick in the head."
"Save your pity. Mr. Ogg treats the sisters like a pair of entitled princesses as long as they stick to his ground rules."
"His ground rules?"
My smile was grim. "Mr. Ogg is very old school. His idea of joy is hoarding wealth and laying low, while their idea is spending it and raising hell, so conflicts are sure to crop up. Gwen would've lived in a mansion if he'd paid for it. He figured a townhouse would do since all she did was crash here between her dope raves. I'm sure the maid came in and picked up after her."
"Did we risk doing a B&E to just shake out her dope stash?"
"Look for any names she left written down, and I can add to my list of suspects."
"Then this is wasting our time. The cops have already combed up here." Esquire turned for the door. "Did you see if the steps lead to a subterranean floor?"
I shepherded us down the two flights of stairs. The furnace room we came into had a concrete floor, natural gas furnace, and hot water heater. Unpainted drywall covered the 2x4 studs. The stacks of pasteboard boxes were taped shut at the top. "XMAS DECORATIONS" labeled the boxes. We spilled out their contents over the floor, and all we found were broken Christmas bulbs and tangled strings of electric lights. My gaze went up to the joists supporting the ground level's subflooring, and nothing looked out of place up there.
"Screwdriver," said Esquire.
"What?" I asked.
"Use it to take off the light switch plates."
"Why?"
"Young Hermes used to hide his precious stash there until I kicked his ass sideways, and he quit peddling dope."
"Try using a dime."
"The screw heads are too small."
"I didn't bring a screwdriver. One in my hands is a destructive force. That's why I can't be a trimmer at your shop. You don't carry enough commercial insurance to cover the damages I'd inflict."
"Don't give me that lame excuse. Everybody I've ever hired is trainable."
I grinned a little. "Old dogs and new tricks."
"I won't give up on you. My point is Hermes kept a client list hidden with his dope. It sounds as if your party girl always needed extra money, so the chances are good she also dealt and kept a client list. Tracking all that in your head is almost impossible if you're always getting stoned. A pissed off or cheated client could've broken in and shot her dead."
"Life is worth the price of dirt in the dope circles," I said.
Esquire had fitted on a set of brass dusters. The nicked up round edges and discoloration suggested their age as circa World War II when our GIs had favored brass dusters for the hand-to-hand combat to pummel their foes into submission. Today's pawnshops sold the brass dusters under the table since the local governments had outlawed their use and possession.
He clenched a fist and hurled it to bludgeon a crumbly hole in the drywall three inches below the light switch plate. He jabbed in a probing finger and let out a frustrated growl. "No dope and no list." He repeated his punch out at the other light switch plates
"We're beginning to look conspicuous," I told Esquire. "Can you make it go any faster?"
"Quiet. I need my ears to hear the right clicks being made."
I bit my tongue as he fiddled away until the distinctive snick of the opened lock brought his triumphant lip smack.
"We're in, sweetheart."
"Thank goodness."
I followed him, slipping into Gwen's foyer, and then we pelted up her stairway. Her bedroom lay on the rear side. The coppery aroma had dissipated with her stiff removed from the brass bed and premises. Somebody had pulled up the bright orange spread over the sheets, and the pillows in their matching pillowcases were tossed against the brass headboard.
"How long had Gwen used these digs?" asked Esquire.
"Two, three years after she left home. Her parents got busted and are doing their bits at Leavenworth ."
"That's a mule's kick in the head."
"Save your pity. Mr. Ogg treats the sisters like a pair of entitled princesses as long as they stick to his ground rules."
"His ground rules?"
My smile was grim. "Mr. Ogg is very old school. His idea of joy is hoarding wealth and laying low, while their idea is spending it and raising hell, so conflicts are sure to crop up. Gwen would've lived in a mansion if he'd paid for it. He figured a townhouse would do since all she did was crash here between her dope raves. I'm sure the maid came in and picked up after her."
"Did we risk doing a B&E to just shake out her dope stash?"
"Look for any names she left written down, and I can add to my list of suspects."
"Then this is wasting our time. The cops have already combed up here." Esquire turned for the door. "Did you see if the steps lead to a subterranean floor?"
I shepherded us down the two flights of stairs. The furnace room we came into had a concrete floor, natural gas furnace, and hot water heater. Unpainted drywall covered the 2x4 studs. The stacks of pasteboard boxes were taped shut at the top. "XMAS DECORATIONS" labeled the boxes. We spilled out their contents over the floor, and all we found were broken Christmas bulbs and tangled strings of electric lights. My gaze went up to the joists supporting the ground level's subflooring, and nothing looked out of place up there.
"Screwdriver," said Esquire.
"What?" I asked.
"Use it to take off the light switch plates."
"Why?"
"Young Hermes used to hide his precious stash there until I kicked his ass sideways, and he quit peddling dope."
"Try using a dime."
"The screw heads are too small."
"I didn't bring a screwdriver. One in my hands is a destructive force. That's why I can't be a trimmer at your shop. You don't carry enough commercial insurance to cover the damages I'd inflict."
"Don't give me that lame excuse. Everybody I've ever hired is trainable."
I grinned a little. "Old dogs and new tricks."
"I won't give up on you. My point is Hermes kept a client list hidden with his dope. It sounds as if your party girl always needed extra money, so the chances are good she also dealt and kept a client list. Tracking all that in your head is almost impossible if you're always getting stoned. A pissed off or cheated client could've broken in and shot her dead."
"Life is worth the price of dirt in the dope circles," I said.
Esquire had fitted on a set of brass dusters. The nicked up round edges and discoloration suggested their age as circa World War II when our GIs had favored brass dusters for the hand-to-hand combat to pummel their foes into submission. Today's pawnshops sold the brass dusters under the table since the local governments had outlawed their use and possession.
He clenched a fist and hurled it to bludgeon a crumbly hole in the drywall three inches below the light switch plate. He jabbed in a probing finger and let out a frustrated growl. "No dope and no list." He repeated his punch out at the other light switch plates
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