Read Online Baltimore Trackdown by Don Pendleton - Free Book Online Page A

breakfast?”
    “Yes, but I’m still hungry,” he said, looking at her chest suggestively.
    She stepped back and smiled. “None of that until I have breakfast. A girl has to keep up her strength.”
    “You eat, I’ll watch,” Davis said. He sat in the little kitchen observing the woman. It was a delight. She never failed to excite Davis, no matter what she wore. Right now his motor was running at high throttle.
    The apartment she lived in rented for at least fifteen hundred a month. But she didn’t worry about that. Carlo Nazarione picked up the rent and the tab for her clothes and everything. He was not the jealous type. He offered her around, and Francie seemed to dote on the attention and the variety.
    When breakfast was over, Francie crooked her finger at him and walked to the bathroom. She found a new toothbrush for him, still in a plastic wrapper, and indicated he should brush. She brushed her teeth and washed her face, then put on her makeup as he watched.
    When she’d finished she winked at him, then slid out of the nightie, handed it to him and walked away. Captain Davis growled and started after her. Francie was one of the fringe benefits of being so friendly with Don Nazarione.
    The phone rang just as Davis pulled off his tie. Francie sprawled across the bed, grabbed the phone and rolled onto her back.
    “Saks Fifth Avenue, lingerie and notions department.” She listened. “You really need to talk to him. He’s gonna be pissed right out of his pants.” She paused. “Hell, it’s your problem now.” She tossed the hand set to Davis, who stood beside the bed unzipping his pants. He caught it and put it to his ear.
    “Yeah?”
    On the other end of the line a uniformed cop named Tony Ricca talked so fast Davis yelled.
    “Hold it already! Damn, I can’t make out a word you’re saying. Take it easy and give it to me slow.”
    “Okay. Johnny King, the other guy in blue with me yesterday on that warehouse killing, is wetting his drawers. He’s so strung out I can’t get him even to report back to the station. He’s weird. Keeps playing with a crucifix and mumbling. He says you didn’t say nothing about nobody getting killed yesterday. He didn’t sleep last night, and he’s off his rocker. Keeps confessing that he helped set up the lieutenant. Keeps yelling our names. I don’t know what to do with him.”
    “You in your marked patrol car?” Davis asked.
    “Yeah, where I been sitting for the past hour. Dispatch is ready to ream my ass.”
    Davis zipped up his pants and looped the tie back around his neck.
    “Tell me where you are, and don’t move. I’m on my way. I can reason with King one damn way or another. Where are you?”
    Captain Davis wrote the cross streets down in his little book, and put a wide knot in his tie. He bent and kissed Francie’s lips as she lay on the bed.
    “No playtime?” she asked.
    “Postponed, Francie. Later.”
    “Anytime,” she said and rolled over. “Business, I guess.”
    “You bet, Francie. Takes one hell of a lot to get me out of your bedroom this way.”
    She waved, and Capt. Harley Davis walked out of the apartment.
    Twelve minutes later he approached the corner where Officers King and Ricca sat in the prowl car. He parked behind them beside a fireplug. He waited. Both officers got out of their car and came toward his.
    “Get in back,” Davis said.
    They both crawled in and Davis turned, his face angry, his voice controlled with effort.
    “What the hell is going on here?”
    King looked up, his eyes wary, his voice unsure.
    “Captain, I’m no angel. I turned the other way a couple of tunes when I shouldn’t have. I’ve seen prisoners get roughed up for no cause, I’ve seen evidence jimmied around because I knew damn well the assholes charged were guilty. But I’ve never been part of any murder.”
    Davis’s face mellowed. “Aw, shit! Is that what you think? I figured you had something important. Didn’t Ricca tell you? We were walking