Read Online Davidian Report by Dorothy B. Hughes - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dorothy B. Hughes
Ads: Link
to follow and no car took out after him. It was a long ride, not as long as by trolley and bus, and not as time-consuming. But the expense account wouldn’t stand many of these jaunts. He’d have to get hold of a car if he was going to track down Davidian in these wide open spaces. Moreover, a cab was too easy to follow.
He played the game in the Biltmore Hotel. The lobby was full of conversation, businessmen in responsible business suits. He couldn’t spot a tracker. He went to the desk, asked for a guy who had vanished into Siberia a year back, not a name Haig could check quickly. From there he went to the house phone, put through a call to 819. No one was in earshot when he made it brief to the wrong number at the other end. A fancy flight of steps led to the elevator. He took them fast, caught an elevator waiting, before his call could be traced. He rode to five, a middle-aged couple got off ahead of him but they minded their own business, heading to a room, opening the door and closing it after them. After that he wasted no time in the rug-hushed corridor. He was quick to the fire stairs and he descended on foot. He left by the side door of the hotel.
There weren’t too many people walking around the downtown streets at this hour until he reached Main. Its garish honky-tonks were going full blast. He sauntered along, despite the urgency pressing him. Plenty of movie houses cut their marquee lights and let the cashiers go home before midnight. By sauntering he didn’t make noticeable his examination of the girls remaining on duty.
She hadn’t been lying about her job. She was in the glass cage at one of the meanest of the dumps, leaning on her elbow looking at nothing. When she saw him, the half-smile was turned off. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“I have nothing to say to you.” She made sure he’d know she meant it by glancing over her shoulder for the bouncer. It was the first time Steve had taken notice of the man by the entrance door, a tall, thin punk with sideburns and greasy black curls. Probably considered himself baby’s little protector because she let him walk home with her on nights when she hadn’t anything better to do.
“I think you have. I’ve been with the F.B.I tonight.”
She doubted it.
“They were talking about you.”
She asked harshly, “Why can’t you leave me alone?” The punk was watchful, ready to step across the miniature lobby and make something of Steve.
“You know why.”
She said, “I can’t talk on the job.”
“What time are you off?”
“Not until two.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Slim was advancing, one foot at a time, as if he found nothing very interesting in bouncing gents with ideas. Steve shambled off. He didn’t want to hit the punk. It wasn’t the poor guy’s fault.
There were plenty of saloons on the street but he needed a place where he could keep an eye on her, a place where she’d know he was watching and that she couldn’t pull a sneak. A decent little Italian restaurant was further up the street on the opposite pavement. It didn’t have to hide its business behind curtains. Steve bought the morning paper at the corner and gave it a try. There weren’t half a dozen people inside including the help. He took the front corner table; it didn’t give him much of a view of her cage but it would do. He didn’t want coffee and crullers but they would permit him to hang around. He’d have a long wait; it wasn’t yet midnight.
Steve glimpsed the headlines in the paper, the four horsemen galloping there as usual, and as he glanced across the way again he almost upset his coffee. She was leaving the cage, the fellow was going to take her place. He waited to see which way she moved, watched her shrug a coat about her shoulders, watched the punk hand her her purse, his hand lingering stickily on hers.
When she cut across towards the restaurant, Steve relaxed. She wasn’t trying to run out. He picked up his paper,
He played the game in the Biltmore Hotel. The lobby was full of conversation, businessmen in responsible business suits. He couldn’t spot a tracker. He went to the desk, asked for a guy who had vanished into Siberia a year back, not a name Haig could check quickly. From there he went to the house phone, put through a call to 819. No one was in earshot when he made it brief to the wrong number at the other end. A fancy flight of steps led to the elevator. He took them fast, caught an elevator waiting, before his call could be traced. He rode to five, a middle-aged couple got off ahead of him but they minded their own business, heading to a room, opening the door and closing it after them. After that he wasted no time in the rug-hushed corridor. He was quick to the fire stairs and he descended on foot. He left by the side door of the hotel.
There weren’t too many people walking around the downtown streets at this hour until he reached Main. Its garish honky-tonks were going full blast. He sauntered along, despite the urgency pressing him. Plenty of movie houses cut their marquee lights and let the cashiers go home before midnight. By sauntering he didn’t make noticeable his examination of the girls remaining on duty.
She hadn’t been lying about her job. She was in the glass cage at one of the meanest of the dumps, leaning on her elbow looking at nothing. When she saw him, the half-smile was turned off. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“I have nothing to say to you.” She made sure he’d know she meant it by glancing over her shoulder for the bouncer. It was the first time Steve had taken notice of the man by the entrance door, a tall, thin punk with sideburns and greasy black curls. Probably considered himself baby’s little protector because she let him walk home with her on nights when she hadn’t anything better to do.
“I think you have. I’ve been with the F.B.I tonight.”
She doubted it.
“They were talking about you.”
She asked harshly, “Why can’t you leave me alone?” The punk was watchful, ready to step across the miniature lobby and make something of Steve.
“You know why.”
She said, “I can’t talk on the job.”
“What time are you off?”
“Not until two.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Slim was advancing, one foot at a time, as if he found nothing very interesting in bouncing gents with ideas. Steve shambled off. He didn’t want to hit the punk. It wasn’t the poor guy’s fault.
There were plenty of saloons on the street but he needed a place where he could keep an eye on her, a place where she’d know he was watching and that she couldn’t pull a sneak. A decent little Italian restaurant was further up the street on the opposite pavement. It didn’t have to hide its business behind curtains. Steve bought the morning paper at the corner and gave it a try. There weren’t half a dozen people inside including the help. He took the front corner table; it didn’t give him much of a view of her cage but it would do. He didn’t want coffee and crullers but they would permit him to hang around. He’d have a long wait; it wasn’t yet midnight.
Steve glimpsed the headlines in the paper, the four horsemen galloping there as usual, and as he glanced across the way again he almost upset his coffee. She was leaving the cage, the fellow was going to take her place. He waited to see which way she moved, watched her shrug a coat about her shoulders, watched the punk hand her her purse, his hand lingering stickily on hers.
When she cut across towards the restaurant, Steve relaxed. She wasn’t trying to run out. He picked up his paper,
Similar Books
