Read Online Evil That Men Do by Hugh Pentecost - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Hugh Pentecost
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And to mix metaphors, when the plague descends it strikes the rich and the poor, the well and the sick, the innocent and the guilty.”
“What is Teague like?” I asked.
The pale-blue eyes looked at me, narrowed. “He’s not like you, or me, or anyone else on this godforsaken planet,” Craig said. “To look at? Medium height, slender, mouse-brown hair which he wears a little too long but not in the current Beatle style. You might think him soft, unless you decided to test his physical strength. He’s like strung piano wire. His face? A pleasant, smiling mask. It disarms when it should be frightening the hell out of you. His taste in clothes is flamboyant, expensive, with a leaning toward women’s colors. His dinner jackets are like Joseph’s cloak. He wears, at night, an opera cape lined in scarlet satin. He would never be seen in a white shirt or wearing a simple tie. There is always a flower in his buttonhole to suit the time of day, or the particular occasion, or his whim of the moment. You can count on not missing him if he invades your hotel, Haskell. He will never come or go without being noticed. He is never alone, and the people with him make sure that they, too, are noticed, according to their personal tastes. There is a girl named Bobby Towers who goes in for something like public nudity. Let her walk into the Trapeze Bar, Haskell, and you’ll hear a sound from a hundred throats like wind in a cave.”
“Doris herself is something to look at,” I said.
Craig stared at a vision of her in space, objectively critical. “You look at Doris because she is perfection,” he said. “She holds her head high, like a thoroughbred. She has style. She attracts attention with a natural grace, an animal litheness. She’s like a wild horse you see on the plains, undisciplined, untrained, but superb in her naturalness. Every man could wish himself the luck of having a Doris Standing—and taming her.” He paused and his face clouded. “Bobby Towers is the ne plus ultra in evil sophistication. She’s a hothouse flower. She offers everything, and for a price you can have it.”
“Price?”
“Her price is to be amused. Find a way to amuse her and you can have what you want. But I warn you in advance, Haskell, in case you’re tempted; the coin of the realm is degredation and self-disgust.”
“You sound like a writer,” I said.
“So I’ve been told,” he said, dryly. His face clouded. “There is one thing that goes with all of them. Money. Doris is so rich it hurts me to think about it. Emlyn Teague can probably match her in blue-chip holdings. The others don’t need money as long as they’re in favor. Doris and Emlyn keep the clover stand rich and high.”
“Was Jeremy Slade out of favor?”
“He was top favorite two months ago,” Craig said. “He was the tough kid with the golden smile. Lei anyone say anything publicly unpleasant about any of the chums and Slade was the chopper—an athlete, an expert at judo and karate. In short, the club bodyguard. They needed one, because the wounded fight back with a kind of desperation, and there are always the wounded in the area of Teague and Company.”
“Then it wouldn’t be unlikely that one of what you call ‘the wounded’ followed him to 9F this afternoon and shot him dead when he opened the door to a knock.”
“Most likely thing in the world,” Craig said. “But he had better have run if Teague and Company are on the way.”
“Does it prove something that you haven’t run?” I said.
There was mischief in the pale-blue eyes for an instant. “I could be their public relations man, building up your advance expectations,” he said. He laughed, and it was mirthless. “No, Haskell, I didn’t kill Slade, but if I cared a damn for myself I would run. But Doris is in trouble. She said so two weeks ago and she’s in deep now. If someone is fighting back at Teague and Company, Doris is a target as well as the others. A way to punish her
“What is Teague like?” I asked.
The pale-blue eyes looked at me, narrowed. “He’s not like you, or me, or anyone else on this godforsaken planet,” Craig said. “To look at? Medium height, slender, mouse-brown hair which he wears a little too long but not in the current Beatle style. You might think him soft, unless you decided to test his physical strength. He’s like strung piano wire. His face? A pleasant, smiling mask. It disarms when it should be frightening the hell out of you. His taste in clothes is flamboyant, expensive, with a leaning toward women’s colors. His dinner jackets are like Joseph’s cloak. He wears, at night, an opera cape lined in scarlet satin. He would never be seen in a white shirt or wearing a simple tie. There is always a flower in his buttonhole to suit the time of day, or the particular occasion, or his whim of the moment. You can count on not missing him if he invades your hotel, Haskell. He will never come or go without being noticed. He is never alone, and the people with him make sure that they, too, are noticed, according to their personal tastes. There is a girl named Bobby Towers who goes in for something like public nudity. Let her walk into the Trapeze Bar, Haskell, and you’ll hear a sound from a hundred throats like wind in a cave.”
“Doris herself is something to look at,” I said.
Craig stared at a vision of her in space, objectively critical. “You look at Doris because she is perfection,” he said. “She holds her head high, like a thoroughbred. She has style. She attracts attention with a natural grace, an animal litheness. She’s like a wild horse you see on the plains, undisciplined, untrained, but superb in her naturalness. Every man could wish himself the luck of having a Doris Standing—and taming her.” He paused and his face clouded. “Bobby Towers is the ne plus ultra in evil sophistication. She’s a hothouse flower. She offers everything, and for a price you can have it.”
“Price?”
“Her price is to be amused. Find a way to amuse her and you can have what you want. But I warn you in advance, Haskell, in case you’re tempted; the coin of the realm is degredation and self-disgust.”
“You sound like a writer,” I said.
“So I’ve been told,” he said, dryly. His face clouded. “There is one thing that goes with all of them. Money. Doris is so rich it hurts me to think about it. Emlyn Teague can probably match her in blue-chip holdings. The others don’t need money as long as they’re in favor. Doris and Emlyn keep the clover stand rich and high.”
“Was Jeremy Slade out of favor?”
“He was top favorite two months ago,” Craig said. “He was the tough kid with the golden smile. Lei anyone say anything publicly unpleasant about any of the chums and Slade was the chopper—an athlete, an expert at judo and karate. In short, the club bodyguard. They needed one, because the wounded fight back with a kind of desperation, and there are always the wounded in the area of Teague and Company.”
“Then it wouldn’t be unlikely that one of what you call ‘the wounded’ followed him to 9F this afternoon and shot him dead when he opened the door to a knock.”
“Most likely thing in the world,” Craig said. “But he had better have run if Teague and Company are on the way.”
“Does it prove something that you haven’t run?” I said.
There was mischief in the pale-blue eyes for an instant. “I could be their public relations man, building up your advance expectations,” he said. He laughed, and it was mirthless. “No, Haskell, I didn’t kill Slade, but if I cared a damn for myself I would run. But Doris is in trouble. She said so two weeks ago and she’s in deep now. If someone is fighting back at Teague and Company, Doris is a target as well as the others. A way to punish her
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