Read Online Exploit of Death - Dell Shannon by Dell Shannon - Free Book Online
Authors: Dell Shannon
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come."
"And it could turn
out to be a dead end." Mendoza sipped rye and tried to turn his
mind off. No use worrying at the thing; it was futile. He sighed and
leaned back. Someday maybe he would retire and be rid of the
thankless job.·
* * *
LANDER'S SPORTABOUT wasn't air-conditioned and he was
perspiring and exhausted when he got home to the Hollywood apartment.
The apartment, thank God, was air-conditioned, and Phil—whose
parents had christened her Phillipa Rosemary before she decided to be
a police-woman—looked cool and comfortable. She had got home just,
ahead of him, but she had spent the day in air-conditioning down in
the R. and I. office. She was bulging a good deal in the midsection
these days; the baby was due at the end of December, and at the end
of this month she'd be taking maternity leave and then she could stay
home until the end of March. And by that time, he reflected without
much enthusiasm, they'd be moved into that claptrap house in
Azusa—Azusa, my God, forty miles farther to drive—and her car was
eight years old and sooner or later she'd have to have another one,
and he wasn't due for a raise until next year—and there'd be the
house payments—and a baby-sitter.
"You look as if you had quite a day," said
Phil in a concerned voice.
"Well, you look fine," said Landers. He
kissed her, his cute little blond Phil with the freckles on her nose.
"The rat race. I need a drink before dinner."
"It's just cold cuts and potato salad and odds
and ends, unless you'd like a hamburger."
"That's fine. I'll
fix us some drinks and we can take our time."
* * *
THE BRAWL in the Temple Street bar had been time
consuming and took a little sorting out. There was only the one
patrolman there and he said apologetically that a couple of witnesses
had been long gone before he could get their names. There had been
quite a little crowd in the place and most of them excited, but he'd
done his best. Both Palliser and Grace had served apprenticeships
riding squads and knew how awkward that kind of situation could be.
"But. I've got the one who did the knifing. His name's Tony
Aguilar." He had the man in cuffs, sitting at one of the
battered wooden tables. "I got here just about as it happened.
The owner had called in—"
"Because I don't want no trouble." The man
leaning on the bar was thickset rather than fat, with a flourishing
full black mustache and bushy black eyebrows. He looked nervous.
"Tony, he's got a temper on him. He starts to cuss out this guy,
I don't know the dude—he just come in off the street—and Tony's
started fights before, I don't want no busted furniture and bottles,
I says to him, Cool it, Tony, but I see he's about to blow up, and
I'm sorry, I don't want to get him in trouble, Tony's a right guy
mostly—it's just he's got a temper on him. He's not drunk. You can
see he's not drunk. I don't let guys get stoned in here. I run a
quiet place."
"All right, Mr.—"
"Perez, I'm Bob Perez."
"Mr. Perez. What were they fighting about, do
you know?" asked Grace.
Perez licked his lips. "I'm an honest man,"
he said irrelevantly. "I don't run no clip joint, boys. It was
just a little game of draw—nothing important."
That, of course, spelled out the situation.
Unrealistic as it might seem, it was against the law to gamble in
public, except inside the racetrack——the only place it was legal
around here was down in Gardena where all the cardrooms were located.
Aguilar raised his eyes from the handcuffs and said
morosely, "He was cheating. He had cards up his sleeve or
something. He took every pot and Diego called him a cheat and quit
the game. I was fool enough to stay in, but I'm not fool enough to
let him get by with a royal flush when one of the high cards already
got played, and I said—"
The dead man still had the knife in his chest, a big
hornhandled jackknife.
"You shoulda listened to me, Tony," said
Perez mournfully. "Now what's your wife gonna say? So he was a
cheat, you didn't have
"And it could turn
out to be a dead end." Mendoza sipped rye and tried to turn his
mind off. No use worrying at the thing; it was futile. He sighed and
leaned back. Someday maybe he would retire and be rid of the
thankless job.·
* * *
LANDER'S SPORTABOUT wasn't air-conditioned and he was
perspiring and exhausted when he got home to the Hollywood apartment.
The apartment, thank God, was air-conditioned, and Phil—whose
parents had christened her Phillipa Rosemary before she decided to be
a police-woman—looked cool and comfortable. She had got home just,
ahead of him, but she had spent the day in air-conditioning down in
the R. and I. office. She was bulging a good deal in the midsection
these days; the baby was due at the end of December, and at the end
of this month she'd be taking maternity leave and then she could stay
home until the end of March. And by that time, he reflected without
much enthusiasm, they'd be moved into that claptrap house in
Azusa—Azusa, my God, forty miles farther to drive—and her car was
eight years old and sooner or later she'd have to have another one,
and he wasn't due for a raise until next year—and there'd be the
house payments—and a baby-sitter.
"You look as if you had quite a day," said
Phil in a concerned voice.
"Well, you look fine," said Landers. He
kissed her, his cute little blond Phil with the freckles on her nose.
"The rat race. I need a drink before dinner."
"It's just cold cuts and potato salad and odds
and ends, unless you'd like a hamburger."
"That's fine. I'll
fix us some drinks and we can take our time."
* * *
THE BRAWL in the Temple Street bar had been time
consuming and took a little sorting out. There was only the one
patrolman there and he said apologetically that a couple of witnesses
had been long gone before he could get their names. There had been
quite a little crowd in the place and most of them excited, but he'd
done his best. Both Palliser and Grace had served apprenticeships
riding squads and knew how awkward that kind of situation could be.
"But. I've got the one who did the knifing. His name's Tony
Aguilar." He had the man in cuffs, sitting at one of the
battered wooden tables. "I got here just about as it happened.
The owner had called in—"
"Because I don't want no trouble." The man
leaning on the bar was thickset rather than fat, with a flourishing
full black mustache and bushy black eyebrows. He looked nervous.
"Tony, he's got a temper on him. He starts to cuss out this guy,
I don't know the dude—he just come in off the street—and Tony's
started fights before, I don't want no busted furniture and bottles,
I says to him, Cool it, Tony, but I see he's about to blow up, and
I'm sorry, I don't want to get him in trouble, Tony's a right guy
mostly—it's just he's got a temper on him. He's not drunk. You can
see he's not drunk. I don't let guys get stoned in here. I run a
quiet place."
"All right, Mr.—"
"Perez, I'm Bob Perez."
"Mr. Perez. What were they fighting about, do
you know?" asked Grace.
Perez licked his lips. "I'm an honest man,"
he said irrelevantly. "I don't run no clip joint, boys. It was
just a little game of draw—nothing important."
That, of course, spelled out the situation.
Unrealistic as it might seem, it was against the law to gamble in
public, except inside the racetrack——the only place it was legal
around here was down in Gardena where all the cardrooms were located.
Aguilar raised his eyes from the handcuffs and said
morosely, "He was cheating. He had cards up his sleeve or
something. He took every pot and Diego called him a cheat and quit
the game. I was fool enough to stay in, but I'm not fool enough to
let him get by with a royal flush when one of the high cards already
got played, and I said—"
The dead man still had the knife in his chest, a big
hornhandled jackknife.
"You shoulda listened to me, Tony," said
Perez mournfully. "Now what's your wife gonna say? So he was a
cheat, you didn't have
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