Read Online Gat Heat by Richard S. Prather - Free Book Online Page A

island, actually more like the end of a small peninsula including the road. From the air I imagine the picture would have been much like half of a dumbbell, which seemed appropriate, since there were usually half a dozen dumbbells on the premises. You couldn’t just drive out to see the dumbbells, though. First you had to pass through a heavy gate made out of what appeared to be two-inch steel pipes. And to accomplish that, you had to get the approval of a guy at the gate, a guy named Fleck who looked like Gargantua, and who appeared to be made out of four-inch steel pipes.
    Fleck, at any rate, was the boy who used to be on the gate. Yes, he still was. Opening and closing it probably taxed all his creative powers to the utmost, but at least he was good at it. You might almost say of him that he was that most fortunate of men, one who had found his niche. Of course, presumably his duty was not merely to open and close the gate for invited visitors, but to kill anybody who wasn’t invited.
    He’d lumbered into view from behind a green hedge near the gate’s pipes and stood on massive legs, his thick arms dangling at his sides. His resemblance to the Missing Link was remarkable. His head sort of came to a point in front, between his little red eyes, and his chin looked like something Samson might have slain the Philistines with. At the end of his dangling right arm, like a toy in the huge hand, was a large gun, which he seemed to dangle toward me as I got out of the Cad and walked to the gate.
    â€œHello, Fleck,” I said agreeably. “Open up.”
    â€œI remember you,” he said. “Don’t I?”
    â€œMan, if you don’t know, how would I know? Shell Scott, I was here a couple years ago.”
    â€œCouple years.” He shook his head.
    I knew what he was thinking. Couple years , he was thinking. How long is that?
    He’d heard my name though—recently. If Jimmy had been expecting me and the boys he would have told Fleck.
    â€œYeah,” Fleck said finally. “Jimmy says …”
    He stopped and looked carefully at my Cad. Then he looked behind it. Then he looked all around. Clearly, no boys were anywhere about. Finally he looked way up in the air.
    â€œFleck,” I said, “are you looking for Stub and Bingo and Little Phil?”
    He fixed the red eyes on me again. “Well, yeah, I was.”
    â€œThey’ll be along later. Open up.”
    â€œWell …”
    â€œI had quite a talk with Bingo. Open up. Didn’t Jimmy tell you I was coming out?”
    â€œYeah, but … But …”
    â€œWell, O.K., if you don’t want me to see Jimmy. See if I care,” I said. Sometimes it helped to talk to him like that.
    He shook his head. Then he opened the gate.
    I climbed into the Cad again and drove past Fleck, who was still shaking his head, and on up the asphalt drive, which curved in front of the house and ended at a wooden two-car garage, which was past the house and near the water’s edge. The garage door was open and two Cadillac sedans were visible. I braked to a stop a few yards behind them.
    On my left was a small strip of grass growing from the edge of the asphalt down to the water, and on my right was the home of Jimmy Violet. It was a two-story brick and wood job, very attractive on the outside. Inside, it was a dump. At least it had been the last time I was here.
    On that occasion I’d called upon Jimmy Violet at my own request, trying to get information about the lad I’d tagged on the grand larceny rap. I hadn’t got any info; and I had found Jimmy Violet a nauseating host, but we’d each learned to know the other a little better. We’d each learned we loathed the other.
    The place was a dump not because it hadn’t originally been rather tastefully furnished, but because there was dust and all kinds of slop around. Jimmy wasn’t married—I understood he had once been years