Read Online Mourn The Living by Max Allan Collins - Free Book Online
Authors: Max Allan Collins
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white socks and brown shoes.
His companion was a tall and beefy dope who wore a grey business suit a size too small. His eyes were expressionless brown marbles under a sloping forehead; his features were hard and battered, his cheeks acned. His mouth, though, was surprisingly delicate, almost feminine.
The short one said, “Mr. Webb? You are Mr. Webb, I assume?” He had dark plastered-down hair with motorcycle sideburns to contrast his chalky complexion. A hick trying to look hip.
“I’m Webb. What do you want?”
The big ox nudged his partner’s shoulder and smirked. The smaller man, who seemed to think himself intelligent, smiled sneeringly at Nolan.
“Care to let me in on the joke?”
“You are the joke, Mr. Webb,” the short one said, then he and ox shared a round of laughter.
Nolan remained calm. This was a situation he could handle, but he was pissed with himself for allowing it to happen. Amateurs, damn it, he’d let amateurs catch up with him. And the maddening thing was he too had acted like an amateur, by coming unarmed for his impromptu late-night swim.
“Allow me to make an introduction,” the side-burned spokesman said. “I’m Dinneck. And my partner here is Tulip.”
“A rose by any other name,” Nolan said.
“Is he making fun of me, Dinneck?”
“Tulip, keep quiet, okay?”
“Okay.”
Dinneck smiled again, the smile of a guy who sells watches on a corner. He said, “Mr. Webb, we don’t want any trouble from you. All we want is answers.”
Nolan said, “Who sent you? George Franco?”
Dinneck nodded to Tulip, who removed his coat. Tulip’s chest was massive and his short-sleeved white shirt was banded by a leather strap which supported a shoulder holster cradling a .45. Tulip folded his muscular arms like a guard protecting a Sultan’s harem. There was an innocent smile planted on his bud of a mouth.
Dinneck said, “From now on, Mr. Webb, I’ll ask the questions.”
“Well ask, then,” Nolan snapped, leaning against the wall, still a good fifteen feet away from them. Voices echoed in here. “I don’t like standing here dripping wet.”
“Yeah,” Dinneck grinned. “You might catch your death.”
Tulip said, “Might catch his death,” and laughed to himself for a moment.
“Why don’t you just walk over here, Mr. Webb . . . slowly . . . and stand next to Tulip and me.”
Nolan shrugged and joined them, picked up his towel and began to dry off.
“Now, Mr. Webb, would you call it common for a journalist from Philadelphia to travel in the company of a thirty-eight caliber revolver?”
“You missed one, Dinneck. I carry two.”
“You also carry ammunition, don’t you? Does a reporter commonly hide a box of ammunition in the false bottom of his shaving kit?”
“You’re a sharp kid, Dinneck. Why does a sharp kid like you dress in the dark?”
Tulip said, “I think he’s a smart-ass.”
Dinneck nodded. “I think you’re right.” Dinneck backhanded Nolan and Nolan instinctively leveled Dinneck with a right cross to the mouth.
Dinneck pushed himself up off the slippery tile floor and touched his bloodied lips. His face turned a glowing red. He motioned to Tulip, who drew the .45.
Nolan said, “That’s a noisy gun, friend.”
Dinneck said, “What the hell’s a little noise between friends? Our car is just down the steps. We can pump a slug into you and be gone so fast your body’ll still be warm by the time we’re snug in bed.”
Nolan’s mouth formed his tight smile. “Together?”
Tulip slapped the .45 against the side of Nolan’s head. Nolan moved fast enough to lessen the blow, but fell back against the wall just the same, his head spinning. He wiped blood from his ear and thought bad thoughts.
Dinneck said, “We heard you were a newspaper reporter, Mr. Webb, is that right?”
“It’s a magazine, and go fuck yourself.”
Tulip started back toward Nolan with the .45 in hand and Nolan sent a fist flying into Tulip’s gentle
His companion was a tall and beefy dope who wore a grey business suit a size too small. His eyes were expressionless brown marbles under a sloping forehead; his features were hard and battered, his cheeks acned. His mouth, though, was surprisingly delicate, almost feminine.
The short one said, “Mr. Webb? You are Mr. Webb, I assume?” He had dark plastered-down hair with motorcycle sideburns to contrast his chalky complexion. A hick trying to look hip.
“I’m Webb. What do you want?”
The big ox nudged his partner’s shoulder and smirked. The smaller man, who seemed to think himself intelligent, smiled sneeringly at Nolan.
“Care to let me in on the joke?”
“You are the joke, Mr. Webb,” the short one said, then he and ox shared a round of laughter.
Nolan remained calm. This was a situation he could handle, but he was pissed with himself for allowing it to happen. Amateurs, damn it, he’d let amateurs catch up with him. And the maddening thing was he too had acted like an amateur, by coming unarmed for his impromptu late-night swim.
“Allow me to make an introduction,” the side-burned spokesman said. “I’m Dinneck. And my partner here is Tulip.”
“A rose by any other name,” Nolan said.
“Is he making fun of me, Dinneck?”
“Tulip, keep quiet, okay?”
“Okay.”
Dinneck smiled again, the smile of a guy who sells watches on a corner. He said, “Mr. Webb, we don’t want any trouble from you. All we want is answers.”
Nolan said, “Who sent you? George Franco?”
Dinneck nodded to Tulip, who removed his coat. Tulip’s chest was massive and his short-sleeved white shirt was banded by a leather strap which supported a shoulder holster cradling a .45. Tulip folded his muscular arms like a guard protecting a Sultan’s harem. There was an innocent smile planted on his bud of a mouth.
Dinneck said, “From now on, Mr. Webb, I’ll ask the questions.”
“Well ask, then,” Nolan snapped, leaning against the wall, still a good fifteen feet away from them. Voices echoed in here. “I don’t like standing here dripping wet.”
“Yeah,” Dinneck grinned. “You might catch your death.”
Tulip said, “Might catch his death,” and laughed to himself for a moment.
“Why don’t you just walk over here, Mr. Webb . . . slowly . . . and stand next to Tulip and me.”
Nolan shrugged and joined them, picked up his towel and began to dry off.
“Now, Mr. Webb, would you call it common for a journalist from Philadelphia to travel in the company of a thirty-eight caliber revolver?”
“You missed one, Dinneck. I carry two.”
“You also carry ammunition, don’t you? Does a reporter commonly hide a box of ammunition in the false bottom of his shaving kit?”
“You’re a sharp kid, Dinneck. Why does a sharp kid like you dress in the dark?”
Tulip said, “I think he’s a smart-ass.”
Dinneck nodded. “I think you’re right.” Dinneck backhanded Nolan and Nolan instinctively leveled Dinneck with a right cross to the mouth.
Dinneck pushed himself up off the slippery tile floor and touched his bloodied lips. His face turned a glowing red. He motioned to Tulip, who drew the .45.
Nolan said, “That’s a noisy gun, friend.”
Dinneck said, “What the hell’s a little noise between friends? Our car is just down the steps. We can pump a slug into you and be gone so fast your body’ll still be warm by the time we’re snug in bed.”
Nolan’s mouth formed his tight smile. “Together?”
Tulip slapped the .45 against the side of Nolan’s head. Nolan moved fast enough to lessen the blow, but fell back against the wall just the same, his head spinning. He wiped blood from his ear and thought bad thoughts.
Dinneck said, “We heard you were a newspaper reporter, Mr. Webb, is that right?”
“It’s a magazine, and go fuck yourself.”
Tulip started back toward Nolan with the .45 in hand and Nolan sent a fist flying into Tulip’s gentle
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