Read Online Mourn The Living by Max Allan Collins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Max Allan Collins
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“Did George Franco send you?”
Dinneck kept his eyes closed, tried to act unconscious.
“The next time I put you under,” Nolan said, “you won’t be coming back up.”
No response.
Nolan shrugged and pushed Dinneck toward the water. Dinneck screamed, “No!” and Nolan hesitated before dunking him again, holding him an inch above the water.
“Who, Dinneck?”
“Not George, he doesn’t know anything about this . . . George claims he never saw you!”
“You still haven’t said who, Dinneck.”
“Elliot, his name is Elliot! He’s the one in charge . . . George doesn’t have any power.”
Nolan released Dinneck and the man fell in a heap at the pool’s edge.
Nolan grabbed up his towel, slung it around his shoulders and headed for the door. His cigarettes were in a small puddle in the corner so he let them lay.
“You . . . you gonna leave us? Just like that?”
Nolan turned toward the voice. Tulip, coming out of his stupor, was standing in the pool, looking puzzled and wet.
“I’m not going to kiss you good night.”
Tulip, dripping wet, looking ridiculous, pouted.
“And get out of those clothes, Tulip. You’ll catch your death.”
Tulip crawled out of the pool. He was hefting his friend Dinneck over his shoulder as Nolan left.
Back in the room, door locked, Nolan laid a loaded .38 on the nightstand by his bed, then washed up and treated his head wounds. Next time he wanted to relax, he thought bitterly, he’d take a hot shower. Hell with swimming.
He was asleep when his head hit the pillow.
4
SHE WORE a black beret, had dark blonde hair and was smoking a cigar. She was looking into the sun, squinting, so it was hard to tell if her features were hard or soft. Her body was bony, though she had breasts, and she was leaning against a ’30’s vintage Ford, holding a revolver on her hip. The woman was staring at Nolan from a grainy, black-and-white poster that was a yard high and two feet wide.
The poster was tacked onto a crumbling plaster wall in a room in what had once been a fraternity house. No one Nolan spoke with in the house seemed to know what fraternity it had been—just that about four years before the frat had been thrown off campus for holding one wild party too many—and since had been claimed by assorted Chelsey U males on the hippie kick. The fraternity symbols over the door were Greek to Nolan.
The room in which Nolan stood staring back at the stern female face was inhabited by a Jesus Christ in sunglasses and blue jeans. Underneath a beard that looked like a Fuller Brush gotten out of hand, the thin young man sported love beads and no shirt. Outside of the beard and shoulder-length locks his body was hairless as a grape.
“Doesn’t she just blow your mind?”
Nolan said, “Not really.”
“Bonnie Parker,” the young man said with awe. He wiped his nose with his forearm. “Now there was a real before-her-time freak.”
“Freak?”
“Right, man. Before her time. She and that Clyde really blew out their minds, didn’t they?”
“They blew minds out, all right.”
“Don’t believe what the press says about them, man! They were alienated from the Establishment, persecuted by society, victims of police brutality.”
“Oh.” Nolan glanced at the poster next to Bonnie Parker’s which was a psychedelic rendering in blue and green; as nearly as he could make out, it said, “Love and Peace Are All.”
“Some of the other freaks got pictures of the movie Bonnie up on the walls. Not me. I insist on the genuine article.”
“Swell,” Nolan said. He lit a cigarette and said, “Got a name?”
“Me?”
“You.”
Jesus thought for a moment, scratched his beard. “I’m called Zig-Zag.”
“Good,” Nolan said. “You’re the one I was looking for.”
Nolan strolled around the room, glanced at other posters hanging on the deteriorating green plaster walls. Dr. Timothy Leary. Fu Manchu For Mayor. The Mothers of Invention. Kill
“Did George Franco send you?”
Dinneck kept his eyes closed, tried to act unconscious.
“The next time I put you under,” Nolan said, “you won’t be coming back up.”
No response.
Nolan shrugged and pushed Dinneck toward the water. Dinneck screamed, “No!” and Nolan hesitated before dunking him again, holding him an inch above the water.
“Who, Dinneck?”
“Not George, he doesn’t know anything about this . . . George claims he never saw you!”
“You still haven’t said who, Dinneck.”
“Elliot, his name is Elliot! He’s the one in charge . . . George doesn’t have any power.”
Nolan released Dinneck and the man fell in a heap at the pool’s edge.
Nolan grabbed up his towel, slung it around his shoulders and headed for the door. His cigarettes were in a small puddle in the corner so he let them lay.
“You . . . you gonna leave us? Just like that?”
Nolan turned toward the voice. Tulip, coming out of his stupor, was standing in the pool, looking puzzled and wet.
“I’m not going to kiss you good night.”
Tulip, dripping wet, looking ridiculous, pouted.
“And get out of those clothes, Tulip. You’ll catch your death.”
Tulip crawled out of the pool. He was hefting his friend Dinneck over his shoulder as Nolan left.
Back in the room, door locked, Nolan laid a loaded .38 on the nightstand by his bed, then washed up and treated his head wounds. Next time he wanted to relax, he thought bitterly, he’d take a hot shower. Hell with swimming.
He was asleep when his head hit the pillow.
4
SHE WORE a black beret, had dark blonde hair and was smoking a cigar. She was looking into the sun, squinting, so it was hard to tell if her features were hard or soft. Her body was bony, though she had breasts, and she was leaning against a ’30’s vintage Ford, holding a revolver on her hip. The woman was staring at Nolan from a grainy, black-and-white poster that was a yard high and two feet wide.
The poster was tacked onto a crumbling plaster wall in a room in what had once been a fraternity house. No one Nolan spoke with in the house seemed to know what fraternity it had been—just that about four years before the frat had been thrown off campus for holding one wild party too many—and since had been claimed by assorted Chelsey U males on the hippie kick. The fraternity symbols over the door were Greek to Nolan.
The room in which Nolan stood staring back at the stern female face was inhabited by a Jesus Christ in sunglasses and blue jeans. Underneath a beard that looked like a Fuller Brush gotten out of hand, the thin young man sported love beads and no shirt. Outside of the beard and shoulder-length locks his body was hairless as a grape.
“Doesn’t she just blow your mind?”
Nolan said, “Not really.”
“Bonnie Parker,” the young man said with awe. He wiped his nose with his forearm. “Now there was a real before-her-time freak.”
“Freak?”
“Right, man. Before her time. She and that Clyde really blew out their minds, didn’t they?”
“They blew minds out, all right.”
“Don’t believe what the press says about them, man! They were alienated from the Establishment, persecuted by society, victims of police brutality.”
“Oh.” Nolan glanced at the poster next to Bonnie Parker’s which was a psychedelic rendering in blue and green; as nearly as he could make out, it said, “Love and Peace Are All.”
“Some of the other freaks got pictures of the movie Bonnie up on the walls. Not me. I insist on the genuine article.”
“Swell,” Nolan said. He lit a cigarette and said, “Got a name?”
“Me?”
“You.”
Jesus thought for a moment, scratched his beard. “I’m called Zig-Zag.”
“Good,” Nolan said. “You’re the one I was looking for.”
Nolan strolled around the room, glanced at other posters hanging on the deteriorating green plaster walls. Dr. Timothy Leary. Fu Manchu For Mayor. The Mothers of Invention. Kill
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