Read Online Nik Kane Alaska Mystery - 02 - Capitol Offense by Mike Doogan - Free Book Online
Authors: Mike Doogan
Tags: Mystery
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fall. So he focused on where he put his feet and proceeded down the hill, one step at a time.
8
The art of politics consists in knowing precisely when it is necessary to hit an opponent slightly below the belt.
K ONRAD A DENAUER
K ane opened the door to his hotel room and found two men in topcoats standing inside.
“Please come in, Mr. Kane,” one of them said politely. “We need to talk.”
Kane stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
“Who are you and what do you want?” he asked.
Both men were in their late twenties and over six feet. One was dark-haired and the other blond, but otherwise they were as alike as two peas in a pod: fit, short-haired, clear-eyed, and clean-shaven.
“Oh, he sounds crabby, doesn’t he?” the dark-haired one said.
“Yes, he does,” said the blond one. “I hope it’s not contagious. I hope we don’t get crabby, too.”
Kane took a few steps into the room, took off his overcoat, and dropped it on the bed. The two men’s eyes followed his every move.
“I’ve had a long day,” he said, “so you can cut the comedy and get to the point.”
The dark-haired man took a case from his topcoat pocket and flashed a badge.
“I’m Sergeant Smith,” he said with a smile. “This is Trooper Jones. We’re with the Alaska State Troopers Criminal Investigations Bureau.”
“Smith and Jones?” Kane said.
“Yeah,” the other man said. “We get a lot of comments about that.”
Kane said nothing. The three of them stood there looking at one another.
I really don’t need this, Kane thought. I’m sore and tired. I just want to take some aspirin and go to bed.
But the two men looked content to just stand there, so he said, “Perhaps you could tell me what the state troopers are doing breaking into hotel rooms.”
The two men looked at each other.
“We didn’t break into this room, did we, Trooper Jones?” the dark-haired one said.
“Why, no, Sergeant Smith,” the blond one said. “The door was open. Mr. Kane must have forgotten to close it.”
Smith shook his head.
“That was just an invitation to crime, wasn’t it?” he said. “Don’t you think Mr. Kane should be more careful?”
Jones nodded.
“He certainly should be more careful,” he said, “especially when he leaves something like this lying around.”
He pointed to the coffee table. Kane took a couple of steps forward, as if to see better what he was pointing at. On the table was the hotel towel, unrolled to show the pieces of the .45.
“Perhaps you could tell us what you are doing with this, Mr. Kane,” Smith said.
Kane shrugged.
“This is Alaska,” he said. “Anyone can own a gun. Or a hundred guns.”
“Not anyone,” Jones said. “Not a convicted felon.”
Kane gave him a grin.
“Yeah,” he said, “that’s right. So I guess it’s a good thing I had my record wiped clean, isn’t it.”
The two men looked at each other again.
“Just what are you doing in Juneau, Mr. Kane?” Smith asked.
Kane thought about telling them the truth. But their vaudeville routine was getting on his last nerve.
“I’m here for the golf,” he said.
“Golf?” Jones said. “There’s no golf here in the winter.”
“I must have been misinformed,” Kane said.
The two men looked at each other again.
“It sounds to me like Mr. Kane thinks he’s funny,” Jones said. “Does it sound that way to you?”
“It does,” Smith said. “It sounds like he thinks he’s funny. Do you think you’re funny, Mr. Kane?”
Kane looked at the two men and shrugged.
“Why don’t the two of you just leave,” he said, his voice edgy with sudden adrenaline, “before I call some real cops.”
Smith took a step forward. His nose was nearly touching Kane’s.
“We don’t need any more comedians in Juneau right now,” he said, trying to make his voice sound hard. “We have the legislature.” He smiled at his own joke. “Why don’t you plan to be on the next airplane out of
8
The art of politics consists in knowing precisely when it is necessary to hit an opponent slightly below the belt.
K ONRAD A DENAUER
K ane opened the door to his hotel room and found two men in topcoats standing inside.
“Please come in, Mr. Kane,” one of them said politely. “We need to talk.”
Kane stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
“Who are you and what do you want?” he asked.
Both men were in their late twenties and over six feet. One was dark-haired and the other blond, but otherwise they were as alike as two peas in a pod: fit, short-haired, clear-eyed, and clean-shaven.
“Oh, he sounds crabby, doesn’t he?” the dark-haired one said.
“Yes, he does,” said the blond one. “I hope it’s not contagious. I hope we don’t get crabby, too.”
Kane took a few steps into the room, took off his overcoat, and dropped it on the bed. The two men’s eyes followed his every move.
“I’ve had a long day,” he said, “so you can cut the comedy and get to the point.”
The dark-haired man took a case from his topcoat pocket and flashed a badge.
“I’m Sergeant Smith,” he said with a smile. “This is Trooper Jones. We’re with the Alaska State Troopers Criminal Investigations Bureau.”
“Smith and Jones?” Kane said.
“Yeah,” the other man said. “We get a lot of comments about that.”
Kane said nothing. The three of them stood there looking at one another.
I really don’t need this, Kane thought. I’m sore and tired. I just want to take some aspirin and go to bed.
But the two men looked content to just stand there, so he said, “Perhaps you could tell me what the state troopers are doing breaking into hotel rooms.”
The two men looked at each other.
“We didn’t break into this room, did we, Trooper Jones?” the dark-haired one said.
“Why, no, Sergeant Smith,” the blond one said. “The door was open. Mr. Kane must have forgotten to close it.”
Smith shook his head.
“That was just an invitation to crime, wasn’t it?” he said. “Don’t you think Mr. Kane should be more careful?”
Jones nodded.
“He certainly should be more careful,” he said, “especially when he leaves something like this lying around.”
He pointed to the coffee table. Kane took a couple of steps forward, as if to see better what he was pointing at. On the table was the hotel towel, unrolled to show the pieces of the .45.
“Perhaps you could tell us what you are doing with this, Mr. Kane,” Smith said.
Kane shrugged.
“This is Alaska,” he said. “Anyone can own a gun. Or a hundred guns.”
“Not anyone,” Jones said. “Not a convicted felon.”
Kane gave him a grin.
“Yeah,” he said, “that’s right. So I guess it’s a good thing I had my record wiped clean, isn’t it.”
The two men looked at each other again.
“Just what are you doing in Juneau, Mr. Kane?” Smith asked.
Kane thought about telling them the truth. But their vaudeville routine was getting on his last nerve.
“I’m here for the golf,” he said.
“Golf?” Jones said. “There’s no golf here in the winter.”
“I must have been misinformed,” Kane said.
The two men looked at each other again.
“It sounds to me like Mr. Kane thinks he’s funny,” Jones said. “Does it sound that way to you?”
“It does,” Smith said. “It sounds like he thinks he’s funny. Do you think you’re funny, Mr. Kane?”
Kane looked at the two men and shrugged.
“Why don’t the two of you just leave,” he said, his voice edgy with sudden adrenaline, “before I call some real cops.”
Smith took a step forward. His nose was nearly touching Kane’s.
“We don’t need any more comedians in Juneau right now,” he said, trying to make his voice sound hard. “We have the legislature.” He smiled at his own joke. “Why don’t you plan to be on the next airplane out of
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