Read Online Peril by Thomas H. Cook - Free Book Online Page A

Mortimer said morosely. He drew an envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to Stark. “From Brandenberg. Payment in full.”
    Stark took the envelope. “Would you like a drink?”
    Mortimer nodded, then followed Stark inside and took a seat on the leather sofa.
    Stark poured Mortimer a scotch and handed it to him. “You look a little rumpled.”
    â€œIt ain’t been a great day,” Mortimer said. He took a long pull on the scotch, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
    Stark watched Mortimer silently, now recalling how, after the murders, he’d had to create a new identity, find a go-between he trusted, and so had gone to Mortimer, the platoon sergeant he’d commanded through countless bloody days. Even now Stark was not exactly sure why he’d chosen Mortimer to assist him in his shadowy profession, save that there was a melancholy ponderousness to him that went well with the weighty confidences he was expected to hold. On a cold, snowy night, Stark had told Mortimer about Marisol’s murder, along with the brutal penalty he had exacted from the men who’d committed it. He’d never forgotten Mortimer’s reply,
Guys like that, nobody’s gonna miss ’em.
He’d known at that moment that Mortimer was a man for whom moral subtlety amounted to mindless abstraction. Only the clearest lines appeared in his field of vision. On the confidence of that insight, he’d hired him immediately.
    â€œSomething bothering you?” Stark asked now.
    â€œMe?” Mortimer laughed nervously. “Nothing.”
    Stark peered at him intently. “Something’s bothering you, Mortimer.”
    Mortimer shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, there is this . . . other job . . . but I don’t know if you’d want to do it.”
    Stark eased himself into the chair opposite Mortimer. “Brandenberg again?”
    â€œNo. He had this Arab, but I know you don’t want no foreigners.” He took a sip from the glass. “But this other thing come in.”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    Mortimer seemed hesitant to go on. “It’s kind of personal,” he said. “A friend from the old days. He called me a couple hours ago.” He took another sip. “The thing is, his wife run out on him.”
    â€œThat’s hardly new in life,” Stark said. “I’m sure you told him that in most cases the woman returns.”
    â€œYeah, I did,” Mortimer said. “But the thing is, he’s set on tracking her down. He figured I might be able to help him.”
    â€œWhy would he figure that?”
    â€œHe figures I know people,” Mortimer answered. “I mean, not you. Just people who . . . do things.”
    â€œWhat do you know about the woman?”
    â€œNothing. And the thing is, it’s embarrassing, you know? To my friend. He don’t want nobody to know about it. The neighbors, relatives, people like that. So what information I get, it’s got to come from him. He don’t want no asking around.”
    â€œHow much information can he give me?”
    â€œI don’t know. He’s getting a few things together.”
    â€œI can’t work on thin air,” Stark said.
    â€œI know,” Mortimer said. “Believe me, I know that. And there’s something else. This guy, he ain’t got much money. I mean, fifteen grand at the most. I know you don’t work for less than thirty but . . .”
    â€œYou said he was a friend of yours.”
    â€œYeah,” Mortimer answered. “But like I said, we’re talking fifteen . . .”
    â€œI’ll take it,” Stark said. “As a favor to you.” He waited for Mortimer to finish his drink, then escorted him to the door.
    â€œGood night,” Mortimer said as he stepped into the corridor.
    Stark nodded. “This friend of yours, you vouch for him, right?”
    â€œYeah, sure.”
    â€œOkay,”