Read Online SSC (1950) Six Deadly Dames by Frederick Nebel - Free Book Online
Authors: Frederick Nebel
Tags: Hard-Boiled
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malignant.
Roper said, “I want to know what you were doing in that guy's store yesterday. This letter wasn't mailed. We found it in his store. He must have written it this morning. You've got to come across, Donahue.”
“Not on your natural, Roper,” Donahue snapped. “Arrest me. Go ahead. Nothing would tickle me more, because I'd be out in a couple of hours and you'd be the laughing stock of the whole neighborhood. You can't buffalo me, sweetheart. Try it on the kids you slap for pitching pennies in the back alleys.”
Roper took one forward step and laid the flat of his hard hand across Donahue's face. Donahue kicked Roper in the shins and Roper fell down. Madden butted Donahue with his knee. Crowley punched Donahue in the short ribs, and Donahue, cursing, kicked sidewise at Crowley while Madden still held his arms locked behind.
Roper was getting up, his upper lip lifted wolf-like.
Donahue said hotly, “You know damned well you can't arrest me! What you want, you cheap punk, is to find out what I know about Friedman! You're using this letter as a buffer. But it only gives me a laugh. Go ahead-arrest me! Why don't you?”
“Let him go, Madden.” Roper's face was sombre, his voice a low growl.
Madden stepped back. Donahue smoothed down his sleeves, turned and headed for the door. Madden stepped in his way.
Donahue said, “You're another dick needs a bust in the mouth.”
“Why don't you bust it?”
Roper raised his voice-“Get out, Donahue.”
Donahue yanked the door open, threw a contemptuous look at Madden, at Roper, and Crowley; laughed sarcastically and went out with a toss of his chin.
Four nights out of each week Donahue ate dinner at Dominick's, a quiet joint where you got good chili con carne and Spanish sherry that wasn't cut but once. This was one of the four nights. Dominique was the real name, but the neighborhood was more or less Italian, and Dom himself had lived much in Genoa; and besides, the guy who'd painted the sign that hung over the narrow door was a Baxter Street Italian with a one-track mind.
It was near Columbus Park, on the Baxter Streetside. It had a few booths in the rear room-the restaurant comprised two large rooms-and some lattice-work beneath the ceiling entangled with imitation vines.
Donahue found his favorite booth empty and after he'd told the waiter to bring him a Martini, Dom came over all smiling with a lot of big white teeth.
“Lady lookin' for you, Donny.”
“Yeah?” Donahue laughed, broke a bread-stick. “It's happened before.”
Dominick indicated a brunette who sat alone at a table in the opposite corner.
“She doesn't know me,” Donahue said.
“Mebbe not. She justa ask you come here and I say sure, lots.”
Donahue said, “Okey. Let her sit there. I don't want to know her.”
Dominick looked puzzled. The waiter brought the Martini, and Donahue tried it, gave his order. The brunette didn't eat. She was drinking gin rickies, from time to time. Donahue spent an hour over his meal, winding up with black coffee and a tot of brandy. He paid his bill, got up and on the way out stopped to touch Dominick's shoulder.
“Remember, Dom, I haven't been in.”
“I getcha. Sure.”
Donahue walked out and crossed the street, stopped at the corner and waited. He waited half an hour. Finally the girl came out and walked towards him on the opposite side of the street. She was tall, had a loose-limbed walk that was not ungraceful.
He tailed her until she reached a corner where three cabs stood at the curb. She got in the first and drove off. Donahue got in the second and said:
“Tail that jane, bud.”
The tail led to Julie's in West Tenth Street, and when Donahue entered the bar he could see the girl sitting at a table in the back room. A waiter was taking her order, and when the waiter came into the bar he saw Donahue and started to open his mouth.
Donahue cut in with, “Is that jane looking for me?”
“Yeah, Donny. She just-”
“Tell her you
Roper said, “I want to know what you were doing in that guy's store yesterday. This letter wasn't mailed. We found it in his store. He must have written it this morning. You've got to come across, Donahue.”
“Not on your natural, Roper,” Donahue snapped. “Arrest me. Go ahead. Nothing would tickle me more, because I'd be out in a couple of hours and you'd be the laughing stock of the whole neighborhood. You can't buffalo me, sweetheart. Try it on the kids you slap for pitching pennies in the back alleys.”
Roper took one forward step and laid the flat of his hard hand across Donahue's face. Donahue kicked Roper in the shins and Roper fell down. Madden butted Donahue with his knee. Crowley punched Donahue in the short ribs, and Donahue, cursing, kicked sidewise at Crowley while Madden still held his arms locked behind.
Roper was getting up, his upper lip lifted wolf-like.
Donahue said hotly, “You know damned well you can't arrest me! What you want, you cheap punk, is to find out what I know about Friedman! You're using this letter as a buffer. But it only gives me a laugh. Go ahead-arrest me! Why don't you?”
“Let him go, Madden.” Roper's face was sombre, his voice a low growl.
Madden stepped back. Donahue smoothed down his sleeves, turned and headed for the door. Madden stepped in his way.
Donahue said, “You're another dick needs a bust in the mouth.”
“Why don't you bust it?”
Roper raised his voice-“Get out, Donahue.”
Donahue yanked the door open, threw a contemptuous look at Madden, at Roper, and Crowley; laughed sarcastically and went out with a toss of his chin.
Four nights out of each week Donahue ate dinner at Dominick's, a quiet joint where you got good chili con carne and Spanish sherry that wasn't cut but once. This was one of the four nights. Dominique was the real name, but the neighborhood was more or less Italian, and Dom himself had lived much in Genoa; and besides, the guy who'd painted the sign that hung over the narrow door was a Baxter Street Italian with a one-track mind.
It was near Columbus Park, on the Baxter Streetside. It had a few booths in the rear room-the restaurant comprised two large rooms-and some lattice-work beneath the ceiling entangled with imitation vines.
Donahue found his favorite booth empty and after he'd told the waiter to bring him a Martini, Dom came over all smiling with a lot of big white teeth.
“Lady lookin' for you, Donny.”
“Yeah?” Donahue laughed, broke a bread-stick. “It's happened before.”
Dominick indicated a brunette who sat alone at a table in the opposite corner.
“She doesn't know me,” Donahue said.
“Mebbe not. She justa ask you come here and I say sure, lots.”
Donahue said, “Okey. Let her sit there. I don't want to know her.”
Dominick looked puzzled. The waiter brought the Martini, and Donahue tried it, gave his order. The brunette didn't eat. She was drinking gin rickies, from time to time. Donahue spent an hour over his meal, winding up with black coffee and a tot of brandy. He paid his bill, got up and on the way out stopped to touch Dominick's shoulder.
“Remember, Dom, I haven't been in.”
“I getcha. Sure.”
Donahue walked out and crossed the street, stopped at the corner and waited. He waited half an hour. Finally the girl came out and walked towards him on the opposite side of the street. She was tall, had a loose-limbed walk that was not ungraceful.
He tailed her until she reached a corner where three cabs stood at the curb. She got in the first and drove off. Donahue got in the second and said:
“Tail that jane, bud.”
The tail led to Julie's in West Tenth Street, and when Donahue entered the bar he could see the girl sitting at a table in the back room. A waiter was taking her order, and when the waiter came into the bar he saw Donahue and started to open his mouth.
Donahue cut in with, “Is that jane looking for me?”
“Yeah, Donny. She just-”
“Tell her you
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