Read Online The Man Who Shot Lewis Vance by Stuart M. Kaminsky - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stuart M. Kaminsky
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Old guy gets a heart attack. Vacant apartment. Only trouble is, Mr. Patterson didn’t have time to fix the elevator lights again before we found the naughty little trick.”
“I didn’t do this thing,” Patterson protested to me, turning in his chair, palms up, pleading. I was unconvinced.
“Proving it is proving hard but not impossible,” Cawelti went on, giving Patterson a look that promised pain. “And Mr. Patterson is not cooperating. He is not confessing like a good citizen.”
“So you haven’t got time for Beason,” I concluded.
“You got it,” he said, returning to his report.
“Beason tells me that Teddy and some guy he’s working with named Alex are out to get a movie star,” I said. “Two hash heads loose with a gun shooting at a movie star could embarrass you, John.”
“Don’t call me John,” he said without turning. “You want to walk out of here instead of crawl, don’t call me John. In fact, don’t call me at all, just get out now.”
“Right,” I said. “If John Wayne catches a bullet in his teeth, I’ll tell the Times how interested the police were in keeping him alive.”
Cawelti spun around, suddenly very angry or very interested. The move was so quick that Patterson leaped from his chair with a howl.
“Sit down,” Cawelti yelled. Across the room the cops stopped joking for a minute in the hope of seeing some real mayhem, but Patterson sat down and Cawelti just stared red-faced at me. The cops went back to their coffee and ringing phones.
“John Wayne, someone might be trying to kill John Wayne?” he asked.
“Could be,” I said.
“Shit. They can’t do that.” His right hand went out and grabbed the nearest piece of paper, crunching it into an ugly Christmas ball. He stood up leaning toward me. He had me by about three inches.
“I’ll find that little son of a bitch,” he hissed. “Kill John Wayne. What the hell is this world coming to?”
Patterson shrugged, but Cawelti didn’t see him.
“Wayne’s the only damn movie star who means anything except for Spencer Tracy,” Cawelti explained. “I’ll get on it but you better be giving me this straight. And what’s it all got to do with you?”
“It’s my gun Teddy has,” I explained.
Cawelti’s red face looked like a traffic light.
“Beason borrowed it,” I improvised. “He had trouble with his own. Both of us have permits. When this Alex shot Beason, he took my thirty-eight from him.”
Cawelti looked down at his desk, his hands supporting him amid the pile of papers. He turned to Patterson and said, “Do you believe this guy?”
Patterson knew a cue when he heard one. He shook his head no.
“I know I’m going to get shit for an answer, but I’ll ask anyway. It’s my job. Why John Wayne? Why the Duke?”
“Wayne’s a client.” I plunged in even deeper. “Maybe Teddy’s gone off the top. He knew me, doesn’t like me. Maybe he saw me with Wayne. In fact, I had a late dinner with Wayne last night at Manny’s on Broadway.”
Cawelti cocked his head like a bird.
“Check with Manny if you don’t believe me. Check with Wayne.”
“I could meet John Wayne,” Cawelti said.
“Sure, I th—”
“I’ll look for Teddy and the gun. You stay with Wayne,” Cawelti said. “And I want to talk to Wayne. That’s part of the deal.”
I could have pointed out that citizens shouldn’t have to make deals to get the police to protect them, but I had some part of my brain still functioning. I nodded in agreement.
“Now get out. I think there’s a lot of shit about this thing you’re not dumping on my desk,” Cawelti said, and he was damn right. “I’ll find out what it is and we’ll have that little talk I’ve been promising you. I can be a persuasive talker, can’t I, Mr. Patterson?”
“Very persuasive,” Patterson agreed.
“I’ll be in touch,” I said, turning to leave and almost bumping into a cop dragging a man in a trench coat behind him. The cop, named
“I didn’t do this thing,” Patterson protested to me, turning in his chair, palms up, pleading. I was unconvinced.
“Proving it is proving hard but not impossible,” Cawelti went on, giving Patterson a look that promised pain. “And Mr. Patterson is not cooperating. He is not confessing like a good citizen.”
“So you haven’t got time for Beason,” I concluded.
“You got it,” he said, returning to his report.
“Beason tells me that Teddy and some guy he’s working with named Alex are out to get a movie star,” I said. “Two hash heads loose with a gun shooting at a movie star could embarrass you, John.”
“Don’t call me John,” he said without turning. “You want to walk out of here instead of crawl, don’t call me John. In fact, don’t call me at all, just get out now.”
“Right,” I said. “If John Wayne catches a bullet in his teeth, I’ll tell the Times how interested the police were in keeping him alive.”
Cawelti spun around, suddenly very angry or very interested. The move was so quick that Patterson leaped from his chair with a howl.
“Sit down,” Cawelti yelled. Across the room the cops stopped joking for a minute in the hope of seeing some real mayhem, but Patterson sat down and Cawelti just stared red-faced at me. The cops went back to their coffee and ringing phones.
“John Wayne, someone might be trying to kill John Wayne?” he asked.
“Could be,” I said.
“Shit. They can’t do that.” His right hand went out and grabbed the nearest piece of paper, crunching it into an ugly Christmas ball. He stood up leaning toward me. He had me by about three inches.
“I’ll find that little son of a bitch,” he hissed. “Kill John Wayne. What the hell is this world coming to?”
Patterson shrugged, but Cawelti didn’t see him.
“Wayne’s the only damn movie star who means anything except for Spencer Tracy,” Cawelti explained. “I’ll get on it but you better be giving me this straight. And what’s it all got to do with you?”
“It’s my gun Teddy has,” I explained.
Cawelti’s red face looked like a traffic light.
“Beason borrowed it,” I improvised. “He had trouble with his own. Both of us have permits. When this Alex shot Beason, he took my thirty-eight from him.”
Cawelti looked down at his desk, his hands supporting him amid the pile of papers. He turned to Patterson and said, “Do you believe this guy?”
Patterson knew a cue when he heard one. He shook his head no.
“I know I’m going to get shit for an answer, but I’ll ask anyway. It’s my job. Why John Wayne? Why the Duke?”
“Wayne’s a client.” I plunged in even deeper. “Maybe Teddy’s gone off the top. He knew me, doesn’t like me. Maybe he saw me with Wayne. In fact, I had a late dinner with Wayne last night at Manny’s on Broadway.”
Cawelti cocked his head like a bird.
“Check with Manny if you don’t believe me. Check with Wayne.”
“I could meet John Wayne,” Cawelti said.
“Sure, I th—”
“I’ll look for Teddy and the gun. You stay with Wayne,” Cawelti said. “And I want to talk to Wayne. That’s part of the deal.”
I could have pointed out that citizens shouldn’t have to make deals to get the police to protect them, but I had some part of my brain still functioning. I nodded in agreement.
“Now get out. I think there’s a lot of shit about this thing you’re not dumping on my desk,” Cawelti said, and he was damn right. “I’ll find out what it is and we’ll have that little talk I’ve been promising you. I can be a persuasive talker, can’t I, Mr. Patterson?”
“Very persuasive,” Patterson agreed.
“I’ll be in touch,” I said, turning to leave and almost bumping into a cop dragging a man in a trench coat behind him. The cop, named
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