Read Online The Ninth Man by Dorien Grey - Free Book Online Page A

the window and just above a small black button commanded: “Ring Bell.”
    I rang bell.
    A not-unattractive guy of about thirty, wearing a black formfitting T-shirt that looked three sizes too small and with more muscles than anybody has a right to have, appeared from somewhere out of my line of sight. His massive arms, from where they first became visible at the edge of his sleeves down to his wrists, were covered with tattoos.
    You name it, he had it—black leopard with bright red claw-marks; “U.S.M.C.;” “Born to Raise Hell;” the guy was a walking billboard for a tattoo parlor. I could only imagine what lay beneath the T-shirt.
    “Help you?” he asked through the small circle cut in the center of the window.
    “Is the manager here?”
    His eyes narrowed with suspicion.
    “The day manager is,” he said, flexing his muscles and expanding his already awesome pecs. “You’re lookin’ at him. What you need?”
    “Some information.”
    He snorted like someone who’d heard that line once or twice before.
    “Library’s three blocks down and to the left.”
    “Yeah, I know, but my card’s expired. I’m looking for some information on one of your guests—”
    “We got lots of guests,” he said impatiently.
    “Yeah, well, this one’s dead. Died here, as a matter of fact. Room four-fourteen. Name was Bobby McDermott.”
    Again the muscle flexing, and I was reminded of a gorilla guarding his home territory.
    “You a cop?” he asked, eyes narrowed. “You’re a cop, you show me your badge.”
    “No, I’m not a cop. I’m a private investigator.”
    “You a fag?”
    “Unless that’s an invitation, I can’t see what my sex life has to do with what we’re talking about.”
    “Bobby was a fag,” he said, sounding almost sad. The fact he’d called him “Bobby” wasn’t lost on me.
    “Yeah, I know. So what?” I watched his reaction and saw him loosen up a bit.
    “You don’t care he was a fag?”
    “Look, I wasn’t paying his rent. I don’t give a shit what he did in bed, or with whom.” I let that sink in a minute then said, “You knew Bobby pretty well?”
    He eyed me intently for a few seconds then said, sounding defensive, “Bobby was a good guy.”
    Feeling fairly confident that all the hairpins were by now pretty well dropped, I said, “Yeah, so I understand.
    “Look, I think you and I and Bobby have a lot in common…” I let that one soak in a second, too. “…so whatever you tell me will stay in the family, so to speak. I just want to know a little more about the circumstances of his death. It might really help a lot of people.”
    I reached into my billfold and pulled out a ten, but when I started to push it through the slot at the bottom of the window, he waved it back and shook his head.
    “Bobby was a good guy,” he repeated. “We wasn’t exactly pals, but I helped him out with a room a couple of times, and he…” The hulk of a manager lowered his eyes and actually blushed. “…he helped me out some, too, if you know what I mean.”
    I knew.
    “Was the room in Bobby’s name that night?”
    He shook his head.
    “Huh-uh. Some other guy’s.”
    “Did he and Bobby come in together?”
    “I dunno. I’m the day manager; I get off at six, six-thirty. Bobby, he come in around ten, from what I hear. Night manager’s on then. It was me who found Bobby next morning when I was making my morning check. I didn’t even know he was in the hotel.”
    “Whose name was the room registered in?”
    The hulk retreated to the dark recesses of his mind while his right hand scraped slowly under his nose, exposing the word LOVE tattooed on his knuckles.
    “Kane…? Kearn…? I looked it up, should remember it.” He was talking to himself more than to me. A quick, unconscious flexing of every muscle in his upper torso announced his mind’s return. “I’ll look it up for you. Just a second.”
    He bent over nearly out of sight then straightened back up holding a loose fistful