Doorway to Death

by Dan J. Marlowe

  “Ah, senor!” the slim youth said cheerfully, wiping his hands on his apron. “Eet deed not take long?”

  “Not long. Thanks.”

  “No cause.”

  Johnny moved on to the kitchen. It was Mrs. Carl Midler's dinner time, and Mrs. Carl Muller interested Johnny.

  Chapter X

  Willie Martin lay on his back in the big double bed in the hotel room, and the cigarette in the corner of his mouth trailed lazy spirals of gray-blue smoke upward. He looked up at Johnny sitting on the far edge of the bed, and his crisp voice broke the little silence. “This is not exactly the party I had in mind for the night I got back, Johnny. Maybe we should take the bit in our teeth and go out on the town?”

  “Stop racin' your motor,” Johnny told him. “I got someplace for you to go later, anyway, if Shirley doesn't call. I told you she was in a bad mood.”

  “You did tell me.” The lean, poised face returned to its brooding inspection of the eddying haze of his cigarette. “Not that it was necessary. She's had no other mood recently.” The light blue eyes flicked back to Johnny. “I suppose you wonder why I put up with it?”

  “That's your business,” Johnny said shortly.

  Willie smiled. “But you don't approve? You're as transparent as glass.” He shifted into a more comfortable position. “In a way, I don't approve myself, if it's any consolation to you.”

  “Well, what the hell, then, Willie—” Johnny stared down at the slender man. “If you feel that way—I thought she had you on the hip.”

  “She has.” The voice took on a brittle edge. “Perhaps I should have said that my intellect does not approve, but that I can't say the same for my emotions.” Willie lifted his head and smiled, this time the quick, flashing smile that Johnny knew so well.

  “You find that a little difficult to believe?” .

  “Well, knowin' you—” Johnny paused uncomfortably.

  “She's a pretty thing, Johnny.”

  And at the substantial understatement Johnny knew all that he needed to know; inwardly he was amazed. The man on his bed may not have had his pick of the world, but he hadn't missed it by much. Johnny had seen them come and go in Willie's life, the ladies and the others, and now here was the fastidious Willie trying to justify his feeling for a beautiful face that Johnny could no longer disassociate from a needle-punctured thigh...

  He spoke abruptly. “Let's take a little ride.”

  “Where?” There was no interest in the inquiry.

  “Friend of yours wants to say hello.”

  This time the head came around. “A friend? Of mine?”

  “Yeah. Joe Dameron.”

  Willie made a wry face. “I couldn't work up much enthusiasm over that visit. Joe and I never did see exactly eye-to-eye.”

  “This is business.”

  The blue eyes narrowed. “What kind of business? Do you have something on the fire with Joe?” .

  “We been playin' cops and robbers around here since you left.”

  “Well?”

  “I'd rather have Joe tell you.”

  Willie sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed; his hands energetically attacked his loosened tie and paused as his head swiveled toward Johnny again. “Are you in trouble? You been throwing your weight around?”

  “No more'n usual. Joe'll brief you.”

  Willie considered him shrewdly for a moment and then shrugged. He dressed quickly, and in deference to his business suit Johnny slipped into a sports jacket. Willie maintained combat silence on the way down to the street, and he spoke only once in the cab. “Has this something to do with the hotel?”

  “Yeah.” They finished the ride in silence again, and Johnny led the way up the worn white steps and turned left inside to the high desk presided over by the white-maned patriarch, who regarded them bleakly.

  “To see who, is it now?”

  “The keeper of the zoo,” Johnny told him. “Mr. Martin to see Lieutenant Dameron.”

  Deliberately the old man picked up the phone. “Lieutenant? A Mr. Martin to see you, sor. Wit' that big moose was here the other afternoon. Yes, sir.” He replaced the phone and looked at them.

  “Second door on the left,” Johnny said for him before he could speak, and the thin mouth tightened, but he nodded.

  Lieutenant Dameron met them in the hall. “Willie!” he exclaimed, hand outstretched. “Good to see you again. I'd heard you were in Europe; really hadn't hoped to see you this soon. What brought you back to town?”

  “My sinful nature,” Willie replied drily, shaking hands and glancing from one to the other of the two big men. “This is turning out to be quite a production. What's on your mind, Joe?”

  “Johnny didn't tell you? Come on inside. We can't talk out here.” He led the way into the familiar, dingy room and motioned them to chairs as he closed the door. “Sorry about the appearances, but the city doesn't believe in wasting money on us non-revenue producing agencies.” He dropped down in his swivel chair behind the cluttered desk, propped his elbows on its surface and looked at Johnny over his steeple-shaped pressed-together hands under his chin in the gesture Johnny had come to associate with him. “You didn't tell him anything?” Johnny shook his head. “Okay. Here's a fast rundown for you. Willie.”

  Johnny sat and listened to the ruddyfaced man quickly sketch the sequence of events at the hotel, beginning with Max Armistead's original proposition and Johnny's session with him on the elevator through all the ins and outs of the subsequent developments down to the point of the discovery that Ronald Frederick was not Ronald Frederick at all but had obtained the job for some purpose of his own through the use of another man's name.

  Johnny watched the changing expressions on Willie Martin's aristocratic face as he listened to the rapid recital, and when the lieutenant had finished the slender man sat quietly for a moment, lost in thought. When he spoke his voice was brisk. “I imagine you boys had a specific reason for lugging me in here and spoonfeeding this to me, but how about a couple of questions first?”

  “Go right ahead,” Lieutenant Dameron invited him, and Willie Martin frowned absently, leaned back in his chair, and looked up at the ceiling a moment before looking back at the big man behind the desk.

  “This might sound a little silly to you, Joe, but are you sure you haven't gotten your wires crossed on Freddie?”

  The lieutenant stared, but Johnny cut in ahead of him before he could reply. “Not a chance, Willie. Joe got the word from the coast.”

  “I know, I know.” The slender man straightened in his chair, and his tone was impatient. “Joe got the word. Now let me tell you something. An hour ago I finished reading the first comprehensive report I've had from my auditor and my lawyer since I put Frederick in there, and both of these reasonably disinterested businessmen assure me that he's doing a better job for me down there than anyone I've had in a long time. Now I wouldn't try to convince you that the hotel is the biggest or most complicated operation of its kind, but on the other hand it doesn't run itself. One of us is barking up the wrong tree, Joe.”

  Again Johnny spoke first. “You haven't seen this thing break wide open the way we have.”

  “Johnny's right,” the lieutenant chimed in heavily. “We have to believe it's him from what we've developed to date.”

  Willie spread his hands placatingly. “Yet we have this suspect, this imposter, successfully operating a fairly specialized business. It's a little difficult to reconcile. Well, let's get to it. Why am I here?”

  The red-faced man cleared his throat. “I want you to prefer charges against this so-called Ronald Frederick.”

  Willie sat silent so long that Johnny shifted uneasily in his chair; the slim man leaned forward finally, face thoughtful. “Can you blame me if the first thought that comes to mind is that if there were a legitimate charge you'd be making it yourself?”

  “You're the injured party, Willie.” The lieutenant's face was bland.

  “Exactly where or how am I injured
? Let's tighten it up a little—with what am I supposed to charge him?”

  “My boys upstairs'll find you half a dozen things, based on the misuse of the name.”

  “I'm no lawyer, Joe. Is it criminal? And if it isn't, in view of what I've already told you about his work, if there're no loose ends, no damages, no loss... well, I personally don't see where there's a civil action, either. This is no hood you can push around, Joe; this is an educated man who knows his rights.”

  Lieutenant Dameron drew a long breath, and his face hardened. “Are you turning me down, Willie? We look for a little more cooperation than that from our more prominent taxpayers.”

  Johnny could see Willie's face stiffen in turn. “Don't threaten me, Joe. Even indirectly.” His tone turned sardonic. “I don't like to be put in the position of defying a duly constituted authority—”

  “For God's sake, Willie,” Johnny broke in. He had been sitting more and more uneasily on the edge of his chair. “What the hell's the matter with you? This is serious. There's a goddamn volcano set to go off around the place we don't get the lid on. You sound like an old woman. How come you're so persnickety all of a sudden? I've seen the time you defied a bunch of duly constituted authority would send Joe and me both runnin' for the kaopectate.”

  Willie leaned forward in his chair again. He looked tired Johnny thought. “Is this the man, Joe? Am I safe in preferring charges? Have you got a case?”

  lieutenant Dameron spoke carefully. “With your help, Willie, we intend—” He broke off as the slender man stood up suddenly.

  “I can't buy it,” he said sharply. “Not this way. I'll soften it a little, though. I'll have to talk to my lawyer first, of course. Then I'm going to Acapulco in the morning. I'll be back in two days, and by that time you should have developed this thing to the point where you either don't need me at all, or that I can justify my intervention. More than that I can't do.”

  “We don't want that little bastard to have two days,” Johnny said gloomily. “I'd bet my life he's the juggler keepin' all this stuff in the air. We grab him we got a good chance of rollin' up the rug on the jackpot.”

  Willie looked at him. “Aren't you giving him the Iron Cross with palms for being the mastermind behind all this that I've been listening to, in addition to holding down a full time job?”

  “Willie, how many times have I steered you wrong? He's the man.”

  Willie shrugged. “We could sit here all night and get nowhere,” he said after a moment. “That's not what I came to New York for, though. Let's go, Johnny.”

  Johnny rose reluctantly, looking at the big man behind the desk, who looked away. No one offered to shake hands on the way out, and on the stone steps outside Willie paused and looked up at Johnny. “You figure I'm wrong?”

  “I know you're wrong.”

  “Sorry.” But he didn't sound sorry, Johnny thought; he slowly descended to the street in the wake of the slender man impatiently whistling for a cab.

  He heard Sally's key in the door, and he put down his newspaper as she entered with her arms full of bundles. Her eyebrows lifted at sight of him in the easy chair. “Well buster,” she commented on her way through to the kitchen where she set down her packages with a thump, “I couldn't truthfully say I expected to see you this morning Have you been to bed at all? What happened to Willie?”

  “Just put him on the plane to Mexico,” Johnny said.

  Her voice drifted out from the kitchen. “He ought to be right in his element with the jumping beans.” She reappeared in the doorway. “You all right? You look a little down. Or just hung over?”

  “That must be it, ma.”

  She walked into the bedroom and came out with the telephone pad in her hand. “I had a report this morning from a Fontaine Agency operative,” she said importantly. “Interested?”

  “It depends.”

  “Let me check and see if you've paid last month's bill. Maybe your credit rating doesn't call for any additional information.” She looked down at his expression of inquiry. “Mr. Carl Muller is in town.”

  Johnny grunted. “You know that?”

  She nodded. “He's not only in town, he's in the hotel. I've had Vivian Fuller—she's the new day housekeeper— watching Mrs. Muller's room ever since you said you were interested in it. She called me a half hour ago and said that he'd just checked in. Same address, Bremerhaven. He doesn't speak as good English as his wife. He asked if a Mr.—” she checked the telephone pad ”—Samud was registered or had left a message for him. Seemed surprised when they said no and made the desk check again. They opened up the connecting door between 1224 and 1226 and made a suite out of it; you know, with the bathroom in between. End of report.”

  Johnny stared at the white summer curtains moving gently in the early morning breeze. “He's meeting someone. Or planning to. Probably doesn't have a thing in the world to do with this other skirmish—” He stood up restlessly and jammed his hands in his pockets. “Think I'll go out for awhile.”

  “You just got here. Barely.”

  “I'll call you, ma.”

  He ran lightly down the single flight of stairs to the street level, his mind on Carl Muller. Now if somehow there should be a connection—

  He noticed the man in the hallway but brushed past him to open the door. His hand barely touched the knob when a hard object was jammed into his right side and a voice spoke curtly in his ear. “Take the second cab at the stand, bud. No tricks.”

  Gun and voice were at his right; Johnny turned left. “I beg your pardon?” he said politely over his left shoulder, then continued to turn in apparent surprise at not finding anyone there. In the middle of his turn the pressure in his right side lessened as the man with the gun tried in vain to follow his movement, and Johnny accelerated. He came out of the turn with a stiffened left forearm that clubbed the squat body viciously at the beltline, and the man gasped and doubled up, face screwed up in agony.

  Johnny chopped a rabbit punch to the exposed neck, and the man pitched forward to his knees. Johnny bent swiftly and removed the gun from the nerveless hand as the squat man fell over on his side; with a firm grip he grabbed the slack shirt collar and towed the limp figure along the parqueted floor toward the basement entrance just down the corridor from him. Five minutes privacy with this one, and he would have the answers to a few questions.

  Johnny speeded up as he heard steps descending the stairs. The overhang partly hid him, and he didn't know whether he had been seen or not. He was not long in doubt; the voice behind him was heavy and demanding. “Just a minute, mister.”

  Johnny halted and turned slowly. A stout man with hard gray eyes advanced from the foot of the stairs and stopped a dozen feet away. Johnny blinked; there was no gun in his hand. That was an improvement. He estimated the distance between them, and then it came to him. “You Dameron's stakeout here?”

  “That's right, fella.” He gestured at the figure on the floor. “I'll take over now. I saw the whole thing from the top of the stairs. That's a real nice move, Killain. Like to show it to me sometime on my day off?”

  “I'll make a deal with you, Jack. You go get lost upstairs for ten minutes. When you come back down I give you this and I show you the move any time you say.”

  The fat man shook his head regretfully. “I can't do it. I got my orders, and they say to keep an eye on that door upstairs, and to break up any scrimmage you get into around here. What I hear, if I took you up on that offer I'd need a basket to get him downtown.”

  “It bothers you, Jack?”

  “It bothers the people that sent me here. Comprends?” Johnny sighed and released the collar to which he had been holding. There was a hollow sound as the dead weight struck the floor, and the fat man clucked in disapproval. “You're gonna spoil him, Killain.”

  Johnny started to reply and then remembered. “This bastard said the second cab at the stand—” He ran lightly to the door with the fat man outdistanced. Behind the first cab at the stand was an empty space.
“Damn—!”

  “Gone, huh?” the stout man sympathized. “Too bad. I think I'll call and get the meat wagon for your boy here.”

  “Here.” Johnny handed him the gun. “This goes with him.”

  “Well, thanks, now. I appreciate it. Sorry I can't do you that other favor, but you know how it is. I sure would like to learn that move, too.”

  “You keep the stairs here clean, and you learn the move.”

  “Yeah? Mister, nobody gets up those stairs without a blood test.”

  Johnny nodded, and turned to the door.

  He ran into Jimmy Rogers just inside the door of the stationhouse, and the sandyhaired man cocked a quizzical eyebrow at the sight of him. “The lieutenant get hold of you? He's been calling all around.”

  “First I heard of it. What's up?”

  “Put up your lightning rod.”

  “Like that, huh? What's chewin' him?” Johnny followed the detective inside to the private offices, and a billow of sound rolled through the corridor.

  “Rogers!”

  Johnny grinned at Jimmy Rogers' sardonic glance. “The bull moose is in rut, huh? Let's go in an' give him a hotfoot.”

  “You don't have to work for him.” Detective Rogers made no objection to Johnny entering behind him into the same office he had left with Willie Martin not so many hours ago.

  “Mornin', Joe.”

  “You!” It was an epithet the way it was uttered as the red-faced man's head jerked up and focused on Johnny. “I want a few words with you right now!”

  “You expect to enjoy yourself while you're havin' 'em, furl your sails a little,” Johnny suggested. He seated himself comfortably as he eyed the irate lieutenant. “You'd have a little trouble bustin' me back to a post, Joe.” Detective Rogers' expression as he sat down across from Johnny was carefully blank.

  “You can skip the wise remarks. I want a straight answer from you. Have you had anything to do with this Myrna Hansen, the telephone operator?”

  It surprised Johnny. “I had a little talk with her,” he said cautiously.

  The lieutenant's hands came up from his lap and gripped the edges of his desk, hard. “You had a little talk with her,” he mimicked heavily. “She's only a certain witness and a possible confederate to some of these goings on, but you had a little talk with her.” He raised himself up in his chair, and the angry face was dark red. “Just who the hell do you think you are? This is a police investigation. I don't want you—”