One look explained the generosity. It wasn’t a dial phone. They could hear the name or the number he asked the operator to get for him and still have plenty of time to retrieve the phone before the connection could be made.
Johnny lifted the receiver. “Mayor Lowell’s office,” he said to the switchboard operator’s inquiry. Above his head Sergeant McDonough glanced quickly at the stairs.
“Break that up!” the chief barked.
McDonough yanked hard on the cord going over the top of his desk. Johnny had anticipated it. Nothing happened. The sergeant leaned down over the front of the desk. Johnny backed away as far as he could get but the cord wouldn’t let him get far enough. “Tell the mayor—” Johnny said to the new feminine voice on the line and paused to lower his head as McDonough punched down at him. Instead of hitting him in the face the sergeant hit him in the forehead. It drove Johnny back a step but he retained his grip on the phone. “—that I’m a friend of his brother Toby’s an’ that your cops are givin’ me a hard time at headquarters. Tell him—” McDonough’s roundhouse right landed on Johnny’s cheekbone despite his effort to evade it. McDonough’s grunt was clearly audible. “Tell him to get down here,” Johnny said rapidly. He dropped to one knee to avoid McDonough’s follow-up smash. He bobbed up instantly, slapped the receiver into the cradle and threw the telephone over the desk, hard. It hit McDonough squarely in the chest. “Thanks for the use of your phone, Mac,” Johnny told him as the sergeant went backward into his chair with a crash.
Chief Riley was halfway toward the desk from the stairs. “Did he get that call through?” he demanded of no one in particular. He didn’t wait for an answer. Dark blood flared in the wide, moon face as he glared at Johnny. He looked big but he looked soft, too, Johnny thought. “We’ll fix your clock, mister,” the chief said to him harshly. “We know how to take care of wise guys around here. You won’t be so lucky the next time.” He half-turned to look back up the stairs at the sound of rapidly descending footsteps. “You’re going to find your umbrella’s got a hell of a leak in it.”
He stalked back into his office, slamming the door.
Mayor Richard Lowell clattered briskly down the stairs and into the room. He looked exactly like his picture, Johnny thought, except on a larger scale. The head was large and crested with a cockatoo-like white pompadour. It commanded instant attention. The strong face gave a lion-like appearance to the average-sized physique. “You called my office?” he demanded of Johnny and without waiting for an answer swung to the desk. “What about this, McDonough?”
The gray-faced sergeant climbed laboriously to his feet. He stood half-doubled over. “Wise—bastard—” he got out between his teeth. His breath whistled on the sibilants. “Hit me—with the phone—”
“I asked you what happened here.” The mayor glanced from McDonough to Johnny, his expression curious. “Was Riley here? Where is he now?”
Johnny pointed at the closed door. He realized for the first time that Tommy Savino had disappeared. Lowell started to say something, hesitated, took Johnny by the arm and led him to a corner. “Who are you?” he asked in an undertone. “What took place here?”
“I’d like to talk to you about it. Privately,” Johnny said.
“Why should you want to talk to me?” Lowell sounded suspicious. He had a rich, beautifully polished speaking voice. Every syllable was produced with a vocal flourish. “And what’s this business of your being a friend of Toby’s?”
“I talked to Toby yesterday afternoon.”
“You did?” Mayor Lowell kindled. “Did Toby send you up here?” His voice had risen; he lowered it immediately. “Did they find it out?”
“What kind of a town are you runnin’ here?” Johnny asked in his turn. “Or aren’t you runnin’ it at all? These guys like to had my ears nailed to the wall.”
Angry color invaded Richard Lowell’s patrician features. “I hope I’m running this town!” he blustered.
“I hope so, too, but some people don’t seem to have gotten the message. I was in town an hour an’ I was jumped on the street by a man named Savino. He an’ a cop with him had a wagon handy to roll me in here. I had trouble keepin’ ‘em off me in the wagon.” Johnny fingered a rising lump on his left cheekbone. “I had more trouble gettin’ to talk to you. Is all that a part of the town you’re runnin’? An’ does Toby know about it?”
Without a word the mayor turned and strode to the door through which Chief Riley had exited. He went right on in without bothering to knock. He closed the door behind him. Johnny returned his attention to the desk. McDonough sat down, his blue eyes glaring down malevolently at Johnny, but he said nothing.
The silence lasted until the mayor rushed out of the chief’s office, banging the door behind him. Storm signals darkened his face. “We can talk upstairs,” he said curtly to Johnny.
Behind the desk McDonough rose to his feet again. He looked from the closed door to the mayor. “Hold up a minute,” he protested. “Nobody’s told me what to do with the charge against—”
“The second thing you can do with it,” Richard Lowell interrupted him with a vicious clarity in the mellow voice, “is tear it up.” Without a backward glance he led the way to the stairs and Johnny followed him.
On the upper level they walked to the front of the building and a door marked OFFICE OF THE MAYOR. Inside, Lowell hurried past a brunette secretary who paused in her typing to look up at Johnny with interest. She was an extremely good-looking girl. Johnny wondered if it were she with whom the mayor was shacking up as charged by Mrs. Peterson. If so, Richard Lowell went up a couple of notches in Johnny’s estimation. The girl was a knockout.
In his private office, the mayor closed the door. It was elaborately furnished with heavy, old-fashioned pieces. “Sit down,” he said. His tone made it a command. He softened it at once. “Now for God’s sake catch me up on what’s going on around here. First of all, did Toby send you?”
“No.” Johnny could see the mayor’s disappointment in the blunt negative.
Disappointment was followed by renewed suspicion. “Then who are you? What are you doing here?”
“I’m tryin’ to retrieve a bankroll heisted from me.”
Richard Lowell sat down behind a wide oak desk. His expression was puzzled. “Isn’t that a matter for the police? I mean, why come to me?”
“You’re Toby’s brother. The corn hasn’t stopped poppin’ since I talked to Thompson. Somebody—”
“You talked to Carl Thompson?” The mayor had moved forward on the edge of his chair. “When?”
“Yesterday afternoon at my place.”
“Your—?” Richard Lowell slapped his forehead dramatically with an open palm. “Of course,” he exclaimed. “You’re Killain. Toby called me about you. I didn’t make the connection because he didn’t say you were coming.”
“He didn’t know it. After Thompson was killed—”
“How did it happen?” the mayor broke in eagerly. “I’ve had no details at all.”
“Knifed,” Johnny told him. “An’ twice last night someone tried to add me to the score.”
“You? Why?”
“Because Thompson talked to me?” Johnny asked his own question.
“I see,” Lowell said slowly. “Yes, I do see.”
“Why’d Toby call you?” Johnny asked casually.
“About Thompson, of course.” The mayor looked defensive. He folded his hands in his lap. “I suppose Carl damned me to you up, down, and sideways?”
“He never even mentioned your name,” Johnny said truthfully.
“Then he had a damn sight more forbearance than I’d have had in his place,” Lowell said grimly. “I’m the man who fired him. Under pressure,” he added hastily.
“An’ Toby didn’t like it?”
Richard Lowell smiled bleakly. “My brother has an unrealistic approach at times to the problems of municipal government in a city like Jefferson.”
“What’s your problem?”
<
br /> “It’s a long story.” Lowell ran a hand nervously through his hair. He couldn’t have been more than fifty, Johnny thought, but the hair was snow white. “First I’d rather go into why you’re here.”
“I’m here because I’m a thousand dollar loser to the action in New York an’ because somebody tried twice to scrag me. It didn’t look to me like I was goin’ to get any answers I wanted at that end of the line.” He moved onto the offensive. “Why are you standin’ me off here, now? What are you afraid of?” He rose to his feet. “Tell your police department they’ll need more’n a wagon to bring me in the next time they take the notion.”
“It’s not my police department!”
“You sprung me from down there,” Johnny pointed out.
“A quid pro quo. Jack Riley—”
“It was your police department when Thompson was chief?” Johnny pressed him when Lowell hesitated. The mayor nodded reluctantly.
“Who submarined him?”
“I think you’d better come out to the house tonight,” Lowell decided. “I don’t like to talk here. I’m never sure—” His hand again made the sweeping gesture through his hair.
“You mean you think your own office could be bugged?”
“I’ve invited you to my home,” Lowell said stiffly.
“I’ve accepted,” Johnny said promptly. “Late, though. Say around ten. I’m havin’ dinner at eight. With Jessamyn Burger.” Richard Lowell’s mouth opened but no sound came forth. Johnny smiled at him. “Give my regards to Toby when you call him to report I hit the deck here.”
“I’m not—who said—” The mayor groped for a reply.
“See you at ten,” Johnny said. “And for Christ’s sake try to make a little more sense than you’re makin’ now, will you?”
He closed the door to the private office from the outside. The brunette secretary again looked up from her typing. Johnny walked over to her desk and looked down at her. “I hear your boss is shackin’ up with an unmarried female,” he said solemnly. “Is it you?”
Her mouth curved humorously. “No, it’s not.”
“Shame on him, then. Would it do me any good to put my name on the list?”
“I’m afraid not.” She raised her hand from the typewriter keys to show him an engagement ring. She was smiling openly.
“That’s the toughest decision I dropped today,” he told her. “Ten thousand thousand good wishes.”
Her eyes followed him all the way to the door.
Back at Mrs. Peterson’s his key let him into the front hallway and he started for the stairs. “Well! Whom have we here?” a fresh young voice inquired from behind him.
Johnny turned. A chubby teenager with schoolbooks under her arm was examining him from the living-room doorway. She had flaming red hair done up in a pony tail, a pert face, and a mouth heavily lipsticked in the latest version of a femme fatale. “I’m the new roomer,” Johnny said.
“Val just never tells me these things,” the girl announced dramatically. “I’m Jingle Peterson.” She put down the books and moved out into the hall to get a better look at him. All her movements were exaggerated. She eyed the silver-studded jacket with frank approval. “Cool, man. That skin’s really got the beat.” She ran a hand lightly over the jacket, her head tilted up to watch his face, her expression saucy.
“Pleased to meet you, Jingle,” Johnny acknowledged. “I’m Johnny. Who’s Val?”
“Val?” Her thinly plucked eyebrows rose. “My sainted mama. Mrs. Valerie Peterson. We won’t have any trouble with her.” She tapped a finger lightly on his chest. “Pleased to meet you, Johnny. Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”
“What the hell would you do if I did?” he asked in amusement.
“Why, drink it, of course!” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “What else does one do with a drink?”
“How old are you, Jingle?”
“Don’t you agree that chronological age has nothing at all to do with one’s maturity?” she asked rapidly in the manner of a well-rehearsed lesson.
“Fourteen?”
“Mercy! Do I look like a child?”
“Fifteen an’ a half?”
She pouted at him. “I think you’re horrid. I’m ages older than that. If you can’t see—”
“Must’ve been sixteen last week,” he decided aloud. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the vote of confidence, Jingle, but don’t you think you deserve somethin’ better’n an old crock like me?”
“You’re not all that old,” she announced firmly. “You have an interesting face. Sort of grim. I think we’re going to be very good friends.” Her face lighted up suddenly. “Are you any good at algebra?”
“I’m the world’s worst.”
“Oh, well,” she sighed. “You can’t have everything.” She sailed grandly back into the living room and picked up her books. The eyelashes fluttered at him from the doorway. “See you later, large man. It’s been the most.”
“It sure has,” Johnny agreed. “Hey! Can you press a suit?”
“One dollar per each, satisfaction guaranteed or your money back,” she said briskly.
“Hot up your iron. I’ll bring it right down.” At the top of the stairs he encountered Mrs. Peterson, her dust mop exchanged for a broom. From her position it was obvious she had heard every word from the hallway below.
“Thanks for the way you handled that,” she said to Johnny when he went to pass by.
“You don’t want to get mad at the kid. She’s just testin’ her wings.”
“Her generation defeats me,” Valerie Peterson said darkly. Her hands opened and closed on the broom handle. “We thought about the same things when we were her age, God knows, but it’s their credo to proclaim it. I walk a tightrope trying to decide what’s talk and what isn’t.” Her eyes went down the stairs broodingly. “I guess I’ll have to give up this business before long. Right now she’s still afraid of my hairbrush but when the day comes that she isn’t—” She shrugged. “Well. This floor is off limits to her, incidentally. Our bedroom is downstairs.” Johnny nodded. “There was a man here asking questions about you just after you went out.”
“He say who he was?” Johnny asked quickly.
“He didn’t have to say. I was born and raised in this town. His name is Kratz. He has a used-car lot on the edge of town. He’s also mixed up in local politics.”
“What did he ask you, Mrs. Peterson?”
“Just who you were. He seemed surprised when I told him.” Maybe it had been a break at that, using his own name, Johnny reflected. Kratz had been trying to pick up the alias. With him using his own name it might slow them down a little wondering about his backing. They’d picked him up so fast there sure as hell wasn’t anything the matter with their liaison.
Valerie Peterson was watching his face. “I want no trouble here,” she warned him. “I know this Kratz. You mind what I say.” She walked away from him, down the stairs.
In his room Johnny took down his suit from the closet and headed for the kitchen and Jingle.
CHAPTER V
JESSAMYN BURGER WAS both an attractive and comfortable dinner companion, Johnny decided. She had appeared in a conservative woolen suit firmly attached to a not-so-conservative figure. She had held up her end of the conversation, had laughed at his jokes, and had gradually turned serious when he described—still in a humorous vein—his encounter with Savino on the library steps and his reception at police headquarters. If she had heard the story before she was a good enough actress to disguise it.
“I think that you were luckier than you know,” she said quietly when he finished. “You’re a stranger in this town. You have no idea of the situation here.”
“There was one thing that bothered me,” Johnny admitted. “I’d been in town an hour when Savino tied into me at the library. I couldn’t figure how he got to me so fast. I think I know. He wasn’t tailin’ me. He was watchin’ you, an’ recognized me when I walked in.”
Her eye
s widened. “Watching me? That’s the most ridiculous idea I ever—”
“What’s so ridiculous about it? You and Daddario were friends. You were in. Now you’re out. They might be havin’ second thoughts about what you learned about their business.”
“I learned nothing about their business, except what’s hearsay in the town anyway.” She said it firmly. “Jim and I were friends for years but we never discussed his political affairs on any but the most platitudinous level.” Her eyes were steady on Johnny’s. “We’re still friends. I’m positive Jim would never do anything to hurt me or implicate me in any way.”
“Not while things were goin’ his way,” Johnny argued. “Right now he’s a little shook up. I think he’s busy shorin’ up the timbers on his political cabin. You might know more than you think.” Jessamyn Burger shook her head decisively and Johnny changed the subject. “Speakin’ of hearsay in the town, I understand Dick Lowell has got himself an unofficial first lady.”
Her smile was unwilling. “For the length of time you’ve been in Jefferson you’ve certainly improved each shining hour. I don’t think that situation is quite the way you’d appraise it from surface appearances, though. The woman’s husband left her ten years ago but he’s a dog-in-the-manger type who won’t give her a divorce. She can’t get it without him dragging her name and Dick’s through every paper in the state. He’s threatened to do it. Dick can’t have that, so the status quo remains. It’s a sordid but not unusual situation.”
So it wasn’t Micheline Thompson with whom Dick Lowell was playing house, Johnny mused. He was surprised at the relief he felt at the news. If she had been involved it would almost have clinched her role in the Manhattan suite. Thinking of her recalled something else. He had called the number listed for Carl Thompson in the phone book before he had left Mrs. Peterson’s to meet Jessamyn, and had raised no one. He pushed back his chair and signaled the waiter for his check. “Excuse me a moment,” he said to Jessamyn. He placed a bill beside his plate.
He walked out to the men’s room and stepped into a phone booth just outside the door. He dialed the Carl Thompson number again and listened with a gathering frown as the phone rang and rang. He hung up and emerged from the booth thoughtfully. He wondered where Micheline Thompson was spending her time.
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