Liddell nodded. “Maybe I can help stampede him.”
Herlehy pursed his lips. “Some such thought had occurred to me.”
The redhead in Liddell’s outer office made no attempt to disguise her annoyance as he walked in.
“Don’t tell me where to reach you, maestro. That might take some of the suspense out of this job.” She tore a piece of paper out of the carriage of her typewriter, crumpled it into a ball and threw it at the waste basket.
“Something?” Liddell asked her mildly.
“Just a madman prowling the place for an hour or so, positive you were hiding under a desk. That is, from what little I could understand of what he was saying.”
“Name of Horton?”
Pinky shrugged. “We didn’t get that confidential. He just barged in here, busted into your office and went through the closets like he was going to give you an estimate on your old clothes.”
She pushed a loose tendril of hair into place with the tip of one finger. “When I asked him what it was all about, he talked like a character out of Allen Ginsberg.” She stared at Liddell. “Was he for real?”
Liddell nodded. “He plays a hot piano down at the Nest in the Village. Away out. Crazy, chick, real wild.”
The redhead groaned. “Not you, too? This keeps up, we’re going to need an interpreter in here. What’s with him and you?”
“He thinks I convinced the police that he killed his brother. He’s apparently annoyed. The police have told the insurance company to hold off paying on his brother’s accidental death policy and Horton probably has it all spent already.”
“That could be annoying,” Pinky agreed. “And if he—”
The door burst open, Sally Horton came in. Her eyes jumped from Liddell to the redhead and back. “Thank God you’re all right, Johnny. My husband—”
“He’s already been here,” Liddell told her. He took her by the arm, led her to the private office. “We don’t want to be disturbed, Pink,” he told the girl behind the typewriter.
Pinky’s eyes took inventory of the blonde’s assets. “Figures,” she bobbed her head. “You should have been a C.P.A.”
Liddell scowled at her, closed the private office door behind him. He guided the blonde to the chair opposite the desk, walked over to where a water cooler stood against the wall humming to itself. He filled a cup full of water, brought two extra paper cups to the desk. From his bottom drawer, he brought out a half-empty bottle of Dewar’s. He spilled some Scotch into the two empty cups, softened it with water, held one out to the woman.
“Try this.”
Sally Horton drained the cup, leaned her head back against the back of the chair. “It was real nigged. I’ve seen him in a rage before, but never like this. He went completely crazy.”
“When did he find out about it?”
The green, slanted eyes studied him from under thick lashes. “You. knew about it? About the insurance company refusing to pay off until an investigation could be made?”
Liddell spilled more Scotch into each of the cups. “I just heard about it from the police.” He held out the cup, waited while the blonde took a swallow. “How come he didn’t know it last night when I saw him at the Nest?”
Sally Horton shrugged. “It’s like I told you. He sometimes doesn’t come home for days. There was a letter there for him, but I didn’t open it. This morning, he started worrying about what you said and he called the insurance company. They told him he’d already been notified they were withholding payment.”
“He flipped?”
She nodded, rubbed the backs of her arms with the flat of her hands. “I’ve never seen him in such a rage. He went tearing out, yelling at the top of his voice.”
“How’d you know he was coming here?”
“I didn’t. From the state he was in, I knew he’d go looking for a fix. I’ve been hitting all the shooting galleries I ever heard of him using. A half hour ago, I bumped into a friend of his on Sixth Avenue. He said Bob was raving about getting even with you.”
She got up from her chair, walked over to where he stood. “I came as soon as I could. If anything happened to you—” She slid her arms around his neck, pressed against him. “I couldn’t stand it, knowing I got you into it.”
The door to the outer office swung open, Pinky breezed in. She stood at the doorway, smiled brightly. “Pardon me.” She started out again.
“What’d you want?” Liddell growled. He disengaged himself from the blonde’s clutches, walked around the desk. “Barging in here like that!”
“I wanted to know who to bill on this case.” She looked over to where Sally Horton was inspecting her make-up in a compact mirror. “I didn’t know you were discussing terms.”
“When I’m ready to send the bill, I’ll let you know,” Liddell snapped. “And from now on, knock.”
“Yes, sir.” She turned to the door, then as an afterthought turned back, grinned at him. “But I don’t think it would have done any good—”
“What wouldn’t have done any good?”
“My knocking. I don’t think you would have heard me if I pounded.” She smiled sweetly in the direction of the blonde, made a production of closing the door after her.
“Quite a character.” Sally Horton snapped the compact shut, dropped it into her bag. “I suppose you keep her around for atmosphere.”
Liddell grunted. He dropped into the desk chair, picked up a pack of cigarettes from the desk, held it up to the girl. She shook her head, he stuck a cigarette in the corner of his mouth.
“Your husband got a gun?”
A frown corrugated the blonde’s forehead. “He didn’t have when he left the apartment. He might have gotten once since. I... I don’t think he’d try to tackle you without one.”
Liddell touched a match to the cigarette, blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. “How about you? If he gets the idea that you sicced me onto him—”
The blonde caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I think I can handle him. He usually listens to me no matter how high he’s riding.”
Liddell nodded. He pulled over his desk pad, scribbled an address on it. “Here’s my home address and phone number. If he does show up and you can’t handle him, don’t hesitate to call.”
Sally Horton took the paper, folded it, stuck it into her purse. “Does the same thing go if I get too lonely waiting?” She headed for the door, stopped with her hand on the knob. “It’d have at least one advantage. The doors probably lock on the inside.” She opened the door, walked out.
After a moment, he heard the door to the corridor open and slam shut. Pinky walked to the door of the private office, leaned against the frame.
“How about it, boss? Do we bill her or charge it off to experience?” She grinned at the scowl on his face. “It may be fun, but you can’t discount it at the bank.”
It was almost midnight when Johnny Liddell dropped the cab in front of his apartment hotel. He rode the creaking elevator to the fifth floor, crossed to 506.
He fitted the key to the lock, pushed the door open. He reached in, snapped on the light.
There was a smash of glass, then two shots came so close together they sounded like one. Liddell saw them chew bits out of the door jamb at his head. He snapped off the light, threw himself forward on the floor, tugging at the.45 in his shoulder holster. Two more shots came from the window, whined over his head to smack dully into the far wall.
Cautiously, he squirmed toward the window, his automatic poked out in front of him. He thought he saw a figure silhouetted on the outside, squeezed his trigger twice. The.45 sounded like a cannon in the confined space. He threw two more quick shots as a cover, pulled himself to his feet, ran to the window.