“Here! What do you think-”
He was too quick for her; her voice was still echoing angrily as the ruler slid into her lap and he picked the folder up and opened it.
“You give me that!” The blonde girl snatched the heavy ruler from her lap, rose with a jerk and pointed it at Johnny. He stared down at the top carbon in the stack in the folder whose glossy, hard-backed surface retained a perfect copy of his dictated letter.
“I can see a man lacks a little something in privacy around here, Mavis. This your own idea?” He began to flip through the carbons in the folder, each a one-time-used perfect impression of a typed letter.
“You get your big nose out of there!” Mavis dropped the ruler on the desk as she came around it on the run. She came like a man, hands doubled into fists, swinging for the body. Johnny caught a flailing arm and spun her in against himself, pinioning her as she struggled within the circle of his arm.
“A nice racket,” he said in her ear. “An out-of-town businessman drops in and dictates his bid on a contract, and with a fresh carbon you've got a copy. Whaddya do then? Look up his competition and peddle it to them?”
Her position proved to be a tactical mistake. She lifted a foot and viciously raked the length of his shin with a high heel. She lifted the foot again, but she had his attention now. He dropped the distracting folder and transferred the freed hand to the nape of Mavis' attractive neck. In two long strides he frog-marched her back to her desk, bent her over it, picked up the ruler and solidly swatted the tight skirt's most prominent characteristics. Mavis yelped shrilly and nearly bucked the desk over. Johnny tossed the ruler back on the desk as he let her go, and she straightened up, holding onto herself.
“I hope you weren't wearin' a girdle, kid,” Johnny told her. He stooped to retrieve the folder of carbons from the floor. “Shall we call it a draw? I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours.” He pulled up the leg of his slacks and looked down at the long scrape on his shin, oozing blood two-thirds of its length. He looked back at Mavis. “Your turn, kid.” She stood motionless, hands behind her, two bright, angry tears in the brunette eyes. “Chicken, huh?”
Her voice was hoarse. “You give me back that folder!”
“Later. If Russo gets shook about it, send him around to see me.” He looked at her thoughtfully. “Or is this a strictly Mavis Delaroche production?” He smiled at her silence. “I don't know why you rate Ed Russo so high, kid; pound for pound you got better action. Let's see you sit down. You know what the song says-it only hurts for a little while.” He turned to the door, then glanced back and waved to the tall girl's still-standing figure. “Think of me when you look in the mirror tonight, kid.”
He closed the office door quietly from the outside.
CHAPTER 11
He woke from an uneasy sleep with a long shudder; Ellen had called him. He had heard her so plainly that he half sat up and stared dazedly around the familiar room. He was soaked with perspiration, and his mouth was dry and cottony.
He pushed himself woodenly to the bed's edge, and the hot knife came alive, and bit and twisted. Ellen would never call him again, because he had let her down when she needed him. Ellen, who of all people had deserved a break, and hadn't had one. Her killer was still walking around loose, no doubt planning other murders, and Johnny Killain, who had solemnly promised himself that he would avenge her, was stumbling along in the dark like a blind fool.
He knuckled fiercely at his eyes and stood up. In the shower's hissing water he promised himself all over again. He'd find this killer, wherever he was. And whoever he was. He'd find him, and when he did He turned off the water and in the silence stared blindly at the white tiled wall.
Ellen…
He leaned against the low counter and watched a dark-haired, white-uniformed girl at the right-hand end of the large desk beyond it. The girl wrote busily, referring occasionally to a little book at her elbow. Johnny glanced behind him; the waiting room of the Landry Cat and Dog Hospital was a beehive of activity. There had been a dozen people waiting in the comfortable chairs when he had arrived, and it seemed to him that two more had since come in for every one who had left.
The desk area beyond the counter was efficiently busy. The girl in front of Johnny was expediting the discharge of the recovered animals; at the other end of the desk a blonde was admitting the newcomers. To the left of the desk was a heavy, paneled door, through which each time it opened came a ringing chorus of barks. With the door closed there was no sound; Johnny realized that Jeff had soundproofed this waiting room, in addition to the money he had spent out in back. No wonder he hated to leave.
A white-jacketed attendant emerged from the back and deposited a black carrying case on the counter in front of Johnny. “That's not-“ Johnny began as the attendant turned away, then bent for a closer look. The pink nose and white whiskers crowded up against the neat wire mesh looked familiar; Johnny pushed the tip of a finger through the mesh, and Sassy nipped it enthusiastically.
Johnny laughed. “You've got to be feelin' better if you've got all that ginger, baby doll. Jeff's got you travelin' in style.”
“Here's her diet, Mr. Killain.” The dark-haired girl handed him a closely written half-sheet. She smiled impersonally and looked for the next name on her list. “Dr. Landry will mail you the bill.”
Johnny hesitated, but the girl had already called the next name. He picked up the carrying case, and backed off a few feet. If he knew Jeff Landry there never would be a bill, mailed or otherwise. Should he try around at the back to say thanks? Probably do Jeff no favor, he thought to himself, at the rate people were still coming in. Jeff must be busier He heard the voice first; he hadn't seen the big man enter. He must have pushed up to the counter out of turn, because Johnny could see resentment on one or two faces, and there was a hush in the waiting room. Johnny looked at the expensively dressed beefy body, and the light-colored panama with its too-wide brim, at the round moon face and the livid scar drawing down a corner of the heavy mouth. “-tell me why I had to rush over here?” the overpowering bass rumbled through the room.
The dark-haired girl looked doubtful. “You're Mr.-”
“Morton. Charles G. Morton.”
Oh, fine, Johnny thought. He set down Sassy's carrying case. Charles G. Morton? The last time Johnny had set eyes on this fine-feathered bird-which had been last night-his name had been Tim Connor.
“Morton?” The dark-haired girl turned over papers on her desk. “Oh, yes.” She looked up in sudden uncertainty. “It was Mrs. Morton we called-”
“I know, I know,” the big man boomed. “Mrs. Morton is a bit indisposed. She called me at the office and asked me to stop by here and see what this mysterious call is all about. Now will you please tell me why I'm here, young lady? I'm a busy man.”
There was no mistaking the girl's nervousness. She rose abruptly. “If you will please step inside, Mr. Morton, Dr. Landry will-”
“Young lady!” The girl quailed before the roar. “If Dr. Landry called my wife, will you kindly have him step out here and tell me why? I'm sure the doctor's time is valuable, but so is mine.”
The girl was nearly in tears. “He's just inside, sir-”
The big man seemed to swell. “He's as close to here as I am to there. What kind of nonsense is this? You'll have me thinking in a moment he doesn't want to see me.”
The girl flew out through the paneled door, and Charles G. Morton leaned back negligently against the counter and half turned to survey the waiting room as if to measure the extent of the audience reaction. His casual glance passed over Johnny, hesitated, swiveled back and focused-hard.