Castle Murders by John Dechancie Read Free Book Online

been time stolen from a full schedule.  
    No time now.
    He rose and began walking toward the door, but something rang off in a corner, and he turned and moved toward it. The device was an old-fashioned telephone, the upright kind with a conical mouthpiece and detachable earphone. Behind it, though, was a television screen, and beside that was a small device that looked like an automatic answering machine. Before he reached the desk on which all this lay, a somber recorded voice was already on the line:  
    You have reached Castle Perilous. We cannot answer your call at this time, but if — and let me emphasize the 'if' — you have some matter of great moment to impart, you may leave your name at the sound of the trump. On the other hand, if your call is being made on some contrived pretext, or, worse, is in the nature of an annoying solicitation, you run a grave risk.
    He sat back down, propped a hand under his chin, and watched the screen. A form wavered on it, a face.
    â€” we do not need storm windows, we do not need aluminum siding, we most certainly do not care to be the 'lucky winners' in some transparently fraudulent giveaway scheme. Let me now enumerate and quickly describe the variety of calamities that could befall you should any of the above conditions obtain. You could be incinerated on the spot —
    The image on the screen clarified and sharpened: a thin-faced man with glasses.
    â€” colonies of fire-lice could suddenly infest your spouse's —
    He hit a switch on the answering machine and interrupted the recording, then unhooked the earpiece and put it to his ear.
    "Howland, I'm here. Go ahead."
    The man on the screen look relieved. "I gotta say, that is one intimidating answering-machine message."
    "It screens out the bothersome calls."
    "No kidding. I was half tempted to ring off myself."
    "Glad you stuck it out. What's up?"
    "Well, it's Tweel. He's made his move, I'm afraid. His dengs moved in on all our operations across the river — casinos, sporting houses, joy dens, wire parlors, everything."  
    "A hostile takeover, eh?"
    "I should say. All the upper-level managers were let go, and Tweel's creatures installed."
    "Did he even try to make it legal this time?"
    "Oh, sure. The stock transactions are on record. He acquired controlling interest in all the subsidiaries through the usual junk bond issue. Then he sent out his demons to do the actual dirty work and make it stick."  
    "Any resistance on our part? We lose anybody?"
    "Yes, two of our boys bought it. Curt and Tully. A little scuffle when they moved in on the Fifty-eighth Street sporting house. Curt was feeling a little protective of one of the girls when one of the dengs tried to take her upstairs."  
    Incarnadine shook his head. "They had standing orders not to offer any resistance."
    "Curt was a hothead, but I can't say I blame him. The girl was screaming her head off. Not that I blame her, either. Anyway, it was pretty gruesome. Tully tried to help, and both of them . . . well, they had to practically shovel them into the morgue wagon."  
    "They should have known better, but that doesn't make me feel any less awful about it." Incarnadine drummed the desk top with his fingers. "So what does Tweel expect me to do, do you think?"  
    "Hit back with all you have."
    "What do you advise, Howie?"
    "Well, as your counselor I have to advise you that if you do retaliate, we'll have a major war on our hands."
    Incarnadine nodded. "That's inevitable."
    "We'll lose a lotta people. And you can't kill a demon."
    "Who says?"
    Howland shrugged. "Unless this boils down to a shoot-out between the two of you."
    "Is that what you think he has in mind?"
    "I think he's setting something up like that. He knows you don't want all-out gang warfare. He's got you."
    "So you figure he's calling me out."
    "That's about the size of it, boss. Word has it that he holed up out in his place with extra guards ringed around it. He says he's