Buried Caesars by Stuart M. Kaminsky Read Free Book Online Page B

him no more than ten seconds.
    “I always carry a pocketful of coins for special occasions like this,” Hammett explained.
    When he was ready I moved to one side of the door and he stood at the other with his weighted handkerchief in hand. I reached for the handle, twisted it quickly and pushed the door open hard. Hammett was at my side in the nearly darkened room. Thin slits of sun crept around the closed curtains. Someone was there. We could both hear him.
    I found the light switch, hit it and turned, knowing that whatever was in there had spent time adjusting to the darkness but would be vulnerable to a shock of sudden light. The bedroom was empty. The bed was unmade. Pillows on the floor, blanket in a heap.
    I pointed to the floor under the bed. Hammett nodded no and pointed to a closed door, a closet or bathroom. We held our breath and I heard a slight movement beyond the door. Whoever was in there had heard me open the door, had probably heard us come in the house. He or they either didn’t have a gun or they did and thought we were armed.
    I took four steps to the closed door, pulled it open, a dark screeching ball leapt at my face. I threw up my hands and saw Hammett step forward and swing his loaded handerchief at a naked man just inside the door. I went tumbling backward and tripped on one of the pillows on the floor. The dark ball had hit my face, scratching my cheek and filling my nose, mouth and eyes with something soft and furry.
    I grabbed the screeching creature and pushed it away. The cat flew into the corner, landed on its feet and tore out of the room. I tried to get up to help Hammett with the man in the bathroom, but he didn’t need help. The man, wearing nothing but a pair of glasses, was on his back on the tiles of the bathroom floor.
    “He’s dead,” Hammett said looking at the body.
    “You killed him with a handful of nickels and dimes?”
    “Nickels and dimes don’t make holes in a man’s chest,” Hammett said. “I dented the skull of a corpse.”
    I got up, touched the claw scratch on my cheek and moved to Hammett’s side to look down at the body. The corpse looked surprised. He lay dead and naked, staring at the ceiling.
    “Cat must have been locked in with him,” Hammett said, kneeling next to the body. “I’d say he’s been dead less than eight hours.”
    “I’d say I agree.”
    “Someone propped him against the wall,” said Hammett, removing the glasses from the corpse and dropping them in his pocket. “Rigor straightened him. Damned odd. Only seen one standing corpse. That was back in Omaha, a second-story man named Booster Eddie Simms. Booster Eddie had a wild left eye. Damned thing danced all around the place. Couldn’t carry on a serious conversation with Eddie because of that eye. This Lansing?”
    Hammett was having a hell of a good time.
    “No,” I said. “It’s probably his roommate, Hower.”
    Hammett turned back into the bedroom while I examined the body. Four bullet holes, lots of dried blood. Lots of blood on the floor, the walls, the sink. The mirror was bullet-hole cracked.
    “It’s Hower,” Hammett said behind me. “Pants and wallet here. Sixty bucks. No robbery.”
    “No robbery,” I agreed stepping back out of the bathroom and trying to slow down the thoughts. Thought one: Castle and his men came in. Hower was taking a shower. Castle or one of his men ran into him and shot him. Okay. What did that mean? Why didn’t Castle just make it look like a murder during a breaking and entering? Leave the place a mess, take the money from the wallet? Thought two: Castle, maybe with or without MacArthur’s knowing it, had set me up, sent me here to take the count for Hower’s murder. I didn’t like that thought. Thought three: Lansing killed Hower. Why? I don’t know. Whatever happened, Lansing was gone and Hammett and I were going to be identified by Arthur the gatekeeper and his partner.
    Hammett was sitting on the unmade bed smoothing his thin