Hard Case Crime: Honey in His Mouth by Lester Dent Read Free Book Online

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    Brother closed the door, came back to the bed, seized the sheet and gave it a jerk, exposing Harsh in the altogether. “Hey! What’s the idea, Mister?”
    “Turn over.”
    “Mister, just who do you think you are, coming in here and yanking the covers off me and ordering me ass up and belly down? Who the hell do you think you are?” When he got that much said, Harsh wished he had kept still. It was the look that came into the man’s eyes. It made the hair on the back of Harsh’s neck turn cold, as if a frosty-footed mouse had walked across his spine. Harsh turned over on the bed as directed. The way he was lying then, he could not see the man’s face, but the effect of the stare stayed with him. Jesus, was the guy nuts? “Mister, I got this bum arm and lying this way it don’t feel too hot. How about turning back the way I was?”
    After an uncomfortable few moments longer, Harsh felt the sheet come back down over him. He rotated onto his back once more.
    “The young lady indicated she would tell you who I am,” Mr. Brother said.
    “She said a man named Mr. Brother was here to see me. She didn’t say anybody would come in here jerking the covers off me.”
    “Who told you to put that mark on the side of your face?”
    “Nobody. I just laid the wrong way, something under my face.”
    “You are lying to me, Mr. Harsh.” There was a carefulness about the way he formed his words that indicated he did his thinking in another language—either that, or that he was straining to hold back a monumental temper.
    “Fine. I saw a photograph of a face looked something like mine, only it had a scar. I wanted to see how such a scar would look on me, so I laid down on the spoon handle. And you happened to show up before the marks went away.”
    The man didn’t respond—it was as if he hadn’t heard. Everything Harsh said or did seemed to be beneath contempt to him. He whipped out a sheet of blank paper, folded it precisely, uncapped a fountain pen.
    “Mr. Harsh, how would you like to earn twenty-five dollars? I will pay you five dollars each for five names. The five names are to be of people who have known you within the last few years.”
    “How is that? You mean you want references of some sort—but you want to buy them from me?”
    The man looked at Harsh as if he was considering spitting on him. “I wouldn’t think a man like you does much without being bought.”
    “Look, goddamn you, I can be run over just about so far.”
    The man’s face became calm, but his eyes glittered. “Mr. Harsh, the only way I will deal with you is to buy you. I do not care to work with you on any other basis. I buy you or nothing. You are a cheap man, so buying you will not be expensive. Get it straight—I buy you, or I have nothing to do with you.”
    Harsh lifted himself on his good elbow. “Look, I don’t know why you should be such a crock, but if you want references, I’ll give them to you for nothing. I won’t sell them, though. I got some pride too.”
    Harsh was amazed when the man capped the fountain pen, put it away, tucked the blank paper in his pocket, and strode purposefully to the door. He was going to leave, the crazy fool, twenty-five dollars was going to walk out the door.
    “Hey, Mister! If you insist, I’ll take your money.”
    Again the man seemed not to hear, and walked out the door, leaving Harsh watching the door and waiting, hardly believing the fellow was gone. Harsh watched the door for some time. His arm, which had been giving only mild pain, now started hurting in earnest. It felt as if a cat was crouched on it, eating away. No one came through the door, not Brother, not Vera Sue, not the policeman, not even a doctor or a nurse.
    What should he make of this Brother anyway, he wondered.
    Several hours later when Vera Sue did appear, he saw she had been up to something. She was as warm and contented as a baby who had found a full breast, and she was wearing a new dress with the new hat.