Murder Has Its Points by Frances and Richard Lockridge Read Free Book Online Page B

was off balance,” Willings said. “Slipped on something. The two-bit phony couldn’t punch his way out of a paper bag.”
    He turned on his stool and looked at Bill Weigand. He had a square face under the red beard; he had light blue eyes. He was a very large man.
    â€œWhat’s it to you, anyway?” Willings said.
    â€œPayne’s dead.”
    â€œSo I heard. Late on, for my money. Service to American letters. Like to shake the hand that fired the shot.” The pale blue eyes were very intent. It occurred to Bill Weigand that he had never seen eyes quite like Willings’s. He had the slightly uncomfortable feeling that the light blue eyes were looking into his mind.
    â€œWhich wouldn’t be with myself,” Willings said. “People say I do. Say I pat myself on the back. Perhaps. Not this time.” He shifted his gaze, looked at Bill’s drink. “Pallid stuff,” he said. “Ought to drink rum. Virgin Islands rum.” He turned back to Bill. “I didn’t shoot the son of a bitch, he said. “Not worth the trouble.”
    â€œYou didn’t like him, obviously.”
    â€œLots of people I don’t like. Lots of things I don’t like. There are good things and bad things, and he was a bad thing. He was a fake, and I don’t like fakes. The Africa I Know .” He used a short, explicit word. He whirled on his stool toward the couple in the corner. “Sorry, lady,” he said.
    â€œOh,” the girl said, “I’ve heard the word, Mr. Willings. I’ve heard a lot of words.”
    Willlings turned back to Bill Weigand.
    â€œThere you have it,” he said. “Honest girl. Mealy-mouthed bunch ride herd. But everybody knows the words. When a word’s a good word for what you want to say, you ought to use the word. Right?”
    â€œRight,” Bill said.
    â€œYou’re thinking about that review I was going to make him eat. It was a stinker. Also, it was a lousy job. The man couldn’t write. You read it, I suppose?”
    Bill shook his head.
    â€œI’ll be damned,” Willings said. He seemed entirely surprised. “Everybody read it.”
    â€œI didn’t, Mr. Willings—after this—incident. At the party. By the way, did you come to the party with that in mind?”
    â€œWhat else? Heard about the party. Thought it might be fun. Getting Payne to eat, I mean. Long as I was there, I thought I might have a couple.” For the first time he smiled slightly. “A couple made the idea seem very good,” he said. “So I had a couple more. Idea seemed fine. I wasn’t drunk. I don’t get drunk.” He finished his long rum drink. He patted the base of the glass against the bar. The barman took the glass away and began to mix.
    â€œAfter the incident,” Bill said. “What did you do?”
    â€œWent up to my room. Had a nap. I sleep when it seems like a good idea. Didn’t know about somebody’s good deed for the day until about half an hour ago.”
    â€œYou’d known Payne for some time?”
    â€œYou’re a funny copper,” Willings said. “What are you after?”
    â€œAnything I can get.”
    â€œI’m the wrong tree to bark up. But—yes. Donkey’s years.”
    â€œDisliking him all the time?”
    â€œMore or less. What difference does that make? You only see people you like?”
    â€œI see all kinds.”
    â€œProbably do,” Willings said. “So do I. In some ways, ours is the same trade. Find out about people. You put them in jail. I put them in books. I used Payne a couple of times. Remember Ponsby in my Turn at the Bridge? ”
    Bill remembered the title; only the title. He shook his head.
    â€œRead it, didn’t you?”
    Bill shook his head again.
    â€œMy God,” Willings said. “You can read?”
    It sounded to Bill Weigand as if Willings really wanted to know, really