Slam the Big Door by John D. MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page A

onto Second Avenue, almost running. When Mike reached the corner, Troy was halfway down the block. Mike did not follow him.
    A month later, while Bunny was in Reno and her girls were with her people in Rochester, Mike got a phone call one evening from a man in New York named Grady. After he hung up Buttons stared at him, frowning, and said, “Who was that? What about Troy? When do you have to go to New York?”
    “It’s a man named Grady. Troy’s at his place, in bad shape. I either go get him, now, or Grady calls Bellevue and has him picked up.”
    “So let him call Bellevue!”
    Mike looked at her with a fond and crooked smile. “Grady said he had resigned so that left just one friend of Jamison’s. Okay. I’ll call back and tell Grady I can’t bring a mess like that into my home.”
    “Darn you anyway,” Buttons said. “I’m going to feel awfully disloyal toward Bunny, but go get him.”
    “Bunny would understand how it is.”
    It took three and a half hours to drive to New York, and another twenty minutes to locate John Grady’s bachelor apartment in the Village, so it was nearly one in the morning when Grady, a tall young man with big glasses and a harried expression, let him in.
    “Mr. Rodenska? Good. He’s in the bedroom. I got worried after I called you, so I got hold of a doctor. He charged me fifteen bucks for a house call.”
    “I’ll pay you back.”
    “Hell with that. Call it my last contribution to Troy Jamison, thank God. I better brief you. Sit down. Drink?”
    “No thanks. What did the doctor say?”
    “Alcoholism. Malnutrition. He gave him some shots.”
    “Can he be moved?”
    “Not tonight, damn it. In the morning, when he wakes up. Which will be about ten. If he has the shakes too bad to travel, he can have a two-ounce shot in the morning. I won’t be here. I’ve got to go to work.”
    “He’s out of work?”
    “Man, he’s about as far out of work as you can get. He left in a big way almost a month ago. I’m with K. F. and S. too. He hired me, as a matter of fact. There’s been talk about him for months, around the shop. His marriage busting up. And when he was coming in at all, he was coming in half-loaded. And he didn’t seem to give a damn. I think they were trying to talk him into a leave of absence. When you get as high up as Troy was, there’s a sort of rule you don’t fire a man. They took Walther Electric away from him. It had always been his baby, a very tender account. They bill three million five. They took it away two months ago. Just about three weeks ago Mueller was giving a presentation to a flock of Walther executives. Jamison came walking in, boiled. Before they could hustle him out he yelled that the new program was tired old crap, that Walther would be better off with somebody else. He busted Mueller a beaut right in the eye and knocked him down. He knocked the projection machine off the stand, then turned and told the executives of Walther he was glad he didn’t have to deal with such lint-heads any more. About then they got him out, too late. Walther canceled out. And they didn’t even let Troy clean out his desk. They sent his stuff to the hotel by messenger. It’s a damn shame, Mr. Rodenska. He was as sharp as they come. But he’s dead in this industry forever. There isn’t anybody connected with it from coast to coast who doesn’t know the story by now. He’ll never get back in, and I guess he knows it.”
    “Where do you fit in, Grady?”
    “Good question. He hired me. I felt some obligation, even though I hope everybody forgets I was hired originally by Jamison. So I’ve been taking care. I got him out twice when he was charged with D and D. After he got tossed out of the hotel he slept here a few times. I’ve loaned him money.”
    “He can’t be broke!”
    “He gives a good imitation if he isn’t. Lately I’ve been thinking it isn’t going to do me any good at the agency if people find out I’m helping him. Anyhow, he’s been