The Judas Goat by Robert B. Parker Read Free Book Online Page B

foot from his inert hand. His knees drawn up. There was blood on the hall carpet. I put my gun back in its holster and walked over to him. He was dead too. I went back into my room. The back of my leg was beginning to hurt. I sat down on the bed and picked up the phone when I heard the footsteps in the hall. Some of them stopped a little way from my room and some came on to the door. I put the phone back down. “All right in there, come out with your hands up. This is the police.”
    “It’s okay,” I said. “There’s a guy dead in here and I’m wounded. Come on in. I’m on your side.” A young man in a light raincoat stepped quickly into the room and pointed a revolver at me. Behind him came an older man with graying hair and he pointed a revolver at me too. 
    “Stand up, please,” the younger man said, “and put your hands on top of your head, fingers clasped.”
    “There’s a gun in the shoulder holster under my left arm,” I said. Several uniformed bobbies and two more guys in civilian clothes crowded into the room. One of them went directly to the phone and began to talk. The guy with the graying hair patted me down, took my gun, took the seven remaining bullets from my jacket pocket and stepped back. 
    The young one said to the man on the phone, “He’s bleeding. He’ll need medical attention.” The guy on the phone nodded. The young cop said to me, “All right, tell us about it, please. ”
    “I’m a good guy,” I said. “I’m an American investigator. I’m over here working on a case. If you’ll get hold of Inspector Downes in your department he’ll vouch for me.”
    “And these gentlemen,” he nodded at the body on the floor and included, with a sweep of his chin, the guy I had dumped in the corridor. 
    “I don’t know. I’d guess they were going to put me away because I was on this case. I came back to the room and they were waiting for me.” 
    The gray cop said, “You killed them both?”
    “Yeah.”
    “This is the gun?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Some identification, please?” I handed it over, including the British gun permit. The gray cop said to the one on the phone, “Tell them to get hold of Phil Downes. We’ve got an American investigator here named Spenser that claims to know him.” The cop on the phone nodded. As he talked he stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. 
    A man came in with a small black doctor bag. He had on a dark silk suit and a lavender shirt with the collar spread out over the suit lapels. Around his neck were small turquoise beads on a choker necklace. “Name’s Kensy,” he said. “Hotel physician.”
    “You staid British doctors are all the same,” I said. “No doubt. Please drop your pants and lie across the bed, face down.” I did what I was told. The leg was hurting a lot now, and I knew the back of my pants leg was soaked with blood. Dignity is not easy, I thought. But it is always possible. The doctor went into the bathroom to wash. The cop in the light raincoat said, “You know either of these people, Mr. Spenser?”
    “I haven’t even gotten a look at them yet.” The doctor came back. I couldn’t see him but I could hear him fumbling around. “This may sting a bit.” I smelled alcohol and felt it sting as the doctor swabbed off the area. “The bullet still in there?” I asked. “No, went right through. Clean wound. Some blood loss, but nothing, I think, to be concerned over.”
    “Good, I’d just as soon not be carrying a slug around in the upper thigh,” I said. 
    “You may choose to call it that if you wish,” the doctor said, “but in point of face, my man, you’ve been shot in the arse.”
    “There’s marksmanship,” I said. “And in the dark too.” 

8 
    The doctor put a pressure bandage on my, ah, thigh, and gave me some pills for the pain. “You’ll walk funny for a few days,” he said. “After that you should be fine. Though you’ll have an extra dimple in your cheeks now.”
    “I’m glad