The Long Wait by Mickey Spillane Read Free Book Online Page A

probably would have followed me, so I got up on my feet and ran like hell. I tore around the back of the building, shoved the gate open and angled off into an alley that led to the street.
    Now the fun was beginning. This was more like it. Guys who were better at tailing somebody than the cops. Guys with silenced rifles who didn’t give a damn about kids standing around their target. Now I didn’t have any doubt any more.
    I made a quick circuit of the block until I reached the corner where I could see the library. Opposite the building the street was lined with private residences and it was a sure bet that I wasn’t being potted at from there. They wouldn’t have missed if they were that close.
    But behind the private homes on the other side of the block was a solid string of apartment houses with nice flat roofs that were perfect gun platforms and anybody at all could get to the top if they wanted to badly enough. There wasn’t a bit of sense looking for them. They had plenty of time to get away, and a gun could be broken in half and carried on the street wrapped up in a mighty innocent-looking package.
    Out of plain curiosity I crossed the street, walked the one block and turned in at the first apartment. It was a five-story affair like the rest with a self-service elevator. I took it to the top, got out and walked up the short flight of stairs to the roof. That’s how easy it was.
    A guy was bending over fastening a television antenna to the chimney and gave me a “howdy” and a nod when he saw me coming. I said, “Anybody been up here the last few minutes, Mac?”
    He dropped his wrench and stretched his legs. “Umm, no, not that I know of. Think there might’ve been somebody down a couple places or so. Heard a door slam.”
    â€œOkay. Thanks.” He went back to work and I stepped over the barrier between the buildings.
    You could see the library from nearly every roof top, but you could command it properly from only two if you wanted a good background for a target standing on the steps.
    The first one I looked at was where the guy had been.
    He was smart, too. There weren’t any empty shell cases around, no scratches on the parapet where a careless guy would have propped a gun, no trinkets that might have fallen from the pockets of a gunman shooting prone, no nothing. I’d even bet the bastard threw his clothes away to get rid of any dust traces he could have picked up.
    Yeah, he was smart, all right, but not smart enough to rub out the marks his toes and elbows had left. They made four cute little hollows in the gravel of the roof and when I stretched out on top of them with my own toes in the impressions he made my elbows came out about eight inches above his.
    Junior was a shortie. A guy about five-six. And he was going to be a hell of a lot shorter when I caught up with him.
    I used the same entrance he had used and didn’t meet a soul going out. I walked to the corner and back up to the main drag without getting shot at either.
    It was ten after ten and I used up another half hour buying myself a second jacket. Next to the store where I got the jacket was a pawnshop that had a nice selection of guns displayed in the window and I would have picked one up right there if it weren’t for the sign that said a certificate was required for purchase of any hand gun.
    If you wanted to shoot at anybody you had to have a certificate.
    Two doors down was a cigar store with a telephone plaque on the front. The old lady behind the counter changed a buck into silver for me and I picked up the Lyncastle News number from the directory.
    A voice said hello and I asked for Alan Logan. There was a rapid series of clicks then, “Hello, Logan speaking.”
    I said, “Logan, you tied up right now?”
    â€œWho is this?”
    â€œNever mind who it is. I want to speak to you.”
    â€œWhat’s on your mind, feller?”
    â€œSomething that