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

might make a good story. An attempted murder.”
    That was all the answer he needed. “I’m not busy. Why?”
    â€œPick out a nice place where I can meet you. No people, understand?”
    â€œYou mean no cops, don’t you?”
    â€œThey’re included.”
    â€œThere’s a bar on Riverside,” he said. “It’s called the Scioto Trail and its probably just opening up. The owner’s a friend of mine and we can talk in the back room.”
    â€œOkay. Say in a half hour?”
    â€œGood enough.”
    I stuck the receiver back in the cradle and went over to the counter. The old lady told me where Riverside was, but I wasn’t about to walk any three miles to get there. I called a cab and had a soda until the cab beeped outside for me.
    The guy said, “Where to?”
    â€œKnow where the Scioto Trail is on Riverside?”
    â€œSure, but they ain’t open yet, bud.”
    â€œI’ll wait for it to open.” The driver shrugged and crawled out into the traffic.
    The Scioto Trail was a big white frame building that had started life as a private home, lived until the river made a bed in its back yard, then made a quick switch into a gin mill whose owner stuck a dock out from the back porch to pick up the yacht club trade. The parking lot was empty and except for the kid on the gasoline barge that was swinging at anchor near the dock, the place seemed deserted.
    I paid off the cabbie and walked around the building to the veranda. A new Chevvy was crowding the back of the building behind a Buick sedan, so the place wasn’t too deserted after all. I rapped on the door a few times, heard heavy feet pounding across the floor inside and a tall skinny guy with a crooked nose pulled the door open and said, “Yeah?”
    â€œLogan here?”
    â€œHe’s here. You the guy he’s waiting for?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œCome on in. He’s in the back.”
    He slammed the door shut and pointed to a door at the end of the bar and went back to swabbing down the floor. The door took me through a narrow hall with the washrooms opening off it and led to a square hall with a bandstand and dance floor. Tables were scattered around liberally and for the people who wanted a little privacy there were booths in an alcove that jutted out from one wall.
    That’s where I found Logan.
    He sure as hell didn’t look like any reporter. One ear was cauliflowered, his nose was flat and scar tissue showed over both eyes. He was bunched over a paper doing the crossword puzzle and looked like his shoulders were going to pop right out of his coat.
    I shoved my hands in my pockets and came along the wall without him hearing me until I crowded the booth where he was sitting. I wasn’t even taking a little bit of a chance. The guy could be a pug, but if he was he wouldn’t be making any passes from a sitting-down position.
    â€œLogan?”
    His face wrinkled up at the edges. It went flat in surprise and wrinkled up all over again showing short, squared-off teeth under lips that were a thin red line.
    â€œI’ll be damned. I’ll be good and goddamned!”
    â€œMaybe. You got a driver’s license or something?”
    He didn’t get it right away. He crinkled his eyes thinking about it then threw his wallet on the table. It opened to a flap that showed his license and a card certifying that he was a member of the Newspaperman’s Guild.
    So I sat down.
    He was another guy I fascinated. He couldn’t take his eyes off me a second. He stared until words came to him and squeezed out in amazement. “Johnny McBride. I’ll be damned.”
    â€œYou already said that.”
    â€œWhen I heard about it I couldn’t believe it. I thought Lindsey was out of his head. I was sure of it when I found out what happened up there in Headquarters.” His fingers were hanging on to the edge of the table like he was trying to break