The Man Who Shot Lewis Vance by Stuart M. Kaminsky Read Free Book Online Page B

this?”
    “The bed cranks,” he explained.
    I went to the foot of the bed and cranked it up. Beason didn’t look much better bent at the waist. He took the water, finished it off in a single gulp, and handed the glass back.
    “It’s not Jim Beam,” he said.
    “It’s not embalming fluid either,” I reminded him, and he nodded.
    “I didn’t see this Alex. Came in behind when I was talking to Teddy. I sensed someone was there, could see it in our Teddy’s rusted eyes, but couldn’t turn in time. Felt the lead and thought it was over. Then Merit Beason went down and played dead.”
    “At least they didn’t shoot you with my gun,” I said. “You want more water?”
    “No,” he said. “I’m feeling a bit wary, the truth be told.”
    “My gun,” I said after a pause for Merit to catch his breath.
    “Gone,” he said.
    “The body of Lewis Vance?” I tried.
    “Gone. They took the body, planted it somewhere, maybe in the Alhambra, maybe in the lobby of the Brown Derby, maybe in the desert.”
    “So,” I said with a sigh.
    “Yes,” Merit agreed, closing his eyes. “Someone who killed a gent in the Alhambra and who bears an ill will toward John Wayne is out on the streets of this city with your thirty-eight. It gives us pause.”
    “It gives us pause,” I agreed.
    “Merit Beason thinks that Alex should be located, disarmed, and manacled before he makes headlines.”
    “How are you doing? I said, getting ready to hit the streets.”
    “Bullet went in, went out,” he said. “Not the first time and, possibly, not the last.” His hand went up unconsciously to his stiff neck, his body remembering the last bullet he had taken, the one that had given him his dignity and his nickname.
    “The doctors say Merit Beason will be out in a week, working in two. Nurses say it will be a day or two. Let’s go with the nurses.”
    “I do when the opportunity arises,” I joked.
    Straight-Ahead did not smile and neither did the white-uniformed doctor who stepped into the room. “Can’t you read the sign on the door?” he said angrily.
    I recognized him before he realized who I was, though I was sure Dr. Marcus Parry had changed a hell of a lot more than I had in the past year or two since I had last seen him. He looked shorter, thinner, paler. His blond hair was darker and his forehead higher. He was somewhere in his late twenties but he looked my age.
    “Peters,” he said.
    “Guilty,” I agreed.
    “Get out,” he said.
    “Good to see you again, too,” I answered with a grin.
    Parry was not charmed.
    “My fault, Doc,” whispered Straight-Ahead. “I called him, told him to come.”
    “This is your closest relative?” Parry asked, shaking his head incredulously and plunging both hands in the pockets of his white hospital jacket.
    “Got no relatives in California,” Merit said with what looked like a smile. “Beason clan remained in Nevada. Friends are few. We come into the world alone, leave it alone.”
    “Those are his cheery words for the day,” I said.
    Parry was still not amused.
    “Last request from the recovering patient,” Straight-Ahead said as I walked to the door. “Call Jack Ellis. He’s between jobs. See if he can take over at the Alhambra for a night or two. Merit Beason would ask you but you have to hit the streets in search of our Alex and Teddy. The call would be made from here but the Axis seems to have snuck in this morning and removed the phone.”
    “I’ll take care of it,” I said, and eased past Doc Parry and into the hall. Parry followed me, closing the door behind us. Before he had been drafted, Parry had done his residency in the Emergency Room of County Hospital, and I’d used him as my personal physician, a job he had taken reluctantly and out of curiosity, wondering how long my skull could survive the forces of evil using it for a Chinese gong.
    “Glad you’re back,” I said, putting out my hand. Parry didn’t take it.
    “That man is sixty years old,” he