The Price of Murder by John D. MacDonald Read Free Book Online

perfect blackness of the round hole in the kid’s white forehead in the same instant the impact knocked the kid back against the wall to rebound and fall boneless across the big automatic.
    He could feel the weight of the Detective Special in the side pocket of his jacket. He thought of Lee Bronson and wanted to see him on his knees with his face split and the big words forgotten, begging in the remembered language of the Sink. Begging like they all begged. Like Kowalsik had begged.
    He saw the bus in the distance, coming through the heat-waver over the asphalt of Sherman Boulevard. He could feel the city around him, sweating and sighing and settling toward the dusk and the night. This was better than being a cop. This could be much better. They let them out too fast, too soon. But they would come out and they would find that it was just a slightly larger cage. They would meet Johnny Keefler and then they would know about the bars around the bigger cage.
    The bus, on its way downtown, was nearly empty. He stepped up, showed his pass, and went back to one of the red plastic seats. Danny Bronson would find out just how strong were the bars of his new cage. Until he showed up it would be nice to call on the kid brother once in awhile. Keep him in line. It was a little disappointing the way Bronson had knuckled under so easily. Scared of his job. A big bastard, but soft all the way through. Even after Danny was picked up and sent back to Alton, it might be okay to stop around. Do a little checking. If the professor wanted to get his back up and knew how to go about it, he might make trouble. But it was a reasonable chance to take. It would be nice to stop around and talk to that Lucille, too.
    He half shut his eyes and remembered just how her legs had looked. They were very vivid in his memory, the rounded tender way her tanned thighs had been pressed together, the cherub face on her knee, the little bones of the slender ankles.
    He wondered how bad the professor wanted to keep his job. And how bad
she
wanted him to keep his job. No Bronson should have exclusive rights to a piece like Lucille. The way she looked, maybe he thought he had, but the odds said he didn’t. He was too solemn and dignified for a Lucille. Big sad-faced bastard. Full of the long words. Just another punk from the Sink who ought to get a good shove right back into the Sink. Apparently that Brookton Junior College wasn’t too careful about who they hired.
    At least the vividness of the image of the lovely legs solved one problem of scheduling. He decided that after he checked in the office he would go drop in on Talliaferro at the hotel where he worked and lean on him a little and watch him sweat. Sooner or later Talliaferro would slip. Maybe the way Judson had slipped. God, how Rich had stood up for Judson! You would have thought Judson was his son or something. He remembered the scene in Rich’s office, with Rich wringing his narrow hands and steaming his own glasses.
    “But, Keefler! You must use discretion! You
have
to exercise judgment. Terry Judson has stayed out of trouble for over eighteen months. He’ll be off parole in another four months. He’s got a wife.”
    And Keefler had stared at him, registering shock. “Rich, you asking me to goof off on my new job? I can show it to you right in the book. It says if a guy goes into apublic place and drinks in public, it’s a violation of parole. I saw him myself. I got here a statement from the bartender that served him and a statement from one of the guys on the team.”
    “But Terry is on that bowling team. So he had a beer.”
    “It’s a public place with a liquor license and he could have had a coke, couldn’t he?”
    “I’m going to have to ask you to drop it, Keefler. Your job isn’t to hound these men.”
    And then it had been time for him to show his hand. “Richardson, I didn’t come here for you to try to tell me how I should do or what I should do. I come here to tell you I