Walking Dead Man by Hugh Pentecost Read Free Book Online Page B

precautions broke down, so did any secrecy about it. The minute the story was out, literally hundreds of reporters, photographers, and feature writers from the press, radio, and television were storming the hotel. Someone had to deal with them, and that turned out to be my job.
    It was after one o’clock in the morning when I finally found myself facing the news corps in one of the private dining rooms on the main floor. They weren’t a happy family. They’d been kept without any information for a couple of hours. All they had was rumor.
    I made a short statement. “Someone broke into the penthouse where Mr. Battle is staying and took a shot at him. The shot missed. Mr. Battle is unhurt, though in shock and unable to make a statement. As yet the police haven’t identified the gunman. He apparently got away in the immediate confusion that followed the firing of the shot. That’s all I can tell you, ladies and gentlemen.”
    It wasn’t enough.
    “We understand special precautions were being taken to protect Mr. Battle. Why?”
    “The precautions were not special for a man of Mr. Battle’s importance,” I said.
    “Sentries on the roof, an armed guard outside his bedroom door; that isn’t special?”
    The word was certainly out. “Not special,” I said
    “He expected some kind of attack?”
    I tried to keep it light. “Not the kind that happened. He expected some of you people might go to any lengths to get an interview with him. He was tired. He wanted to get some sleep.”
    “Why don’t you level with us, Haskell?” It was a young reporter from the News whom I knew well. “We know Battle lives in fear of his life—the way he travels, the constant protection. What instructions did the sentries and the bodyguard really have?”
    “To keep out intruders.”
    “What is Battle doing here in America? He hasn’t been here for nearly twenty years.”
    “Seventeen,” I said.
    “Why is he here?”
    “He has a right to come and go,” I said. “This is a free country.”
    “We can argue that some other time,” my friend from the News said. “He must have had a special reason for making this trip. Two yachts, for God sake. It must have cost him a half a million dollars just to make the trip.”
    “I understand he may be interested in financing a film,” I said, and instantly wished I hadn’t.
    “Maxie Zorn’s epic?” My friend from the News grinned at me. “Is it true your ex-girl friend is going to play a nude scene with David Loring?”
    “I don’t think any casting decisions, beyond David Loring, have been made,” I said.
    “You hope!” my friend said.
    “I don’t have any more information for you, ladies and gentlemen,” I said. “The police will have to answer questions about the attempted crime. Mr. Battle is under sedation and I have no authorization to make any kind of statement for him. You’ll just have to wait for anything more. I promise to cooperate with you as best I can.”
    They weren’t happy, and I knew they were going to be milling around the hotel for the rest of the night, but there wasn’t anything more I could do for them.
    The Trapeze Bar was still open and I decided to go up there for a drink. The Trapeze Bar is almost literally suspended in space in the foyer to the Grand Ballroom. The walls are iron grillwork, and some artist of the Calder school has decorated it with a collection of mobiles of circus performers operating on trapezes. The faint circulation of air from a conditioner keeps these little figures in constant motion.
    Ordinarily the customers have begun to thin out at this time of night, but not now. It was crowded to the doors and the ordinary gentle hum of voices was now a loud, excited noisiness. I was about to turn away when I saw Eddie, the bartender, signal to me that there was an empty stool at the bar. It wasn’t until I slid onto it that I saw that my neighbor on the left was Peter Potter, Maxie Zorn’s deformed little PR man.
    “Been