Read [Mike Hammer 03] - Vengeance Is Mine for Free Online

slid to a stop at the eighth floor and the dames got out. They walked down the corridor to a pair of full-length frosted plate-glass doors etched with ANTON LIPSEK AGENCY and pushed in. The last one saw me coming and held the door open for me.
    It was a streamlined joint if ever there was one. The walls were a light pastel tint with a star-sprinkled ceiling of pale blue. Framed original photos of models in everything from nylon step-ins to low slung convertibles marched around the walls in a double column. Three doors marked PRIVATE branched off the anteroom, while a receptionist flanked by a host of busy stenos pounding typewriters guarded the entrance to the main office. I dumped my cigarette into an ash tray and grinned at the receptionist. Her voice had a forced polite-ness but her eyes were snooty. “Yes?”
    “The Calway Merchandising Company had a dinner meeting the other night. Several models from this agency were present for the fashion show that came later. I’m interested in seeing them ... one of them, at least. How can I go about it?”
    She tapped her pencil on the desk. Three irritable little taps. Evidently this was an old story to her. “Is this a business or ... personal inquiry, sir?”
    I leaned on the edge of the desk and gave her my real nasty smile. “It could be both, kid, but one thing it’s not and that’s your business.”
    “Oh ... oh,” she said. “Anton—Mr. Lipsek, I mean—he handles the assignments. I’ll ... call him.”
    Her hands flew over the intercom box, fumbling with the keys. Maybe she thought I’d bite, because she wouldn’t take her eyes off my face. When the box rattled at her she shut it off and said I could go right in. This time I gave her my nice smile, the one without the teeth. “I was only kidding, sugar.”
    She said “Oh” again and didn’t believe me.
    Anton Lipsek had his name on the door in gold letters and under it the word MANAGER. Evidently he took his position seriously. His desk was a roll-top affair shoved in a corner, bulging with discarded photographs and sketches. The rest of the room was given over to easels, display mounts and half-finished sketches. He was very busy managing, too.
    He was managing to get a whole lot of woman dressed in very little nothing in place amid a bunch of props so the camera would pick up most of the nothing she was wearing and none of the most she was showing. At least that’s what it looked like to me.
    I whistled softly. “Ve-ry nice.”
    “Too much skin,” he said. He didn’t even turn around.
    The model tried to peer past the glare of the lamps he had trained on her. “Who’s that?”
    Anton shushed her, his hands on her nice bare flesh giving a cold professional twist to her torso. When she was set just right he stepped back behind the camera, muttered a cue and the girl threw her bosoms toward the lens and let a ghost of a smile play with her mouth. There was a barely audible click and the model turned human again, stretching her arms so far over her head that her bra filled up and began overflowing.
    They could make me a manager any day.
    Anton snapped off the lights and swiveled his head around. “Ah, yes. Now, sir, what can I do for you?”
    He was a tall, lanky guy with eyebrows that met above his nose and a scrimy little goatee that waggled when he talked and made his chin come to a point. “I’m interested in finding a certain model. She works here.”
    The eyebrows went up like a window shade. “That, sir, is a request we get quite often. Yes, quite often.”
    I said very bluntly, “I don’t like models. Too flatchested.”
    Anton was beginning to look amazed when she came out from behind the props, this time with shoes on too. “‘Tain’t me you’re talkin’ about, podner.” An unlit cigarette was dangling from her mouth. “Got a light?”
    I held a match under her nose, watching her mouth purse around the cigarette when she drew in the flame. “No, you’re exceptional,” I