Read Murder Queen High for Free Online

his hand to the cold butt of his .32 and brought it out of its lair next to his chest. He let his cigarette drop and squashed it underfoot.
    The footsteps stopped. Odell held his breath and waited. A match rasped against boxside and the blackness thirty yards away was momentarily shattered as the stumbling man held the flame in front of him, peering.
    A silent laugh rippled Odell’s fat. Talk about luck! After all the trouble, here was Anglin walking right into the net. Okay, he wouldn’t wriggle out this time. He put the gun muzzle on the dark blob and walked toward the other man.
    Anglin froze. Then he hissed, uncertainly, “Who is it? Who’s there?”
    Odell kept walking toward him. “You know who it is, Anglin. Just don’t make any funny moves and you’ll be all right for a while. The chief says no obituaries.”
    “Odell!”
    Anglin whirled, tottered and groped wildly for the door in the alley next to his hand. Odell dropped the bundled burnoose and jumped forward, pistol menacing. Inside, he was laughing again. The jerk was walking right into the Ship of the Desert. Walk into my parlor, said — wait a minute!
    Was that the glint of moon on gun metal down at the alley’s end?
    Before Anglin could find the handle, the door abruptly swung open, letting a damned-up flood of bluish-white light into the alley. It blinded the startled Odell, but he remembered not to pull the trigger.
    Then he could see the groping figure outlined in the doorway. And beyond that squat silhouette, eyes wide and excited, was the amazed face of John Henry Conover.
    John Henry thought the alley had exploded. He barely had time enough to recognize the prowler in the doorway when the man was driven violently against him, staggering him. Then he realized all the noise had been a gunshot.
    Sin screamed and jumped forward to grab his coat. “Johnny, Johnny, are you all right? Johnny — ”
    “Okay, honey.” Automatically, he held up the leather-jacketed body by its armpits. He couldn’t see anything in the gloom. Dying away in the distance, he could hear the sound of footsteps, running.
    Barselou brushed past him into the alley. John Henry felt a shudder go through the figure in his arms. Sin was sucking in her breath noisily and staring cloudily at the man.
    “Isn’t there something — he’s hurt — ”
    Wetness had dyed a somber circle on the back of the leather jacket. The circle spread. The man twisted his head and sighted painfully up at him. He squinted his foggy eyes. They cleared momentarily and recognition showed there. A gasp was born in his throat. John Henry bent over him to catch the words.
    “You already got it,” the man choked. “Don’t — ” Tears flooded in agony and then the head lolled helplessly. John Henry straightened, frowning. His wife was frantically clearing pots and pans off a low wooden table, preparatory to using it as a bed for the wounded man.
    “Sin,” John Henry said quietly. “Never mind.”
    Another heavy pot clanged to the floor. Sin fastened blank eyes on him and Conover shook his head gently.
    “Oh, Johnny — ”
    “Dead?” Barselou threw the brutal syllable from the doorway where he scanned the body narrowly.
    “Think so — or close to it.” Together, the two men eased the flacid form to the linoleum under the fluorescent kitchen lights. John Henry suggested over his shoulder that Sin go out to the dining room, but she stood unmoving by the wooden table, hypnotized by the scene. Barselou’s big hand rested lightly on the man’s sunburned wrist. Then he got up, grunting. John Henry did the same and for the first time saw the silent spectators. The great kitchen was packed with white-shrouded cooks and helpers, robed waiters and, crowding through the swinging doors, was the orchestra, one or two members holding their instruments protectively.
    The headwaiter was as white as his Foreign Legion trousers. Barselou lashed at him. “Phone Lieutenant Lay, down at the police station.