Transcript

Chapter 16 · Bullet Proof

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Chapter sixteen of bullet Proof by Frank Kine. The s LibriVox recording is in
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the public domain, read by Ben Tucker, chapter sixteen. Two days later,
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Johnny Lydell walked through the doors that said Wilson Dede's District Attorney in private.
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This time he did not have a uniformed escort. Muggsychelle sat in a
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chair near the window, a stenographer's note book balanced on her knee. She
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was staring out onto the tree lined street below. When Johnny Lydell walked in.
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Inspector Hurley. He sat at Deet's right, pounding on the ever present
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wat of gum. On the other side of the desk was a breathtakingly beautiful
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blonde, her coloring complimented by the dark black of her suit. As Lydell
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came in, she walked over to him, held out her hand. I
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understand, I owe my life to you, mister Lydell. Her voice was
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warm, caressing, even promising, you won't find me ungrateful. Her eyes
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smiled up at him. She turned returned to her chair. The district attorney,
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unwound his long loloe jointed frame from his chair, approached Lydell with outstretched
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hand, Nor will you find the District Attorney's office ungrateful lydel Inspector Hurley,
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he has told me of the role you played in wrapping this case up.
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He wrapped a clammy hand around Lydell's I must say that to some extent,
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I disapprove of the extra legal methods you employed, but in view of the
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successful termination of the case, I am prepared to overlook them at this time.
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He waved Lydell to a chair, faced the others. I've asked you
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all here merely is a formality. He began. The back Bay Boston most
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pronounced in his voice. I think this office is about ready to close the
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case of the death of Miss Merritt's father and the several other cases he smiled
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bleakly in Lydell's direction of justifiable homicide that were part and parcel of it.
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He walked around his desk brought the thirty two out of his top drawer.
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You can identify this gun as Seville's Miss Martin. The girl nodded, yes,
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sir, in a lucid moment. I took it from the desk where
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I saw him hide it. The district attorney nodded smiled benevolently. Thank you,
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lucky thing for the state that miss Merit such a good shot, Lydell
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grunted it. It was almost a miracle, mister Lydell, I know nothing
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about shooting. I I don't think I've ever fired a gun before in my
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life. The girl raised a handkerchief to her lips, made an effort to
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control herself. I'm sorry, I I guess I'm still not over it.
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Wilsondeeds fitted a cigarette to his holder, tilted it in the corner of his
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mouth. What exactly did you mean by that, remark Lydell. Lydell shrugged.
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I tied everything up so neatly. It might have been hard to Pensiville
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for murder, particularly for the murder of Merit. What are you talking about,
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early, he roared, You were the one who built up the case
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against him. You were the one who proved that it could be murdered,
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because a man would let his doctor shove a gun in his mouth if he
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thought he was examined in his throat. Lydell added morosely, I didn't say
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his doctor was the only one. There was a pregnant silence. Who else,
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hurly he demanded, Lydell pinched unhappily at his nostrils. Suppose it was
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his wife or daughter who was in the habit of spraying his throat. Suppose
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that instead of a spray, she put the muzzle of a gun between his
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teeth instead. Jean Merritt was on her feet, her face white, her
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handkerchief pressed against her mouth. I won't stand for this. You can't believe
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that my mother would have not your mother, miss Merrit. You you killed
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your father on the pretext to spray in his throat. You shoved a gun
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in his mouth and shot him. You must be crazy, Lydell, the
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district attorney roared. Miss Merritt was a prisoner of Seville's. You saw yourself
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that she has been kept under narcotics. Lydell shook his head. Not a
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prisoner, Mister Dietz, checked Doc Travin. They'll tell you that they are
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mostly old punctures. Janie here has been an addict for years, haven't you,
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Blondie? Isn't that what all the trouble whether your father was about.
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I'm warning you all, the girl muttered between clinched teeth. You're well party
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to this persecution, and I'm holding you all responsible Lydell nodded, we'll take
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our chances. The way I figure it, your father found out you were
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on the junk. Maybe your brother told him, the one who was accidentally
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shot to death. He gave you an ultimatum, placed you under Seville's care,
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fixed it so you'd have to marry Seville or you wouldn't get a dime
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of his money. But Johnny muggs Achille put in. Jean Merritt hired you
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to prove her father was murdered. If she killed him, why wasn't she
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satisfied to let it be marked off as suicide. The blonde walked over to
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Lidel glared at him. That's right, mister, smart guy. If I
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killed my father, wouldn't I be glad to have it called suicide? Not
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necessarily? A couple of things went wrong. In the first place, your
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mother walked in on you. You had to shut up, so you hit
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her over the head with the gun. That's a lie, the blonde roared,
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Is it? Then? How could you have known what did happen?
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You described it perfectly back at the hospital, but you didn't see your mother.
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She was dead when you got there, and she couldn't have told you
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at the house that night, because she was unconscious. I'm not staying here
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to be insulted. The blonde screamed, you have no right to do this
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to me. Deets wiped the perspiration from his brow, raised a hand to
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stem the outburst. Let him hang himself, Miss Merrit, not me,
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mister Diets, but miss Merrit. He turned back to the girl. You
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needed help, so you called Doc Seville. He took care of things for
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you by setting the scene for the tragic accident. You still haven't told us
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why she should call you in, barked the district attorney. She no longer
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wanted it called suicide. She wanted us to discover it was murder, but
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she wanted us to saddle the murder on Seville. I won't stand here and
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listen to these ridiculous and the girl screamed, I'm leaving, and nobody can
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stop me. They're not insinuations, miss Merit. They're facts. You killed
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your father, were responsible for the death of your mother. Then you tried
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to cover up by killing Tony Saville and saddling him with a guilt. The
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girl's face was white, haggard. Her lips were drawn back from her teeth,
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her cheek was twitching uncontrollably. You can't prove a thing, Inspector Hurley.
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He dropped his hand on the girl's arm. We can try, miss
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Merit. I'm arresting you on suspicion of murder. Murder, Who's murder?
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There was a new shrill note of hysteria in the girl's voice. My father's
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death is listed as a suicide. No amount of talk by this Shamus will
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change that. My mother has disappeared. Tony Sebil kidnapped me and was holding
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me in restraint, killing him with self defense. She started to laugh,
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very hysterically. You can't hold somebody for murder unless somebody was murdered. Frankie
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Coppola was murdered. Blondie Lidell told her. The laughter broke off on a
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high note. What's that got to do with me? Lydell turned to Hurley.
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He got a ballistics report on the thirty two. Hurley. He nodded,
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pulled a typewritten sheet from his inside pocket. Frankie Cupola was killed with
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the same gun that killed Seville. It was his gun, Tony's. I
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told you that the girl screamed. He killed Frankie not me. You can't
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prove I did. Yes, we can. Lydell told her the killer had
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a key to Cupola's apartment. He never would have given it to a lady
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killer like Seville. He would have given it to a girl, though,
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And besides, I wouldn't be surprised if we could persuade Clara Rose to do
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some talking about the times you visited Frankie there. Why should she kill Cupola,
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Deets asked. Lydell wiped the thin film of perspiration off his upper lip
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with the side of his hand, because she saw he was the weak link.
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He could have told Seville that she had hired him to shoot at me,
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something she knew would make me determined to see the case of all the
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way through. She was also afraid he might break and tell me what he
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knew, and she would have ended up in the death house instead of Seville.
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All eyes were on Lydell. No one could move fast enough to stop
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Jean Merritt from getting the thirty two on Deet's desk. She leveled it at
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Lydell. All right, maybe you can't prove it. Maybe you can't,
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but it won't do you any good. But you did kill Matt Merritt.
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Lydell asked why not. I hated him. He always blamed me for my
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brother's death, and I wanted his money, but he tried to fix it,
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so I had to marry Tony to get it. I wanted that money,
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and I wanted it without Tony. What about your mother, the fool?
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She blundered in after I shot him, she was going to yell.
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I had to hit her to keep her quiet. Then I lost my head
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and I called Tony for help. He threw her down the stairs, so
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it looked like an accident, but from then on he knew, and I
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couldn't let him go on living knowing that I killed my father. The gun
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pointed unwaveringly at Lydell's mid section. Everything was going fine. I had Tony
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all set up as a fall, but you had to spoil everything. Her
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finger was tight on the trigger, her knuckles white from the pressure. You
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were too smart, Lydell, much too smart. She squeezed the trigger twice.
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There were two metallic clicks as the hammer fell on the empty cylinder.
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Hurly He jumped forward, pinned the girl's arms to her sides. Lydell wiped
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the perspiration from his face none too smart, I'll admit, Blondie, but
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just a little bit smarter than you, smart enough to know that they always
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take the shells out of a gun when they do a ballistics check on it.
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The City room of the Advance was in the grip of the anti climactic
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stupor that afflicts newspaper offices after the last edition had gone to bed. Johnny
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Lydell picked his way through the organized confusion of the desks, pasted a group
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of men in their shirt sleeves pecking away at typewriters of varying ages and vintages.
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At other desks, men were sitting back drinking coffee out of paper containers,
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running through smeared galleys of stories they had filed. For the addition,
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scraps of copy paper, crumpled newspaper telephones that had lost their luster were scattered
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all over the room. Lydell headed for the city desk, where a lean,
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gray haired man with sharp, inquisitive features presided. His gray eyes widened
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as Lydell stopped in front of his desk. Hi Jim, he nodded Johnny
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Lydell. He got up from his chair, shoved out a gnarl claw didn't
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expect to be seeing you tonight. I thought the DA would have you on
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ice until he got the story. If Howie broke the Merrit suicide, Lydell
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grinned, shook his head. He can get enough of me awful easy.
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Besides, the Merrit kid cracked wide open. He knew that, didn't you.
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Keeley nodded, where's mugs? Keeley looked up at the fly specked face
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of the clock on the far wall. Blew out of here about a half
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an hour ago. Didn't even wait to see how the story looked. He
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picked up a blackened briar from his desk, clenched his teeth on it.
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She got a call from the coast tonight, Johnny water Back. Keeley pressed
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the tobacco down in the bowl of the pipe, applied a match. It
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made a sucking noise when he and hailed. She didn't say. He stared
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at Lidell with sharp gray eyes, going to try to stop her. Lydell
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shrugged with what. Keeley nodded, watched while a copy boy deposited a damp
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proof of the front page of the Advance on his desk. The Merit story
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was splashed blackly across the entire page Muggsy's byline, over three columns and fourteen
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point type. Keeley pointed to her name with the stem of his pipe.
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Imagine her blowing out of here without waiting to see that spread lydel grinned.
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She must be sick. Got Hollywood fever again? I guess, the old
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man grunted. He pulled the page proof over, checked through it, initialed
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it with the stub of a copy pencil, pushed it at the copy boy.
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Tell him to run it, kid. I thought she said she didn't
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want to stay there, Keeley grunted, Who the hell knows what a woman
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wants, especially the woman herself. He jammed the pipe stem between his teeth.
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She probably had some blow up with somebody out there. Now that she
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is getting her way, she's on her way back. Guess she is headed
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back to the apartment, Ay, Jim, The old man nodded, And
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that's as good a place as I need to start trying. Muggsy opened the
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door in response to his knock. Her face was wiped clean of all make
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up. The bridge of freckles across her nose was prominent. I've been trying
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to reach you every place, Johnny, She took him by the hand,
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pulled him in, closed the door after him. The most wonderful break has
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happened. Lydell nodded, you're going back to Hollywood. How'd you know?
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She demanded? Did Pop tell you? I dropped by the shop as soon
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as the DA's strong arm boys were done with me. They really gave you
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a spread on the story. You know. Muggsy's eyes were dancing. Tomorrow
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that'll be forgotten. But the assignment they dished out to me in Hollywood,
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Johnny, it's the biggest break of the year. She led the way through
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the French doors out to the sun deck. Muggsy pushed him into a wicker
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armchair. Relaxed, Johnny, Well, I get us the makings of a
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celebration. She disappeared into the living room. Lydell's brawled comfortably in the armchair,
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squinted at the tiny black knots that crept along the winding ribbon of the
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roads below. He looked up as Mugsy reappeared at the door, two glasses
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in hand. How's Jim taking it, Johnny? She handed him a glass,
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sat on the arm of his chair. Lightell shrugged. He didn't say
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much. I guess all right. He was always preaching that newspaper work was
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no job for a woman anyway. He never meant a word of it,
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and you know it. She slipped at her glass. I get a bang
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out of the excitement and the pressure and all that, Johnny. But on
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the coast it's more than that. I don't know how to explain it,
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but it's a terrific bang. Jim, we'll get over it, baby.
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He slid his arm around her waist pulled her down into his lap. I
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was wondering how long I was gonna have to ridge my fanny on that arm
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before you'd get the idea. She grinned up at him shamelessly. What do
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you think about my going, Johnny? It won't be the same old to
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talent mugs. I'm kinda used to having you around. Muggsy nodded. That's
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what I thought. So I've fixed it so's you could come with me doing
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what Lydell scowled. Changing the ribbons and your typewriter. Give me credit for
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some ingenuity. I cooked up a job that you'll fit like a glove technical
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adviser on what don't be so thick, Johnny, they're going heavy on crime
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and gangster stuff out there. That's why they've signed up reporters like said Baum
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of the Journal, and Martin Mooney of the Old American, and me and
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lots of others. They want the pictures to have some guts. You know
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more about that kind of stuff than any of us. Ah, there's no
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future in it, Lydell growled. You mean there is a future in being
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a walking shooting gallery for twelve hours a day and a punching bag for the
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d a the other twelve Lydell grinned, crookedly. And it's better than working.
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Muggsy reached up, kissed him. You always wear a screw ball,
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you always will be. I guess you're right. It wouldn't be the same,
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Johnny Lidell, if you were to wear pin striped suits and punch a
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clock. She got up from his lap, walked over to the railing.
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It won't be much fun out there without you. I guess it's like you
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said, I'm used to having you around. I'll be around, baby,
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when you need me. He got up, walked over to her, spun
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her around, kissed her hard. After a moment, she pushed him away.
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I've got a funny feeling you'll be out there, she grinned. Lido
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kissed her again, you know, he said. Finally, I'm beginnin to
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get a funny feeling too. End of Chapter sixteen. End of Bulletproof by Frank Kine