The Man Who Shot Lewis Vance Read Free Page B

Vance has been with his maker for maybe five hours. That how you peg it, Toby?”
    “’Bout that, Merit,” I agreed.
    He stood up, pushing his bulk from the bed with dignity. The springs squealed and the body of Lewis Vance bounced slightly.
    “And what do we do now?” he asked.
    “We call the police,” said Wayne.
    “That the way you want it?” Beason said.
    “No,” Wayne admitted, stepping forward. “It’s not the way I want it, but it’s the way it has to be, isn’t it?” He pointed at the bed and said, “We’ve got a murdered man here.”
    “Not the first in the Alhambra,” Straight-Ahead said. He now had his hands folded over his belly like a satisfied Sunday School teacher. “You even had one last time you filled in for me, if my memory serves me, right, Toby?”
    “You’ve got it, Merit,” I agreed. “Salesman in five-twelve, but it was suicide, not murder.”
    “Not that time,” he agreed. “Not that time.” Then to Wayne: “No, you see, Mr. Wayne, hotels usually don’t like to promote the number of people who get killed within them. It’s not like they keep charts and compete with each other because it will bring in new trade. No, we usually do our best to keep such things from the attention of the populace.”
    I explained, “It is not unheard of for a corpse to be carted off to some alley by a house dick.”
    Wayne shook his head and looked at us as if he had been trapped in a room with the incurably insane. “You mean you’re suggesting that we just take …”
    “Vance,” I supplied, “Lewis Vance.”
    “Right, Vance,” Wayne said. “That we take Vance and dump him in some alley and walk away?”
    “No,” I said emphatically.
    “Of course not,” Straight-Arrow concurred. “Too many people involved now and you’re too big a name. Sal—”
    “Olivia,” she corrected from her chair as she reached for my unfinished Pepsi.
    “Olivia,” Merit said, “would be happy to walk away and forget it. Toby knows the routine. He’d walk in a twinkling.”
    I nodded agreement and reached Olivia just as she was bringing the glass to her mouth. I took it from her. She gave me a dirty look, but I weathered it and put the flat, warm drink on the dresser near the gun.
    “So,” Wayne said. “What now?”
    “We get the killer in here and try to work something out,” I said.
    “That’s the way of it,” Straight-Ahead agreed.
    “But we don’t know who killed him,” Wayne said, running his hand through his hair.
    “Sure we do,” said Straight-Ahead, looking straight ahead at Wayne.
    “We do now,” I agreed. Olivia didn’t give a damn.
    I moved to the telephone, picked it up, and dialed a number.
    “The who of it is easy,” said Merit, unfolding his hands and scratching his white mane. It didn’t do his image much good but his head clearly itched. “It’s the why we have to figure. Then we’ll know what to do.”
    The killer answered the phone on the third ring and I said, “Get up to three-oh-three fast.” I hung up.
    The rain took this pause in the conversation to get really mad and started rocking the window in its loose fitting. It rocked and rattled and said bad things while we waited.
    “Can I go?” Olivia asked Merit.
    “Let’s all just stay cozy till we wind it up,” Merit said. “That’s how you put it in the movies, right?”
    “Wrap it up,” Wayne volunteered with a sigh. “Call it a wrap.”
    Straight-Ahead nodded and filed that information for future use.
    “You think he might skip?” I asked.
    “Human nature is a fickle thing. He might skip, it’s true, but where’s he to go? And going will be a confession. No, he’ll bluff it out or try. Besides, he doesn’t yet know that we know.”
    “That’s the way I see it,” I agreed.
    Wayne and Olivia looked at each other for an answer, got none, and joined Straight-Ahead in looking at the door and listening to the rain and the rattling window. I glanced at Lewis Vance’s body, trying not