Dead Reckoning Page #2

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Will call later, the message said.

That was 10 hours ago.

How long is "later"?

What to do in a hot wind, smelling

of jasmine except wait and sweat...

... and prime the body to sweat more?

A phone directory might help.

I'd never heard of Johnny

speak of any relatives...

... but I was ready to try anything.

"Prendergast, Prescott, Prestwood."

Stalled again, like a jeep

on synthetic gas.

48 hours since he'd called

and no word.

I'd pitched the Cardinals

into the pennant...

... and set the Red Sox down

in the World Series.

Suddenly, Johnny's service record

came to me like a photograph.

He'd enlisted October 11, 1943.

Whatever jam he'd got in

must have been just before that.

It might have made the papers.

There it was, Father.

All over page one.

Only five weeks before Johnny enlisted

under the name of Drake.

The rest was what you'd expect.

Nationwide search. A murder indictment.

Search for Johnny goes limp.

Story dribbling off

until it fell out of the paper.

The newspaper gave me answers...

... but there were three things

I had to find out:

How could Johnny be a murderer?

Why come back here where he was

hotter than the weather? And why?

Why not another word

from him since that first call?

Listen, honey.

Haven't you got any

radio news programs in this city?

All I get is commercials

and a lot of that apple pan dowdy.

Not until 12:
00?

Well, thank you kindly, ma'am.

I thought I'd turned the juice off.

But I'd flipped it

to the police call band.

Car 42 reporting in.

Car 42 reporting in.

Broken railing on Tarpon Springs

Turnpike was due to auto smash.

A burned sedan.

Body, charred beyond identification.

Been there two days.

Send morgue wagon.

- Car 42 reporting. Got it?

- Okay, 42. Got it.

Two days ago. That'd be the night

Johnny was to call me. Maybe he...?

I was getting desperate,

but it might be a lead.

There was one place in town

where I could find out for sure.

Evening.

- Could I take a look in your icebox?

- Somebody special?

Missing Persons

thought I ought to look.

- Who's missing?

- What's it to you?

- Homicide Squad.

- Lieutenant Kincaid.

- I thought you was a morgue buff.

- Buff?

A nut like those guys

that chase fires.

I didn't know Homicide men

hung out in the morgue.

- Where you from?

- Out of town.

- Frisco.

- How did you know?

The accent. I can spot any accent.

What's the name?

Charlie Wilson. Met him on the train.

I thought I talked him out of suicide.

He didn't show for dinner.

No word since.

- Yeah? I meant your name.

- I gave all that to Missing Persons.

Okay, mister. Okay.

I'll handle this, Willie.

Thanks, Willie.

- Fished this one out of the Gulf.

- Pass.

- Hit and run.

- No, he's too old.

- What'd he look like?

- Medium.

- Medium what?

- Medium young, medium height.

- Medium weight.

- Very illuminating.

You can call him medium, what's left

of him. Barracuda got the rest.

That's the lot.

- All the rest empty?

- Yeah.

Not much business

for the one cool spot in town.

- One just came in, but he don't fit.

- How do you know?

- You said suicide.

- I was guessing.

This one came from a car smash.

You don't want to see him.

- I might as well blanket the field.

- He's as crisp as bacon.

- I can stand it if you can.

- Okay.

He was like a lump of charcoal.

Johnny's build.

It might be Johnny.

It might not.

No hardware on him?

Wilson had a wristwatch.

Nothing. He'd been cleaned as though

somebody didn't want him identified.

The only thing was a hunk

of melted gold, like a tooth.

Only it's big for a tooth

and it's got some black stuff on it.

Black enamel and gold.

Johnny's senior society pin.

So, Johnny had taken his last jump.

- What's it look like to you?

- Gold bullet?

Are you kidding?

That's an idea.

The newspaper boys will go for that.

Kincaid would check

with Missing Persons...

... and find out I'd never been there

but I wasn't worrying about that.

I was thinking, now I won't have

to say goodbye to Johnny.

I remembered him in Berlin.

The crazy song he always sang.

I used to say,

"You drive me nuts with it." Yeah.

Why, I used to say to him...

Let's just say I remembered Johnny,

laughing, tough and lonesome.

Let's just say that.

But I knew all at once I had a job.

They don't give out the Congressional

Medal to guys wanted for murder...

... but he was gonna get it.

I was going after whoever

tried to gyp him out of it.

Why should anybody kill Johnny?

Because he hadn't shot Chandler

and maybe knew who did?

There was a photo in

the Gulf City Statesman.

Louis Ord,

a waiter at the Sanctuary Club.

He was a witness at

the Chandler inquest.

Maybe he wouldn't help,

but you gotta start somewhere.

And he'd be fine. Mr. Louis Ord

would be fine, just dandy.

I felt like a fight, Father.

I felt like a fight.

How many, sir?

You alone, friend?

I have a small table.

The bar is good enough, thanks.

It looked like feeding time

at the zoo.

All you needed was money to start with

and bicarbonate of soda to finish.

- What'll it be?

- Rye and water.

- Plain water?

- Yeah.

Here you are, sir.

- Come here, sweetheart.

- Yes, sir?

Didn't you used to be a waiter here?

Louis Ord, 45, single?

I seem to know your face,

but the name...

Remember a guy named Johnny?

In this business you meet

lots of Johnnies, sir.

You were a witness against this one.

He acted like a mine

had gone off under his feet.

I hadn't seen a guy look

that scared since jump training.

- Who are you?

- The name is Murdock.

- Capt. Murdock?

- How'd you know?

- Johnny's told me about you, captain.

- Skip the captain. Where is he?

He's been holed up at my place, until

two days ago. I ain't seen him since.

- Who else has he seen here?

- No one, that is, except her.

The Chandler doll?

What's she like?

She's tops.

With him, with everyone.

- When did he last see her?

- I don't know that.

Just before he left my place,

he gave me a letter for you.

What are you waiting for?

Give it to me.

- Come on. Where is it?

- Here.

- Hand it over. Give it to me.

- Go on and give it to him.

Not here.

Tomorrow morning at your hotel.

- I have that table for you, friend.

- I didn't want a table.

Sorry, sir. My mistake.

There was something about him I didn't

like. Maybe his calling me "friend."

Evening, Mrs. Chandler.

A Ramos gin fizz?

Nobody can make them the way you can.

Thank you...

...very much.

- Cinderella, with a husky voice.

- Where have we met?

In another guy's dreams.

You still sing that song?

- Who are you?

- Rip Murdock.

Where is Johnny?

You haven't told me if you still sing

that song. You remember it, don't you?

Excuse me. The boss said

to ask you as a favour...

...will you sing that song

when you were in the show?

- I couldn't, not possibly.

- As a favour to him, he said.

Yeah, I'd like to hear it.

All right, but just that one.

I'll take that table now,

friend, for two.

I hated every part of her,

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