Corpses in the Cellar Read Online Free PDF Page B

moment later
     crashing to the floor as she was thrown off-balance by the struggling men.
    Griese had his breath back, and was jabbing in at Lock-wood’s ribs, leaving his own midsection wide open. The distance was
     too close to do any real damage, but The Hook went for it, once with the left, again with the right, and then threw up both
     hands, and pushed Griese back, breaking the clinch.
    Griese gave a howl of rage, and came in at him once more, but this time Lockwood was ready. He feinted with a right, then
     with a left, throwing the gangster off-balance, then came in again with a right that Griese took as another feint, much to
     his dismay a millisecond later, as the fist crashed into his face, the cheek on one side flying out in compensation as the
     other was compressed by the force of the punch. Before he could recover, another blow came in, boloing up into his stomach,
     knocking the wind out of him for the second time.
    Griese was looking stricken, but not finished, as Lock-wood’s eyes flicked toward the girl.
“Coup de grace,”
the detective explained, and then whipped in the famed left hook that had given him his nickname.
    Griese went down, all the furniture in the room jumping an inch as he hit. Once on the floor, he looked as if he’d been planted
     there permanently.
    Lockwood looked at Tawny, and she back at him.
    “Isn’t this the part where you’re supposed to brush your hands off and straighten your tie?” she asked.
    Lockwood gave a short laugh. “Looks as if you’ve got troubles. I can take him out of here, but you’d better get your key back
     from him first.”
    “Good idea,” she said, then bent over the fallen man.
    A moment later, as she stood by the door watching Lockwood haul her lover away, she told him, “You know, you
can
fight as well as you can…” she paused a moment, then concluded, eyelids lowered suggestively,
“Almost.”

Chapter Five
    Eddie Black was on the day shift today, and Lockwood had decided to see him first. So far the case was going nowhere, he mused,
     as he walked down toward the cop’s beat. Grand himself, his wife Debbie, Tawny, none had been of any help, nor had Griese
     last night after he’d recovered consciousness on the sidewalk outside the chorus girl’s apartment.
    “I’m tellin’ you nothin’,” he had said. “Except to tell you your life’s not worth a used scumbag.”
    Lockwood had heard that song before, and wore the threat lightly. He was used to handling Griese’s type, and was reasonably
     confident he could do so again. And if he didn’t… well, Lockwood thought, why ruin the remaining pleasant moments by brooding
     about that.
    Black was half a block away when Lockwood saw him. He was in front of what remained of the Palms, staring at it. As he approached
     the patrolman, Lockwood saw he was as handsome as he’d remembered him, in the way that so many of the black Irish were. Sharply-chiseled
     features, skin drawn tight over the bones, eyes piercingly blue, all combined with an aura of affability that just barely
     hinted of a darker, more volatile nature lurking right below the surface.
    “Eddie Black?”
    The cop, still concentrating on the charred nightclub, wheeled around. He regarded Lockwood blankly. “Yeah?”
    “My name’s Bill Lockwood. Transatlantic—”
    “Right,” Black cut him off. “Brannigan told me you’d be coming around.”
    “Good,” Lockwood said. “I just have a few questions.”
    “Do you mind if we walk?” Black asked. “I’m supposed to be patrolling this beat.”
    “Sure.” Lockwood shrugged. “I just figured, since you’d been standing here looking, from the time I spotted you…”
    “It wasn’t an easy thing.” Black’s eyes flared momentarily, then subsided. “All those dead people. I don’t want to think about
     it, and yet somehow I’m drawn…”
    “I understand,” Lockwood said, as they began to amble westward along the block.
    He took out a Camel. “Sorry I