Dick Tracy Read Online Free PDF

that,” Catchem said.
    Tracy was almost amused by his partner’s naive enthusiasm. He put a hand on Patton’s shoulder. “We don’t play it that way, Pat. We go by the book. Remember? When we get Manlis, and when we get whoever is after Manlis, we’ll put them both in jail.”
    “They belong in the ground, ” Catchem said.
    “If they shoot first,” Tracy said calmly, “they will be.”
    “Somebody may beat us to Lips Manlis,” Brandon said, surveying the roomful of corpses.
    “At the very least,” Tracy said, “somebody’s sending a message to Lips.”
    “And to us,” Pat said.
    “And to us,” Tracy agreed.
    The four cops exchanged glances; they were as silent as their sheet-covered companions.

I n a dressing room filled, with flowers, its bulb-outlined makeup mirror adorned with congratulatory telegrams, Vitamin Flintheart, who was on the wagon, lifted a champagne glass filled with soda water to toast Tracy and Tess. The couple’s own glasses brimmed with real bubbly from a bottle currently residing in an upended Viking helmet packed with cracked ice.
    “Even the Great Flintheart,” the Great Flintheart humbly said, above the clink of the glasses, “never quite becomes accustomed to a standing ovation.”
    Tracy sipped his champagne, thinking that Vitamin may have misread the eagerness of some of the Opera House patrons to rise and stretch at the conclusion of an interminable performance.
    “Richard,” Vitamin said, putting his arm around the detective, “I am delighted you returned from the scene of that carnage in the nick of time, so that you might savor my death scene.”
    “A lot of people died this afternoon, Vitamin,” Tracy said, “but none more grandly than you.”
    Flintheart beamed and bowed elaborately, making a salaam gesture. “Richard Tracy, graciousness is thy middle name.”
    Tess giggled. It was partly the champagne; but mostly Vitamin, who was the only man on earth who called Tracy “Richard.”
    Flintheart stroked his mustache, which, like his hair, had postperformance been returned to its natural shining white. “You must allow me to take you lovebirds to dinner. A veritable feast awaits the cast and crew at the Dorf Arms.”
    “Vitamin,” Tracy said, shaking his head gently no, “I promised Tess a quiet after-theater dinner.”
    “Ah! No doubt you’ve selected a suitably secluded, romantic spot for your lovely lass.”
    Tracy was getting embarrassed. “Thanks for the offer, anyway, Vitamin. We’ll leave you to bask in the kudos you’ll no doubt collect.”
    “Can I have my limousine driver drop you anywhere?”
    “No, thank you, Vitamin. The restaurant’s close by; we’ll hoof it.”
    “Well, at least let me walk you out, then, you two,” Flintheart said, gathering himself into a silver-fox coat, slinging a silk scarf about his neck, cocking his black hat sideways on his head. “Vitamin Flintheart can always use a police escort.”
    Tracy helped Tess into her black woolen coat; she slipped one hand into a dyed-black rabbit muff—a few small animals had died for Tess’s garment, whereas half a forestful had died for Vitamin’s—and the couple followed the old ham through the backstage area, where he bestowed his gratitude to everyone he met, from costars to stagehands.
    As the trio reached the front of the theater, a gaggle of reporters awaited beyond the doors, pencils poised over notebooks, flashbulbs popping in blinding little bursts.
    Flintheart, raising a hand to protect his eyes, said to Tracy, “You see, my boy—you see what I must put up with, with this cursed fame of mine? I’d best duck out the stage door . . .”
    “Tracy!” they shouted. “Dick Tracy! Tracy!”
    “What’s the story, Tracy?” said one of the eager faces in front.
    “Yeah,” another yelled, “who pulled off the Seventh Street Garage Massacre?”
    “Well, Bart,” Tracy said calmly, as he and Tess slowly but steadily shouldered their way through the clamoring