Everybody Had A Gun Read Online Free PDF

Iris. Maybe Iris Gordon had problems of her own, but right now I was more interested in my problem and her conversation. I checked the address on the identification card again and started the car. I wanted to see that redhead, sure; I had to see her if I could find her, but I'd done enough foolish things for one day. Before I started throwing my weight around, I wanted to know more about the lovely Iris.
    I headed for De Longpre Avenue and the Caldwell Apartments. Number 7 was on the second floor. I walked right up, paused in front of the door, then knocked.
    I didn't expect Iris to be home, and I didn't really expect anybody to be there. I certainly didn't expect what I got.
    I got a barefoot gal in a pajama top. Uh-huh. Pajama top.
    It wasn't Iris Gordon. It was another girl, taller and heavier, with a strange quality about her face that I couldn't place right away. She cracked the door a few inches and looked out at me.
    I said, "Good morning. I’m Shell Scott. Is—uh—is Iris here?"
    "No."
    She answered quietly, looking at me, but she didn't elaborate. I was carrying the ball, so she waited and watched me.
    I said, "I'm a private detective. Iris—Miss Gordon—seems to be in some sort of trouble. It may be bad trouble and I'm mixed up in it. I'm trying to help us both. I thought perhaps you might. . ."
    "Oh? You're a friend of hers?"
    I hesitated a moment, then said, "No. Actually I just came here hoping to find something that might help me find her. I think she's. . ." I let my voice trail off. I'd started to say I thought she'd been kidnapped, but all of a sudden it seemed a little silly. I went on, "She had something important to tell me and she's disappeared. I think she may be in very real danger."
    She frowned slightly, then opened the door wide. "Please come in, Mr. Scott."
    It was then that I noticed what she was wearing, and under different circumstances I'd have leaped inside and barricaded the door. But I walked in sedately and she nodded toward a chair. She didn't seem to be embarrassed by her costume, or lack of it. She didn't even seem to be aware that my eyes were hanging by their stalks. The pajama top was several sizes too big for her and several sizes too small for me—any way you look at it. But it hung down far enough, leaving her shapely legs bare a delightfully disturbing distance up her white thighs.
    I sat down and swallowed twice, strenuously, and she smiled, just the ghost of a smile, a slight movement of full lips. She said, "Excuse me," and walked out of the room into another room in back.
    I watched her leave, walking easily and gracefully. Moving slowly, taking her time, which was all right with me. She was a big girl. Not ungainly or awkward, but large, a little buxom, with heavy breasts and hips and a look of strength about her. She was barefoot now, but in high heels she'd have been nearly as tall as I am.
    When she came back in she still had on the pajama top, but it was tucked into a dark skirt, and slippers were on her feet. I appreciated the fact that she hadn't taken more than a half minute or so out of the room, hadn't stopped to pretty herself up. Some women might have, even though I'd made it obvious that my call might be important. She hadn't been wearing make-up when she'd answered the door, and she didn't have any on now. She sat down on a couch opposite me and asked, "What is it you want, Mr. Scott?"
    I said, "Just to be sure we're talking about the same person, Miss Gordon is a redheaded girl, isn't she? Very attractive?"
    She nodded. "I think she was wearing dark blue slacks and a midriff sweater in light blue this morning."
    "That's the one. She does live here, doesn't she?"
    She nodded again. "We live here together. We both work at the same night club and share expenses here."
    I thought I knew what night club she meant even before I asked. "This night club? The name?"
    "The Pit."
    Marty Sader's club, the Pit. And there he was again. Sader was looming