Murderers' Row Read Online Free PDF

such as the other girl was wearing. It has brought a little suspense back into our lives. For a while, there was hardly a thing a girl could reveal to you in private that you hadn’t already seen in public—you and every other man on the beach.
    But this kid was still on the Bikini kick. The scanty bra and G-string might have looked very sexy in July, but they didn’t go well with goose-bumps. They just looked ridiculous and a bit indecent. I got a folder of matches from my pocket and held it out. She waved her hands to indicate that they were wet. She leaned forward, sticking her face, and the cigarette, over the railing.
    I struck a match and stepped up to hold it for her, having no choice. This close, I realized how small she was: no more than five feet and maybe ninety pounds of toy blonde. Her hair, cut boyishly short, was that pale color that doesn’t even darken much when wet. It was plastered unbecomingly to her small head. Even so, soaked, shivering and practically naked, she was cute. You wanted to drop a handkerchief over her when nobody was looking, and slip her into your pocket, and take her home for a pet.
    â€œThanks!” she said, throwing back her head and blowing smoke at the night sky. “I gu-guess you think we’re d-drunk or c-crazy. Funny thing is, you’re p-perfectly right!”
    I grinned at her, in response, and walked away. I got into the car and took out a handkerchief and wiped my hands, which were slightly damp with perspiration—I’d half-expected somebody to start yelling murder while I stood there being polite and helpful. I started the little blue Ford they’d given me. Lash Petroni would drive something flashy on his own time, but he’d want an inconspicuous heap when he was working. I backed out of the slot and started towards the highway. I had to remind myself not to attract attention by hurrying.
    The little blonde, wrapping herself in a striped beach towel under the pool lights, paused to wave at me as I drove past. She wasn’t only cute, she was friendly, too. Under the circumstances, I may be forgiven for preferring the attitude of the other girl, the lean, dark, reserved one, who wouldn’t demean herself by bumming matches from strangers. Well, time would tell how much damage had been done, if any.
    It didn’t take much time. I didn’t even get halfway to Washington before I was picked up.

5
    When I heard the siren and saw the red flasher coming up in the mirror, I glanced at the speedometer to make sure I was operating within the law and held on, hoping they’d go past to bother somebody else. They didn’t. I pulled over onto the shoulder, therefore, like a docile citizen, and cranked down the window, waiting for the first policeman to come up.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, officer?” I asked.
    Then I saw the revolver in his hand, and I knew I was in real trouble. They don’t unlimber the firearms for a simple traffic offense. I’d been hoping to make Washington, where I’d have turned in the car for burial, along with everything else connected with the fictitious Lash Petroni, who’d have ceased to exist. That was the first line of defense, if things went wrong. The second was to stick to my Petroni cover and hope for the best.
    The one thing I had no authority to do was to reveal myself publicly as a government agent who went around beating up people—not to mention leaving them dead on the floor. That decision was Mac’s to make, not mine.
    I had no choice. I drew a long breath and became Lash Petroni until further notice. “I asked you a question, buddy,” I said harshly as the state policeman reached me. “What’s the big idea, stopping me like this? I wasn’t doing over fifty-five, and what’s with the crummy artillery, anyway? Here’s my license—”
    â€œPlease keep your hands on the steering wheel, sir.” He was very polite and