Runaway

Runaway Read Online Free PDF Page B

Book: Runaway Read Online Free PDF
Author: Ed McBain
nothing better than to hold Luis’ throat between their fingers while his eyes popped out of his goddamned skull and his tongue turned purple. Enough to fill the Grand on a Saturday—a rainy Saturday, at that. So the cops had reached into their bag and come up with Johnny Lane.
    They had undoubtedly picked up his trail from Old Man Lefkowitz’s. If he had another half hour here, he was good. And in a half hour, he had to figure it all out, and then start looking for the guy with the zip gun, because the only way the cops would ease off would be if he had the guy in tow.
    Except, of course, that the gun was probably at the bottom of the Harlem River by this time.
    And the guy was probably in Alaska or points west.
    â€œYou ain’t even watching the picture,” the girl said.
    He turned abruptly, startled, ready to run. He thought at first that the girl was white, and he relaxed a little when he saw she was colored. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. She wore a white sweater that was filled to capacity. He could see that even in the dark. She was pretty, he supposed, in a hard brassy way, with high cheekbones and full lips, blurred now by the darkness of the theatre. There was a vivid slash of lipstick across her mouth, and the whites of her eyes glowed in the reflection from the screen.
    â€œNo, I ain’t,” he said. He hadn’t even noticed the girl sitting on his left, and he wondered now when she’d come in. She reeked of cheap perfume, but there was something exciting about the perfume and her nearness, and he tried to remember why the perfume stimulated him, but at the same time he told himself he had other things to think about besides some pickup in the movies.
    â€œThese three-D things are good,” she said, taking the glasses from his lap, her hand brushing against his thigh. “Suppose to put these Hollywood women right in your arms. Don’t you go for Hollywood women right in your arms?”
    â€œI … Look, I’m busy,” he said.
    â€œToo busy to watch the picture?”
    He felt an instant panic. Had she heard about him? Did she know he was the one the cops wanted? What the hell was she doing in Wop Harlem, anyway?
    â€œYes,” he said slowly, “too busy.”
    â€œToo busy for … other things, too?”
    He caught the pitch then, and he remembered the perfume, the same cheap heady stuff he’d sniffed that time on the Market. An idea began kicking around in the back of his mind.
    â€œThings like what?” he asked.
    The girl sucked in a deep breath, and the sweater expanded in the darkness, high and full, straining. “Things like a way to kill the night. Better than doing eye-muscle tricks in a movie.”
    â€œHow?” he asked.
    â€œA room on Lex. Not the Waldorf, but clean sheets. A bottle, if you can afford it. Or a pipe. You choose your poison. Not to mention a price that’s right.”
    â€œLike?” His mind was racing ahead now. A room on Lex, away from the eyes of the cops, away from Nigger Harlem, more time to think, more time to work it all out.
    â€œLike five for a roll,” she said, “and seven-fifty for all night. Plus the bottle. You got seven-fifty?”
    â€œI’ve got seven-fifty,” he whispered.
    â€œDon’t let the price throw you, man. It’s quality merchandise. I’m generous.”
    â€œYou’re on,” he said, making up his mind.
    He saw her grin in the darkness. “I knew you was an intellectual,” she said. “Come on.”
    They moved out of the row into the aisle, and she started for the rear of the theatre.
    â€œThis way,” he said. “We’ll use the exit down front.”
    â€œYou ashamed or something?” she asked, her hands on her hips.
    He decided to give it to her straight. “I got slashed in a fight. My arm is bleeding. I don’t want to attract attention.”
    She stared at him for a few
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