The By-Pass Control Read Online Free PDF

white line, nearly unnoticeable, traced a curve down his cheek where he had taken a razor slash when we were on the same job below the border. He was a good guy to have around... one of the original bunch of whom so few were left any more.
    He grinned and stuck out his hand. “Hi, buddy,” he said. “Nice to be back.”
    I wrapped my hand around his and squeezed hard, my mouth splitting in a smile. “Let’s hope you think so when you hear the poop.”
    Don’s shrug was a masterpiece of understatement. “After that last bash anything will come easy. How many we have going on this one?”
    “We’ll do the initial fieldwork,” I told him. “Sit down while I fill you in. Want some coffee?”
    “Sure.”
    While he sipped the scalding brew, I gave him the situation to date, watching his face for any reaction. He was as good as ever, never changing expression, simply absorbing the details without question until I had finished, then giving a slight nod of understanding. But behind his eyes was that touch of ice that meant he recognized the greater implications and the possibilities that would result if we missed the target.
    He put down the graduated jar he had been drinking out of and stuck a cigarette in his mouth. “A rough one, Tiger.”
    “Damn rough.”
    “Where do you want me to start?”
    “Backtrack Vito Salvi. He would have done all the groundwork on Louis Agrounsky and if he had any leads, we’ll need them.”
    Don looked up from the match he had cupped in his hand. “If he had to chop up Doug Hamilton and those other two then he didn’t have much, did he?”
    “Maybe he was just insuring his information. Salvi was an old pro, buddy. I can’t see him giving me the entire story no matter how far the chips were down. He still would have held something back. He knew I was in the same league so he gave me more than he would have tossed to anybody else, but he was still on the other side and there are a few rules you’ll stick to no matter what.”
    “Okay, Tiger, so I’ll run it out. Then what?”
    “Play it by ear. I’m going after Hamilton. He’s the sour note in the concert. If you cross swords with I.A.T.S. or the locals, get right to me. We’ll get cooperation from the police and the Washington agencies up to a point, but don’t push the issue if you don’t have to.”
    Don grinned at me again. “Do I get to meet any beautiful blondes?”
    “Knock it off.”
    “I was just thinking about Panama.”
    “So I was lucky.”
    “Brother!” he said with a short laugh.
    Ernie Bentley gave us both a disgusted snort and shook his head. “You let Martin Grady hear that kind of talk and you’ll wind up behind a filing cabinet. For two guys with all the field experience you’ve had you still play kid games.”
    Don glanced at him, smiling. “You know what they say about all work and no play, Ernie.”
    “How many times has a woman ever shot you?” Ernie asked him.
    “Once.”
    “I heard different.”
    “The other wasn’t in the line of duty.” Don grinned again. He nodded toward me and said, “Ask him the same question now.”
    “Shut up,” I said. I looked at my watch. “Let’s get things rolling.”
     
    Doug Hamilton had lived in Manhattan in a four-room apartment that was one of the newer eyesores in a rebuilt city. Five years ago the site had been a row of great restaurants frequented by those who had loved the city and made it a modern wonder of the world. Now it was an index system of people in a massive complex of commercialism whose character had gone from blood and flesh to concrete and steel.
    The personnel folder Don had delivered to me on Hamilton listed his salary from Belt-Aire Electronics at two hundred dollars a week and estimated another one-fifty from other contracts he handled through his office. His agency was small but efficient and in business since the end of 1946. Recommendations had come from five other major companies who had used his service with