The Case of the Russian Diplomat: A Masao Masuto Mystery (Book Three) Read Online Free PDF

man?”
    â€œWhat are they saying?”
    â€œNothing. Gellman’s put the fear of God into them. I got it from Freddie Comstock, and he don’t say one word more than that they had a drowning.”
    â€œSal,” Masuto said, “how many hookers work the Rugby Room?”
    â€œAre you kidding! Sarge, this is a high-class hotel. We got an international reputation. We got presidents and senators going in and out of here. That’s no question to ask. You know that.”
    â€œCut out the bullshit, Sal. How many? It’s important.”
    â€œWell, look. You don’t get floozies or streetwalkers in a place like this. It’s a different kind of a hustle. A girl works in the Rugby Room, she don’t look no different from the classy broads you see on the street in Beverly Hills. Maybe she ain’t no different. They got class, good clothes, rocks, and they got the looks. They make out for fifty to two notes for a quick throw, and that don’t include dinner and drinks. We don’t have no pimps here, Sarge, you know that. It’s a whole other thing. They come in by twos, two girls, because Fritz won’t seat one broad alone in the Rugby Room—”
    â€œThey buy the ticket from you, Sal,” Masuto said coldly. “Either you talk sense to me, or I’ll bust your whole operation wide open.”
    â€œSarge, you got to be kidding. All right, a man works the door, he depends on tips.”
    â€œI asked you how many?”
    â€œOkay, okay. Maybe a dozen. Then there are floaters. They drive up in a two-seater Mercedes, in a twenty-five-thousand-dollar car—what am I supposed to do? Be a vice squad?”
    â€œBegin with the dozen regulars. I’m looking for a woman named Judy, about five seven, good figure, blond hair, blue eyes.”
    â€œThat ain’t no description, Sarge. That’s like a uniform. Anyway, in what you call the regulars there ain’t nobody called Judy.”
    â€œShe was wearing a pants suit, light brown suede, silk shirt, gold chains, those boots they wear now.”
    Monti shood his head. “It don’t register.”
    â€œDid anyone fitting that description drive up to the hotel last night?”
    â€œBlue eyes, blond hair, stacked-you just got to be kidding. I can name you twenty.”
    â€œAnd the costume?”
    Sal frowned and shook his head. “Jesus, Sarge, when the rush comes, I see them, I write the tickets, but the clothes. Maybe yes, maybe no.”
    â€œHow about this morning? Forget about the clothes. Did anyone fitting the description come out of the hotel?”
    Monti pointed to the door of the hotel. “Sarge, just watch that door, and if five minutes goes by without a blue-eyed blond broad going in or out, I’ll cut you into my take. It all comes out of the same bottle. It’s the Beverly Hills color. If they want blue eyes, they buy tinted contact lenses. If they want to be stacked, they buy that too. You know that as well as I do.”
    Masuto sighed and nodded. “All right, Sal. Thank you.” He rose. “One more thing—did you see Stillman this morning?”
    â€œNot yet, Sarge.”
    â€œYou’d know if he called for his car?”
    â€œYou bet.”
    â€œWhat does he drive?”
    â€œHe picks up a rental at the airport, usually a caddy. A yellow one this time.”
    â€œLook in your box for the keys.”
    Monti went to the key box, opened it, and stared at the rows of hooks. Then he looked at Masuto. Then he yelled, “Billy, run down the hill and see if Stillman’s yellow caddy is still there!”
    Billy took off down the hill. Monti went through the motions with the people entering and leaving the hotel, and Masuto waited in silence. Then Billy came pounding back up the hill.
    â€œThe caddy’s gone.”
    â€œYou made a note of the license?” Masuto asked Monti.
    Monti went through his cards. “Here it