The Last Cop Out Read Online Free PDF Page B

ready and all that was needed was the slightest move on either’s part to unleash a deadly slash. There was mutual respect, but no fear at all.
    “You didn’t say what you wanted, Mr. Burke.”
    “Just to let you know I’m still around.”
    Frank Verdun nodded sagely, his eyes half-lidded. “Are you trying to tell me you’re looking for a job on our side?”
    “Hell no, Frank. I just wanted you to know I’ll bust you guys wide open any chance I get and right now there’s a great big chink in your armor plate. Whenever Papa Menes sends in his biggest gun he’s running scared and I’m going to be climbing his ass all the way.”
    The Frenchman didn’t bother to glance down at the pair of automatics. His hand hovered over the nearest one and he was almost ready to do what he was about to say. “I could kill you right now, Burke. I have the perfect excuse. All it would cost me would be a day in court.”
    “Not quite,” Gill said. He lifted the hat off his lap and the .45 in his fist was pointing directly at the bridge of the Frenchman’s nose.
    Verdun chuckled and sat back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I didn’t figure you being that sneaky, not being a cop any more. You know what would happen if you knocked me off?”
    “That’s your second mistake, Frankie boy.” He reached in his pocket and flipped open the wallet so the Frenchman could see the badge. “Times change.”
    The snakelike eyes half closed again. “Don’t try to sucker me, Burke.”
    “It’s for real, Frankie,” Gill told him. “I wanted you to know so you can think about what’s going to happen.” He put the wallet back, lowered the hammer on the .45, stood up and walked to the door. “Just like the good old days, Frank, only now the stakes are higher.”
     
    The two hoods on the floor in the outer office had messed up the rug with their own blood and vomit and were making forced mewing noises as the pain tingled their minds back to consciousness. The brunette stood over the one with the broken arm, her lower lip clenched between her teeth, trying to keep from retching.
    She was taller than he expected, touched with a light tan, a body made to tease or please, yet carrying an aura of class that was just a little out of place around Frank Verdun. The Frenchman had his own peculiar tastes, he remembered, and she wasn’t the type at all. He looked at her again, frowning, then took her raincoat and hat from the rack, put his hand through her arm and led her outside.
    There was no resistance. She followed him blankly until they reached the ladies room, then she said, “Please ...” and he let her go in and waited. Five minutes later she was back, her eyes moist and reddened, a taut look around the comers of her mouth.
    “Let’s get some fresh air,” Gill told her.
    She nodded, slipped into her coat and they stepped into the elevator. He walked her down four blocks, then turned into a grill just off the corner of Sixth Avenue and led her to a booth in the rear. “Iced tea for the lady and a beer for me,” he told the waiter.
    “Iced tea?”
    “It’s easy to make.” He smiled funny and the waiter nodded and hurried away. When he came back he laid the two drinks down and took the pair of singles Gill held out.
    When she finished half the iced tea she took a deep breath and leaned against the back of the booth with her eyes closed. “That was terrible back there,” she said with a husky voice.
    Gill said, “I’ve seen it a lot rougher, Helen.”
    Her eyes came open slowly. “How do you know me?”
    “I was in court when you were a witness for the defense in Scobi’s trial. If you hadn’t testified, that stinking little creep would have wound up on death row. Why’d you do it, kid?”
    She gave him a tired little smile. “Because it was true. He was with me.”
    “Lennie Scobi was a punk hit man for the mob.”
    “And that night he barged into my room totally drunk and passed out on my bed.”
    “Nobody