The Penny Ferry - Rick Boyer Read Online Free PDF Page B

Joe.
    "Right," I said. "They were just
trying to get you drunk so they could get in your pants, right Joe?"
    "Absolutely."
    Mary stopped and weaved. She stared at us, squinting
in incredulity.
    "Really? Really, you guys? They wanted to get in
my pants?"
    "Yep," I said. "That's all they
wanted. They just— hey!"
    She was heading back toward the bar. She wasn't
dawdling either. We caught her and turned her around.
    "You gotta watch Sis . . . hasn't changed a bit
since the old days."
    "What do you mean by that?" I asked.
    "Nevermine Charlie . . . jes' neveryoouuumine .
. ." she said.
    When we rounded the corner O'Hearn was waving us over
with his arm. Mary said she was tired. I parked her in Joe's car,
where she stretched out on the back seat, Before I'd shut the door
she was asleep. No more Lucky Seven for you, kiddo.
    O'Hearn swung his car around fast with Joe in front.
I hopped in the back. Joe turned and looked at me.
    "Well guess what? They just found another stiff
in a ruined factory off Western."
    "What?' What the hell is this, a Cagney flick?
Joe, correct me if I'm wrong, but Lowell's not a murder town, is it?"
    "Naw. It's a tank town but not a murder town.
It's scruffy and rough, but not mean. Killing is pretty rare up here;
that's why I think the Mob's in on this one."
    " Factory we're goin to's an old textile mill,"
growled O'Hearn.
    "Found this dude inna chimney."
    "In a chimney ?
Look you guys, all I wanted to know was what happened to my dental
work, and so far we haven't found out anything."
    "And sad to say you probably won't now. If it's
not back at Dependable's office, I can't imagine where in hell it is.
The murderers might have just grabbed everything. Shit— now I'm
going to have to phone Sam Bowman and tell him that his partner and
friend john Robinson has been murdered. I tell ya, my job's a barrel
of laughs sometimes."
    "You think Johnny might have left the stuff he
was carrying at his office?"
    "A chance. We'll check it out tomorrow. Turn
here, Kev."
    We turned and saw a Lowell black-and-white parked
over beyond the old factory gate, its blue lights winking. We drifted
into the yard. It had all the earmarks of a hundred-year-old textile
mill: huge chimney for the boilers, loading docks, sheds, long, low
buildings with roofs of tar and corrugated metal, but mostly the mill
itself, a huge building of dun brick with narrow, metal-frame
windows, an old clock turret, and tiny street-level doorways. It had
a wall around three sides. It was a brick penitentiary. It was dismal
and deserted. It was a little frightening, perhaps made more so by
the nature of our errand.
    The chimney was huge but unattached to the boiler
room, which had been torn down when the plant was converted to
electric power. There was a large jagged hole in the chimney's base
where the flue had entered it. All around this opening lay piles of
broken bricks, the remnants of the old flue bridges, which had
collapsed. Some of these were yellowish-red; others were glossy
black, indicating they'd been on the inner flue wall.
    A uniformed cop and a plainclothesman stood halfway
up the rubble mound inside the chimney, which was about twenty feet
across at its base. Their feet and pants were bright, their upper
bodies dim in the darkness of the interior, and their faces
invisible. We entered the old structure and began climbing the pile
of bricks, mortar, and junk. Joe knew the detective and stopped for a
second while O'Hearn and I went on up alone. On top of the heap was a
dead man lying on his back facing straight up, his glazed eyes
half-open. His mouth was drawn back as if he had died in pain. The
reason for this was obvious: a giant reddish-brown stain on his
shirtfront the size of an LP record.
    "Stab wound," said the detective to Joe.
"Opened him up real good. No I.D. or wallet, but it's not
robbery."
    The man was young and handsome and looked Italian.
His clothing was expensive and well cut. His hair appeared to be
styled, and he wore soft