The Shell Scott Sampler Read Online Free PDF Page A

nude babes around here somewhere, but that wasn’t important to Flannery and Wilkins. A bird in the hand is worth two or three in the bush, and they took off like hungry eagles.
    The male reporter was quick to follow them. Only Skull-and-Crossbones remained. I smiled at her and said, “Make yourself at home, dear. I’m going to finish my shower—love to feel clean … clean.” I went back to the john. In a moment I peeked out, but she had given up and was gone. A quick look toward the street showed me the whole gang of them waving arms. Grieg’s face was a splendid color. The blonde was in the Continental, looking out and yakking.
    So that took care of that. Grieg and I weren’t through with each other—barely started, in fact—but I figured the interruptions were finished for a while. I knew Wilkins and Flannery well, and that gang wouldn’t be back—at least not today. I took a look out my bedroom window. One floor below, Agony and Lomey were sprawled on the lawn where I’d dropped them, still unconscious. They had made a relatively soft spot upon which to drop the tired tiger.
    I went back to the bathroom. I opened the shower curtain all the way. My two nude lovelies were still there quiet as can be, big-eyed and pressed back against the tiled wall. Like the Purloined Letter.
    â€œThey gone?” the bronzed blonde asked softly.
    â€œYeah, all’s clear. Well, you can get dressed now—I stuffed your clothes in the laundry bag, along with the camera.”
    The redhead grinned. “Keep your shirt off. What’s the rush? You said they were gone.”
    I heard a siren. “There they go now,” I said. “I, uh, did I hear —”
    The blonde spoke, smiling an incandescent smile. “Torchy and I were talking … just a second ago … and she said…”
    Torchy, huh? It was high time I learned their names. The blonde—Brandy—told me what they’d been saying.
    I had to chuckle. Me, Shell Scott, the guy who is usually examining the dead ones…

The Da Vinci Affair

    I caught up with Lupo in the Happy Time, and it was a very unhappy time for Lupo.
    He was in a rear booth of the small bar on Third Street in downtown Los Angeles, having a highball with an older man, and he appeared to be unusually jolly. But his jollity died a horrible death when he glanced up and spotted me as I stormed through the door.
    It was past ten o’clock at night, but the Happy Time was not one of the favorite spots of most L.A. nightgoers and only a half-dozen other customers were in the joint. That suited me fine, but it didn’t suit Lupo at all. His eyes got very wide and his mouth puckered as if he had swallowed a pickle. He blurted something to the man with him, and the guy lit out, headed for the back door.
    For a half-second I thought the man might be Alston Spaniel, one of the two chaps I was eager to kill, but this guy was too large and flabby to be Spaniel. In fact, he looked like a man I’d seen with Lupo earlier, but that was singularly unimportant to me at the moment. The important thing was that the other chap I wanted to shoot, right in the eye, was Lupo.
    Lupo tried to slide from the booth himself, but he didn’t make it.
    By then I was close enough to whack my open left hand against his chest and slam him back to the wall. He hit, and his head clunked hard against the wood. His eyes wobbled, then focused on me—still very wide.
    I said, “Surprised to see me again, Lupo?”
    It took him a while, and he wet his lips a couple of times, but finally he said weakly, “Surprised?”
    â€œYeah, surprised. Astonished. To see me alive, I mean. You didn’t know anything about that art heist, huh? Not much you didn’t.”
    â€œI didn’t steal the damn thing, Scott. I swear. I didn’t heist that Da —”
    I cut him off. “I never said you did, Lupo. But you sure as hell