The Third Figure Read Online Free PDF

yourself looking down a gun barrel or lying with your face on the floor mat of Russo’s shiny new Cadillac, don’t forget there’s one little flaw in your M.O. that we haven’t even discussed yet.”
    “What’s that?”
    “It’s your unfortunate habit of wandering around like a kid playing blindman’s buff. You’ve admitted to me, several times, that you just ‘follow your nose,’ as you put it, until—surprise—there you are: you’ve found your murderer. You can reach out and touch him—and he can touch you. With whatever’s handy. So far, you’ve been lucky. All your murderers’ve been amateurs, just like you. Either that, or the police haven’t been far behind. But you can’t buck the odds in this business, Steve. For a while you can, but sooner or later you come a cropper. Ninety-five times out of a hundred, we could run things with just one man in a squad car, for instance. We could do the job a lot cheaper, and make the taxpayers a lot happier. But then comes the ninety-sixth time. And it means a man’s life. It’s as simple as that.”
    “Well, I think you’re exaggerating. You—”
    “All right,” he interrupted sharply, raising a peremptory hand. “If you won’t listen to anything else I’ve said, for God’s sake, remember this: whatever you do, have the basic, elementary common sense not to stay in La Palada. Not that it’ll make a damn bit of difference, if they decide to—to discipline you. But at least you’ll be in more or less friendly territory.”
    “All right, that’s good advice. How far is La Palada from Los Angeles?”
    “Just a few miles, depending on where you are in L.A.,” he answered moodily. “As a matter of fact, I know of a good place for you to stay. It’s the Prescott Motel. It’s a nice place, and it’s not far from La Palada. Not too expensive either.”
    “Good. Thanks. Do you think I should notify the CIIB before I go? As a precaution?”
    “Oh, for …” He slammed down his cup, hard. His voice was loud and exasperated as he said, “Can’t you get it through your head what you’re getting yourself into? If you notify the CIIB, the first thing they’ll do is put a tail on you. Either that, or they’ll demand that you inform for them. But either way, you’d be cutting your chances of survival by about three hundred per cent. It’s bad enough, your wandering down to see Russo like he was some—some potentate in the Shriners, or something. But for God’s sake, keep your—your innocence. It’s the only thing that’ll get you back in one piece. It’s bad enough, you’re coming here. That was stupid enough, if you really want my opinion. But if you go to the CIIB, or the FBI, you’re just asking for—”
    Suddenly the kitchen door opened. Mrs. Larsen entered, smiling.
    “You’re raising your voice, George,” she observed, cheerfully. “Did Steve do something else to make your detectives look silly?”
    He stared at her and snorted.
    “Not this time, Carrie,” he said. “Not this time.”

3
    B Y THE TIME I’D rented a car, drove across Los Angeles, and lost my way three times on the freeways before finally finding the Prescott Motel, it was after ten o’clock Saturday night. But Larsen had been right; the Prescott was a good motel, although not as reasonable as I’d hoped. I unpacked, changed into a sport coat and found my way to the dining room for a belated dinner. The motel was laid out in a wagon-wheel pattern, so that each room opened both on the outdoors and also on a hallway leading to the hub, containing the dining room, bar and lobby.
    After dinner, out of curiosity, I asked for a La Palada phone book. First I looked up Frank Russo. There was a listing for “F. Russo,” which seemed close enough. Next I tried Mrs. Vennezio. She, too, was listed, and I also found an F. Hanson, which might be Dominic Vennezio’s mistress. Reflecting that I’d exhausted all the contacts I had in the Vennezio murder, I decided to have