Nemesis

Fran raised herself on one elbow and stared at him with wide frightened eyes.

“Who can that be?” she whispered.

Larry walked across the living room and picked up the phone.

“Yes?”

It was Meyers. His voice was flat and cold.

“I got a little news. A friend of yours got herself killed a while ago. A girl by the name of Corinne. Used to work at the Kicking Horse. Any ideas?”

Larry licked his lips. His hand on the phone was clammy.

“No. Who did it?”

Meyers laughed bitterly. “Good question. But they didn’t leave any calling cards. They just blew a couple of holes in her and walked out.”

Larry looked at the phone and worked his lips. But no sound came out. He was thinking of what Corinne had said: if Tonelli finds out I talked I won’t have a chance. She had liked him. He thought of the old desk clerk: She’s no tramp. If she gave you her number it’s because she liked you.

Meyers said: “Nothing to say, eh. Well take a tip then. Keep in the clear from now on. Get it? Layoff!”

The phone clicked.

Fran came into the living room. She had put on a robe. Her hair was tousled and the fear in her face made her look young and helpless.

“Larry, who was it?”

“Meyers. It wasn’t anything.” He put an arm around her and patted her shoulder. “Nothing to worry about, hon.”

She snuggled closer to him. “Darling, please stay out of this thing. I’m so afraid.”

“I am too,” he said. “I’m no hero. Everyone is telling me to lay off. God knows, I want to. But I can’t.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Make a telephone call,” he said.

Chapter X

He didn’t sleep much that night.

About six in the morning he dropped into an uneasy doze; when he woke the sun was streaming in the window and Fran was standing beside the bed with a cup of coffee.

It was ten in the morning.

He didn’t feel rested. He felt lousy. He drank the coffee and it didn’t help much. He put on a robe and slippers and got the telephone number from his watch pocket. It was Summerville 8649. He didn’t know where it was going to lead, but he intended to keep following every lead he got until he learned something.

He sat down beside the telephone stand and lit a cigarette. Then he dialed the department maintained by the telephone company. He gave the operator the number and she said, “One moment, please.” A little later she said, “I’m sorry, sir, that is an unlisted number. We can’t give you the address.”

He hung up slowly. He smoked the cigarette down and put it out. Then he dialed Summerville 8649. The phone buzzed twice before a suave voice said, “Yes?”

Larry talked quickly. “This is the proof department of the City Directory. We’re checking addresses for our next issue. Could you give me your address so we can check against our directory listing?”

There was a long pause. Then the suave voice said, “I’m sorry. This is an unlisted phone.” Larry heard a click as the receiver was replaced.

He swore softly. There must be some way to get the address of an unlisted phone. He remembered then a friend of his, Charlie Barret, an employee of the telephone company, had told him once that it could be done.

He called Charlie Barret. When he told him what he wanted Barret was dubious. “I can do it for you, Larry, but it’s against all our regulations. Are you sure this is important?”

“Of course,” Larry said.

“All right. It might take a little while. But I’ll get it. And keep this quiet, will you?”

Larry spent the afternoon waiting for the phone call. When it came he grabbed the phone nervously. He said, “Yes?”

“This is Charlie. I got it. But I waited until I got home to call you. I couldn’t talk from an office phone.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“Summerville 8649 is registered for Judge Avery Mills. The address is 1000 Lake Shore Drive, suite eleven-B.”

“Judge Avery Mills,” Larry repeated slowly. He was writing on the telephone pad.

“That’s it. 1000 Lake Shore Drive. Suite eleven-B.”

“I got it. Thanks a million, Charlie.”

He hung up and looked at the name. Judge Avery Mills. It didn’t mean much to him. He had heard it now and then. Mills was a Circuit Judge, a fairly young man, and well thought of, politically.

Well he would know more about it damn soon...

Chapter XI

It was eight o’clock when he got out of the cab at 1000 Lake Shore Drive. The building was new, glittering and impressive.

He went inside, crossed the lobby to the elevator. It was the self-service type. He pressed the button numbered eleven and the doors closed and he started upward.

He didn’t think of where he was going or what he was getting into. He had no more caution left. He had to know what was behind the things that had happened to him. There had been two murders. There had been an attempt to frame him. And until he knew why he couldn’t stop going.

He rang the door of eleven-B and waited. The corridor was wide, well lighted and carpeted in thick gray. Everything about the building looked secure, protected and prosperous.