Oh, Murderer Mine | Page 9

"Okay."
Doan waited until Trent's door was shut, and then he slipped the catch on the door next to him with his knee. In one smooth motion, he darted out of the car and slammed the door shut behind him. He was not a split second too soon. Carstairs broad, moist muzzle slapped against the inside of the glass an instant after the door thumped shut. His eyes glared through at them, greenishly malignant.
"What's the idea?" Trent asked.
"He's a dry," Doan explained. "He hates liquor. I don't like to take him in bars because he raises hell. He sneers at the customers and barks at the bartender and tips over tables. Hurry up. It's twenty minutes to twelve."
They went up three steps and into a long, dreary room with a bar running along the length of one wall. The place was empty except for the bartender and one chummy customer. The chummy customer hailed them with a loud and lonesome cheer.
"Hiya! Hi there, fellas! Have a drink, huh?"
"Now, Bert," said the bartender.
"Well, I know that guy there," said Bert. "I sure do know that guy. I sure seen his face before lots of times. Sure. Now wait a minute. Don't rush me." He came weaving along the bar. "Hi, fella! I seen you before, ain't I, huh? Huh?"
"Lay off, Bert," said the bartender.
"Yee-hoo!" Bert yelled joyously. "I got it! I know where I saw you! In all them ads for all that face cream junk! Sure! How are you, little old Handsome little old Lover little old Boy? Woo-woo-woo!"
Eric Trent hit him on the side of the neck with the edge of his palm. Bert came apart at the seams. He hit the floor so hard he bounced. After that he didn't move at all.
"Here!" the bartender said indignantly. "What's the idea? He's my best customer. I recognize your face myself. If you want to marry some old crow for her dough and advertise it in all the magazines, you've got no right to get sore if people rib you about it. What did you do to Bert?"
"This," said Trent.
The bartender's jaw smacked against the edge of the bar, and then he slid gently and slowly down out of sight behind it.
"Let's get out of here," Trent said.
"I think maybe that's a good idea," Doan agreed reluctantly, looking at the electric clock behind the bar.
It was thirteen minutes of twelve.
They went back outside, and Doan opened the left door of the sedan.
"Oh, stop snorting at me," he ordered. "I didn't have anything to drink--not even a beer. Get in the back."
Carstairs climbed over the seat, muttering to himself.
Doan got in. "We'll have to hurry," he said. "It's almost midnight."
Trent pushed the starter. "I've lost my thirst."
"Well, I haven't," said Doan. "Drive around fast and find a place where I can pick up a pint."
Trent drove out on the boulevard. "I've got a bottle at home you can have."
"Where?" Doan demanded. "I searched that apartment from stem to stern the other morning when I was suddenly taken with a hangover."
"That big green book in my bookcase--the one with the Greek lettering on it--is a fake. It's hollow. There's a fifth of bourbon in it."
"Do tell," said Doan. "Have you got any more literature like that?"
"No. I wouldn't have that except for the fact that my wife bought it for me."
"She's very thoughtful of you," Doan told him. "She not only gives you liquor, but she also provides you with a party named Doan to drink it."
"Yes," said Trent.
They drove back through the winding residential streets. Trent parked the car at the curb near the Pericles Pavilion, where it had been before. Garages are an affectation in Southern California and aren't used except by people who wish to impress, or don't trust, their neighbors.
"Come on, stupid," Doan said, holding the door open for Carstairs.
The three of them were on the steps of the apartment building when the chimes in the university chapel tower began to boom lugubriously.
"Twelve o'clock," said Doan, pushing through the doors into the lobby, "and all's well."
And then the three of them stopped short.
"What was that?" Trent demanded.
"A dame screaming," said Doan. "There must be a wife-beater hidden around this rat trap somewhere."
He was watching Carstairs. Carstairs had his head raised alertly. His ears were pricked forward, and a muscle quivered nervously in his shoulder.
"Find them," said Doan.
Carstairs and Doan both moved so fast then that Trent was caught flatfooted. Carstairs was at the top of the first flight of stairs and Doan was halfway up before Trent could get started. He pounded after them, taking the steps three at a jump. He turned out into the hall at the top.
Doan was halfway along it, standing in front of an open apartment door. He had his right hand inside the