Free The Empty Trap by John D. MacDonald Page B

reservations, trusting to his judgment and instinct, there being no time to check back. He approved a reservation for a one bedroom suite and a single on the same floor in the name of a Mr. Harry Danton of Detroit. Danton’s letter was on creamy thirty pound bond. The letterhead said A and D Enterprises, Incorporated, and gave a Detroit address, two phone numbers, a cable code. The accompanying check for two hundred and fifty dollars was imprinted with the name of the corporation, had been made out on a checkwriter, and was signed by Harry A. Danton. Lloyd remembered fingering the bond paper, running a fingertip over the engraved letterhead, and saying, after checking the occupancy board, “Okay. Confirm it.”
    He then forgot it until the morning of August fifteenth. He got down to the front at eight fifteen. He had had to attend one of the guest parties the night before, but had managed to slip out early enough to get in six hours. He knew that if he could get through the house routine, the office routine and the kitchen routine early enough, he could catch a nap in the three to five lull.
    Belter was the night man on the desk. He had twenty years of front experience and Lloyd respected his judgment.
    “Morning, Stu. Check-ins?”
    “A couple. The Durards. Old hands here. Two brat kids, but they tip the whole house. Another case where they’ll want a personal welcome from the new manager.”
    “Tell Smitty to let me know when they come down for breakfast.”
    “The other one, I think, is a problem. I don’t know how much, but a problem for sure.”
    “Ouch!”
    “Harry Danton from Detroit.”
    Lloyd frowned, then snapped his fingers. “Suite and a single. Right?”
    “Right. For about three weeks, he says.”
    “What’s wrong?”
    “You can smell money from here to there. He looks like maybe he runs a bank. I mean people might guess that about him. Not me. He’s got eyes on him like looking down a gun sight at you. He’s smartened up a lot, but the clothes are just a
little
bit wrong. And the way he talks is just a
little
bit wrong.”
    “You mean you know him?”
    “No. I wouldn’t have caught it from the name alone. But seeing him and adding the name to it, I ring me a far away bell, Lloyd. Mob stuff. Syndicate stuff. I’ve heard the name in that connection. Those people from the old days have gone very respectable, you know.”
    “If you’re right, he isn’t the type we’re after. But maybe you’re the only one who’ll be able to tell, Stu.”
    Belter grinned. “About
him
, yes. But the item in the single is going to churn this place. Here’s the sign-in. Miss Daintree West. About five nine. Really stacked. An accent right out of the five and dime. Blonde hair down to here. Black tight pants, green shirt, green shoes, green gloves to her elbows, mink stole. They came into Portland on a late flight and taxied out. While he registered, she stood right where you’re standing, yawning and combing her hair. Finally she said, ‘Jee-
zuzz
, Harry, snap it up! I’m pooped.’ She’s maybe twenty. He’s maybe fifty. She’s signed in as his secretary. If she can type, I’m old Dirty Thumb Gulick.”
    “So what do we do?”
    “One thing, Lloyd, you don’t do. You don’t push him around. For solid procedure, I’d recommend you close your eyes and hope they go away.”
    It wasn’t until late on the following afternoon that Lloyd had a chance to talk to Danton. He spotted them on the other side of the pool. Smitty had previously pointed them out in the dining room.
    Danton wore a white silk sport shirt, navy blue shorts. He sat in a deck chair wearing dark glasses, reading. His legs were pink from the sun. The girl lay beside him on the pool apron, face up, plastic cups on her eyes, body greased. She wore a bikini that looked as though it were made of white satin. Lloyd had already heard about the bikini. The comments were not exactly complaints.
    When Lloyd approached he saw that Danton was