Free 361 by Donald E. Westlake Page B

Then we rumpled the beds. The place had been searched. Quietly, with things put back more or less in the right spot. Nothing had been taken, not even the two guns.
    We went out to the hall, and I was just putting the key in the lock when the phone started again. Bill said to forget it but I told him, “No, we still live here. We don’t want them looking somewhere else.”
    I went back in and picked it up on the fifth ring. A guy’s voice said, “Kelly?”
    “That’s me,” I said. Behind me, Bill brought the suitcase back in and shut the door.
    “Will Kelly? Will Kelly, Junior?”
    “No, this is Ray.”
    “Let me talk to Will.”
    “Who shall I tell him is calling?”
    “Never you mind, kid brother. You just put Will on, okay?”
    “Yeah, sure. Hold on. I’ll get my big brudda for ya.”
    “Thanks.” He thought he was the one being sarcastic.
    I dropped the phone on the table and said to Bill, “Some guy. He’ll only talk to you. But he says Will instead of Bill.”
    “Okay.” He came over and reached for the phone. When his fingers touched it, I saw the stagefright hit him, and I said, “What the hell. All you have to do is listen.”
    “Yeah.” He picked it up and held it to his face and said, “Bill Kelly here.” He waited and said, “Why?” Then he waited and said, “What’s your name, friend?” Then he waited some more and said, “The hell with you.” His eyes swiveled to me and he grimaced. Into the receiver he said, “No I’m not hanging up.” He made writing motions with his other hand.
    I went over and got the hotel’s pen and a piece of the hotel’s stationery. Behind me, Bill said, “For all I know, this is some sort of gag.”
    I came back and put the pen and paper on the table and he said, “What was that name? No, I didn’t hear it.” His eyes found me again and he grinned and asked the phone, “Eddie Kapp? Who the hell is Eddie Kapp?”
    I grinned back at him. I lit two cigarettes and held one of them for him. I walked around the room.
    “To you maybe it’s comedy,” Bill told the guy, “but to me I’ve got better things to do. You want to give me a number, go ahead.”
    I walked back and stood watching.
    “I’ve got pencil and paper,” Bill said. He was enjoying himself now, acting like he was bored and irritated, all his stagefright gone. He picked up the pen. “Go ahead,” he said. “Shoot.” He winked at me, and I nodded and laughed.
    “Circle,” he said, writing it down, “five, nine, nine, seven, oh. Yeah, I’ve got it.” He read it off again. “Maybe I’ll call it, maybe I won’t” he said. He grinned. “Up y—” Then he looked at me. “He hung up.”
    “You, too. Here’s a cigarette.”
    He traded the receiver for the cigarette. “He wouldn’t give me his name. He said all he wanted was to give me the phone number. We should stick close to the room until Friday, and then we should call that number. When I asked him why, he said maybe the name Eddie Kapp would tell me.”
    “He’s getting out Thursday,” I said.
    “I know.”
    “Hold on a second.” I dialed the number, and after two rings a recorded female voice told me it wasn’t a working number. I hung up. “Okay, let’s get out of here. That guy’s already calling his buddies in the lobby. The Kellys are home.”
    We went out and down the hall to the freight elevator. I’d unlocked the door on the way in. I pushed the button, and when it came down we got aboard and I pushed the lock button on the inside of the door. Then I closed the gate and we went down to the cellar.
    The cat was sleeping on top of the desk. She raised her head and looked at us. Way down to our right were some whiskey cases. We went down there, and looked around. In a shallow concrete pit there were four tapped beer kegs, the copper coils running up the side wall. So it was all right, it was the bar and not the liquor store. We went over to the stairs and up them. This was a regular door, not a trap