Free Thanet Blake by Wayne Greenough Page B

on it. After all the years we’ve known each other, you still don’t trust me.”
    “It’s my job. I can’t take any person’s word that they’re innocent. They have to prove their innocence to me. As for my mother, she doesn’t own a thirty-eight. If she did, I’d have it checked.”
    You can’t argue with Holt. He’s too good at it. I changed the subject. “I’ll bring in the gun barrel, but I won’t give you the name of my gunsmith.”
    “That means he doesn’t have a license.”
    “Damn it, Holt, stop being a cop and act like a friend to me. I’ve decided to look for the person who killed Sudowsky.”
    “I was going to ask you to do that. You and your squeals.”
    “Why, when I’m a suspect?”
    Holt spent a minute cussing. “One of these days, I’m going to give you slammer time in a padded cell so I won’t have to put up with your damn questions. Take that smile off your beat-up kisser. You’re on the payroll. Go find Sudowsky’s killer for us.”
    “I intend to. First I want you to fill me in on details, if you have any.”
    “We got zero. We know the caliber of the gun, and that’s it. Now take your booze-and-cigarette smell outa here.”
     
    When I opened my office door I saw my old landlord sitting at my desk. The chewed-on cigar he’s never without was actually lit. It adorned his face along with the sour expression informing me of his daily bilious attack. Through a cloud of smoke he mumbled words I surely couldn’t have heard correctly.
    “Blake, I want you back.”
    See what I mean? For those of you who might have come in late, my ex-landlord is the one who kicked me out because I couldn’t pay the rent I owed him. I now have an office in an old theater guild building. I’m in the downstairs green room. Upstairs is an Irish Pub that is no longer owned by Paddy O’Malley Hooligan Schultz. A real dangerous somebody was after Paddy, so Paddy went back to Ireland.
    “Well, are you going to just stand there chewing your cigar, or are you going to sit down and tell me why you have given me the honor of asking me to come back to my original homestead?”
    “It’s the Isis Jones dame. She’s my new renter, a swell looker, but she’s crazy. I want you to tame her down.”
    “Oh, hell, do the same thing you did to me. Kick her out.”
    He burped and looked sick. “I can’t. She owns fifty-five percent of the building. Don’t ask me how that happened. I own the other forty-five, and I’m still the landlord.”
    I damn nearly laughed. “Tame her down? That sounds like you’re offering me a case.”
    “Yeah, I’m offering.”
    I poured him a shot of rye. He downed it.
    “You know my fee.”
    “You can have your old office back rent-free.”
    That sounded so good I poured him another shot. “Free for how long?”
    “Let’s say for how long the taming takes.”
    I gulped a shot of rye and burped. “All right, so where is this wild lady located in your building? Or should I say her building?”
    “She’s across the hallway from your office.”

Chapter Four
     
     
    Somebody should kick my ass. I need to ask more questions before I agree to anything. Oh, hell, I was back at my old office. A sign painter was painting Thanet Blake, Private Detective on my door, and my old landlord was chuckling.
    Peace had now reigned for sixty minutes. No one had opened my door asking for help. I relaxed with my size twelves on my desk top. I had smiled two times. All was great until my third smile. Gunfire erupted across the hallway. Being a nosey person, after a five minute wait I went to see why somebody should be shooting inside a building that is normally quiet. I’ll bet you know who the shooter might be. You’re right.
    Isis Jones was a swell looker, six feet of blonde, green-eyed beauty, with a hammerless .38 revolver in each hand. As she was not pointing them at me, but at two bales of hay a dozen feet away, I remained calm.
    “Hi,” she said. “You must be the Thanet Blake