Read Online The Shell Scott Sampler by Richard S. Prather - Free Book Online Page B

missed me, I wouldn’t be able to find him. Right?”
    â€œScott, I swear, I didn’t have any idea —”
    â€œYeah, skip it. Where in Laguna Beach? And how come he spilled his whole itinerary to you?”
    â€œThe Seawinds. And, well, I didn’t want to lose track of him. He’s supposed to —” Lupo stopped, swallowed, but continued gamely. “Supposed to pay me for the information.”
    â€œWith what? I thought he was flat.”
    â€œThat’s the point. I didn’t think he’d have much cash handy. But he said by tomorrow or the next day he’d have plenty, and he’d take care of me. So I wanted to know how I could keep in touch with him, and he said he’d be at the Seawinds for a day or two.”
    â€œWhy Laguna? Any special reason?”
    Lupo shook his head. “None he told me. I figured he just wanted to be out of the city.”
    â€œHow was he going to get all this loot—and from whom?”
    â€œI don’t know anything about that. It’s not what we talked about.”
    â€œHe didn’t tell you what the score was?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou still don’t have any idea what Spaniel heisted, huh?”
    Lupo shook his head. “Just what you said yourself. I mean a big heist in Bel Air. An art job. I mentioned that to him, and said you were looking for him. But he didn’t spill anything to me.”
    â€œUh-huh. You just spilled your guts to him. Lupo, I really should plug you right between the eyes.”
    He shuddered delicately, pressed a few drops of highball from his left eyebrow with the tip of a well-manicured index finger. I asked him if Spaniel had pulled the job alone or with somebody else’s help, but he said he’d told me everything he knew. I hoped he had.
    So I said, “You think you can manage not to shoot your mouth off for a while? Or will I have to shoot it off for you?”
    â€œI won’t make the same mistake twice.”
    â€œLet’s both hope it’s the truth, Lupo. Because if Spaniel finds out you’ve filled me in, I’m not even going to worry about him. At least not until I find you again, friend.”
    â€œYou don’t have to worry. I swear —”
    I left him in the booth, still swearing fidelity to me. Undying fidelity.
    Laguna Beach is a small, lovely town on the coast, about an hour’s drive from Los Angeles if you hurry. I’d hurried, but there hadn’t been much point in it because I didn’t get started until well after the sun was up.
    When I’d got back to the Spartan after talking to Lupo, two police officers were waiting for me in my apartment. The dead guy was gone, but traces of him remained. And traces of dudgeon remained in the two officers. For another tenant at the Spartan had phoned the law, and policemen feel that when any citizen, even one so well known to them as I, shoots a guy he should stick around to explain why he found it convenient to shoot him.
    Consequently I had to spend more time than would ordinarily have been the case telling my story, and sitting on a hard chair in an interrogation room downtown. The whole thing was made somewhat more difficult because I couldn’t mention the fact that I was working for G. Raney Madison, or explain why I felt the hood had been waiting for me.
    But it was finally over—about seven in the morning—and by the time I’d cleaned up and driven to the coast the day was well along.
    It was a lovely day. Sun sparks flashed from the blue sea, and only a faint haze of distant smog blurred the horizon. At three p.m., parked on South Coast Boulevard, across the street and about half a block from the Seawinds, I got my first look—recent look, that is—at Alston Spaniel.
    The Seawinds sprawled along fifty yards of choice property on the west or ocean-front side of Coast Boulevard. I’d already been over there. From a desk clerk I’d