would hardly stage a circus on his home grounds-would he? Johnny stared at the phone. He had been afraid it was Cuneo going to interrupt his needed sleep, and now he wasn't going to get any sleep anyway.
There's a way to find out what Turner wants, he reminded himself, trying to get himself back into gear. Get yourself over there.
He shoved his left foot back into the shoe he had just removed and tied it with difficulty. His fingers seemed to be all thumbs. He knew that he wasn't co-ordinating properly. It was nothing that ten hours sleep wouldn't straighten out, but in the meantime there was this Turner fish fry.
He pushed himself from the bed and to the door. In motion he felt better, less fuzzy. The cold air in the street helped as he waved for a cab; by the time he disembarked in front of the Emerson Building he felt almost normal.
He smiled at Stacy Bartlett's look of surprise as he entered the green-and-gold reception room from the elevator. “H'ya, sugarfoot,” he said softly as he walked to her desk. “You're lookin' well this mornin'.”
“Sorry I can't say the same for you,” she returned briskly with a look at his patched ear. “What happened to you?”
“The ear? I didn't get out of the way of an unidentified flyin' object. Nothin' fatal. The king bee aboard?”
“Do you think this is a good idea?” she asked doubtfully.
“Tell you later,” Johnny said cheerfully, “but it's his idea, not mine. He called me just a few minutes ago.”
“He must have used his direct line,” the tall girl said. “I hope you're on your good behavior.” She sounded a little anxious.
“I'm always on my good behavior,” Johnny said significantly, and Stacy blushed. “How come you haven't asked for a return bout after that no-decision set-to the other night? With your left hand sharpened up a little you'd be six-to-five to win the marbles.”
“I'll-have to consult my engagement book,” she answered with attempted lightness.
“Hell with the engagement book,” Johnny replied vigorously. “What about tomorrow night? Okay?” She hesitated, and he pressed her. “Okay?”
“You keep pushing me into corners,” she protested.
“Trouble is you keep squirmin' out.” He grinned. “I'll pick you up out front. Okay?” She nodded, slowly. “Fine. You can call the gorilla now.”
She pushed the buzzer for Monk. “Don't you go agitating him, now,” she warned. The sound of her voice was still in the air when Monk Carmody appeared at the rear of the room and waited silently. Johnny followed him out, and they passed right through the bare, green-walled check point without even a pause. Johnny couldn't resist the opportunity.
“No search parties today, Monk?” he inquired genially. “I was just gettin' to like those games.”
The squat man never even turned his head; still silent, he led the way directly to the door of Lonnie Turner's private office and, when Johnny had entered, closed the door behind him with himself on the outside. Johnny looked suspiciously at the closed door and quickly at the room, but its only occupants were Turner behind his massive desk and Al Munson seated stiffly in a chair to his right.
The promoter smiled his chilly smile at Johnny's examination of the door and the room. “You mistrust our hospitality, Killain?” he asked mildly.
“Just checkin',” Johnny said shortly. “What's on your mind?”
“I trust you won't think I'm too wasteful of your time when you find out why you're here,” the white-haired man answered. “Al has something to say to you, but I wanted to hear him say it myself.”
Johnny looked from the tanned promoter to the pasty-faced publicist. Al Munson didn't look as though he had had much of a night's sleep either, Johnny reflected. The press agent crossed his short legs in an effort to simulate an ease he plainly didn't feel. “Ah-that conversation we had the other evening, Killain. At the hotel. It's out. Null and void.”
He folded his hands in his lap and fielded Johnny's stare impassively before Johnny switched off to Lonnie Turner. “I must have my stupid suit on today,” Johnny said lightly. He shifted his attention back to the publicist. “Go ahead an' remind me, Al. We had a conversation?”
“You know the conversation,” the fat man replied expressionlessly. “We-I'm relinquishing all claim to the money.”
“Nice of you, boy. Real nice of you.” Johnny moved up to the desk and leaned over it. “What he's sayin', Turner, is that after you decided you couldn't afford to make a play to get your dough back Munson stepped in for himself. But you found out an' now you're puttin' the cuffs on him.”
“You have a talent for jumping to the wrong conclusions, Killain,” the promoter replied tartly. “And stop breathing in my face. Sit down. This will take a little while.” Johnny seated himself carefully in one of the big leather armchairs as Lonnie Turner continued. “Let me preface this by admitting that my share in the proceedings I'm about to relate confirms my lawyers' opinion that I'm an incompetent in the management of my own affairs.” He smiled, a tight little smile, sank back into the depths of his padded chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I came into this business some years back with no necessity for scraping a living from it, as you may know, but rather to satisfy a sense 6f challenge. I found it a business unlike any other in my not inconsiderable experience, and I found myself dealing with a weird and wonderful variety of people with a weird and wonderful variety of ethics, both business and social.”
The crisp voice ran on drily. “I've always considered myself an adaptable animal, Killain, and I adapted. When it became accepted, in my new circles, as it eventually did, that I was unlikely to be overcome by the lesser forms of avarice, a rather special relationship came into being between myself and the people with whom I was dealing.” The white-haired man unfolded his arms, leaned forward in his chair and placed his elbows on the desk top. “At any given time a business associate with money due him from a successful promotion might say to me, 'Give me a chit for my end, Lonnie. You hold it.' As the custom become more common I found myself the custodian of considerable sums of money, none of which was mine. I became in effect the treasurer of an unofficial club.”
The promoter peered across at Johnny, who was listening intently. “For services rendered, I was prepared to be altruistic. The modus operandi was simple. I merely set up a separate bank account, and to each associate I issued an undated check for what was due him or a series of checks totaling the aggregate sum if the amount were large. Some of those checks have been carried uncashed for years, and it is a rather curious by-product of the system that my name is well enough known to permit an associate to pledge such a check against a loan from another source and subsequently redeem it.”
Al Munson opened his mouth as though to speak, shook his head dubiously and remained silent.
“I did not consider myself required to investigate the reason for these-ah-deposits,” Lonnie Turner went on placidly. “Certain people might consider that lack of curiosity gross negligence. I might say in passing that this separate bank account was never included in the figures I gave my lawyers for tax purposes each year. Altruistic I was prepared to be, but not to the extent of paying taxes on other people's money, especially in the tax bracket in which I find myself.”
He cleared his throat gently. “If you've been following me closely, I'm sure you realize that in this matter I was by now culpable on several counts.” He grinned unexpectedly like a small boy. “This was brought home to me rather forcibly last year when, through a most regrettable bit of absent-mindedness on my part, my lawyers learned of the existence of this account. They informed me in some heat that even a random tax audit would show little respect for my intelligence or my altruism, either. To remain in good odor with them I was forced to make other arrangements, which brings us to Jake Gidlow. I thought I had plugged all the loopholes, but I erred-I misjudged Jake's hypersensitivity to possible contact at some future time with the minions of Internal Revenue. He found an escape hatch. I thought having the will in my favor protected me against the extreme eventuality, and by the time I found out I was wrong the fat was in the fire.”
He tilted back in his chair again and locked his hands behind his head. “You're familiar with the sequence from that point, Killain. It was I who sent Carmody and Hartshaw over to Miss Fontaine's that morning. In retrospect, a very poor move. Inexplicable, really. I panicked. When-”
“How did you know Gidlow was dead?” Johnny inquired softly. “Nobody else did, at that time.”
“There were a number of keys to Gidlow's suite, for a number of reasons,” the promoter replied blandly. “Someone walked in upon Gidlow deceased and, with my interests at heart, called me. I put the machinery in motion, but by the time you put in that rather startling appearance here to pick up Roketenetz's check, I'd become
