Read Hard Case Crime: Honey in His Mouth Online
Authors: Lester Dent
Hard Case Crime: Honey in His Mouth
Mr. Hassam jumped to his feet in the library when Miss Muirz joined them. He was irritated because she had been gone nearly an hour.
Doctor Englaster spoke with sarcasm. “Really, you take longer to weave your spells nowadays, don’t you?”
Miss Muirz shrugged. “I weave well-made goods, Doctor.”
“So I have heard.”
Watch out, Doc, Mr. Hassam thought, watch what you say to her. She is not a patient soul like I am and if she should get her fill of you, then you are likely to be in trouble.
“How did Mr. Harsh impress you, Miss Muirz?” Mr. Hassam spoke hastily.
“Perfect.”
“How did you get along with him? Can he be handled?”
“I think so. He reacts normally. I gave him an overdose of sex, followed by an overdose of culture—in other words, I waved my bottom at him, then read to him aloud from Spinoza. Yes, I would say he reacts normally.”
Mr. Hassam considered the combination of Miss Muirz’s bottom and Spinoza, and he wondered how Harsh had survived.
Doctor Englaster spoke sharply. “And you think this man will do for our purpose?”
“Perfectly.” There was a strange look in Miss Muirz’s eyes. “He even has
El Presidente’s
dirtily eager way with women...”
SOME OTHER HARD CASE CRIME BOOKS YOU WILL ENJOY:
DEAD STREET
by Mickey Spillane
DEADLY BELOVED
by Max Allan Collins
A DIET OF TREACLE
by Lawrence Block
MONEY SHOT
by Christa Faust
ZERO COOL
by John Lange
SHOOTING STAR/SPIDERWEB
by Robert Bloch
THE MURDERER VINE
by Shepard Rifkin
SOMEBODY OWES ME MONEY
by Donald E. Westlake
NO HOUSE LIMIT
by Steve Fisher
BABY MOLL
by John Farris
THE MAX
by Ken Bruen and Jason Starr
THE FIRST QUARRY
by Max Allan Collins
GUN WORK
by David J. Schow
FIFTY-TO-ONE
by Charles Ardai
KILLING CASTRO
by Lawrence Block
THE DEAD MAN’S BROTHER
by Roger Zelazny
THE CUTIE
by Donald E. Westlake
HOUSE DICK
by E. Howard Hunt
CASINO MOON
by Peter Blauner
FAKE I.D.
by Jason Starr
PASSPORT TO PERIL
by Robert B. Parker
STOP THIS MAN!
by Peter Rabe
LOSERS LIVE LONGER
by Russell Atwood
in
his
MOUTH
by
Lester Dent
A HARD CASE CRIME BOOK
(HCC-060)
First Hard Case Crime edition: October 2009
Published by
Titan Books
A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd
144 Southwark Street
London
SE 1 oup
in collaboration with Winterfall LLC
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should know that it is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Copyright © 2009 by the Estate of Norma Dent.
Originally written by Lester Dent in 1956.
Cover painting copyright © 2009 by Ron Lesser
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Print edition ISBN 978-0-85768-329-8
E-book ISBN 978-0-85768-401-1
Cover design by Cooley Design Lab
Design direction by Max Phillips
Typeset by Swordsmith Productions
The name “Hard Case Crime” and the Hard Case Crime logo are trademarks of Winterfall LLC. Hard Case Crime books are selected and edited by Charles Ardai.
Printed in the United States of America
Visit us on the web at
www.HardCaseCrime.com
PART ONE
ONE
He should have paid the bill. But who would have thought that some afternoon he would drive into a filling station and there would be D. C. Roebuck standing by a gas pump? He saw that Roebuck was holding up five fingers to the attendant and could hear Roebuck’s harsh voice, like glass being chewed: “Five regular, Mac. And check the oil.”
Walter Harsh did the only thing he could think of, sit there with hands on the steering wheel, foot on the brake, a mouse nest gathering in the pit of his stomach. He wished he had not talked D. C. Roebuck into letting him have seven hundred and twelve dollars worth of photographic supplies on tick. Mostly he wished to hell and gone that he had not run into D. C. Roebuck.
It came to him that just sitting there in the parked car he was a sitting duck. He eased the gear shift into drive position and pressed the gas pedal with his foot. Just then Roebuck turned and saw him. “Hey!”
Walter Harsh pushed the gas pedal to the floor.
Roebuck leaped over the gas hose and ran forward. “Hold it, Harsh! I want to see you, you son of a bitch. Hold it!”
Harsh did not look around. The cushion felt like a big hand pressing against his spine as the car gained speed. He almost didn’t make it at that. Roebuck overtook the car, but he couldn’t find anything to grab with his hands. Harsh heard Roebuck’s hands clawing at the car. Then there was a thud. When he turned his head for a quick look, he saw the big man had hit the back window an angry blow with his fist. It had cracked the window glass. He saw Roebuck back in the street floundering the way a big man flops around when he tries to stop running abruptly, and he heard what Roebuck shouted. “I’ll fix you. Thieving bastard, I’ll fix you good.” Roebuck stopped, turned, ran toward his own car.
The filling station was on the north edge of a small Missouri town named Carrollton. The sun was shining on the concrete highway. There was a ridge of snow mixed with dirt along the shoulder on each side of the pavement where the highway plow had pushed it. There was some snow in the fields with weeds and corn stalks sticking out of it.
Harsh’s car went faster and faster, passing several signs in fields.
Thank You,
one sign said.
Come again to Carrollton, Missouri,
the second said.
God Bless You, the Carrollton Baptist Church,
said the third sign. The rear-view mirror was a little off. He reached up and adjusted it and saw Roebuck’s car swing into view, following him. Well, that ties it, he thought, the big guy is going to give me trouble.
He veered to the center of the highway to get a full swing at a curve he saw ahead, figuring that way he could go into the curve ten miles an hour faster. There was some howling from the tires in the curve. When he straightened out, he looked back, saw Roebuck seemed to be gaining on him already.
They were headed north. The highway went straight for a while, but with ups and downs over the hills. He began to wonder, suppose he couldn’t outrun Roebuck, what he was going to do? There was no use to try to talk the man out of anything. Talk was what Roebuck had already heard. Talk was what had cost Roebuck seven hundred and twelve dollars. The company had forced Roebuck to make the bad credit good out of his own pocket. He had told Harsh about this in a bar in St. Joseph, and Harsh had said he thought Roebuck was a damn fool for working for that kind of a company, which was when Roebuck grabbed a bottle off the display on the backbar. Roebuck was an enormous man with long powerful arms, a bad-tempered man. He chased Harsh out of the bar and for two terrifying blocks before Harsh outdistanced him. It had been a shattering experience. The man would have killed him.
Roebuck was gaining, all right.
Harsh reached down and punched the choke button with the ball of his thumb to make sure the choke was not pulled out. His car engine was cold-blooded these winter days and had to be choked before it would start; sometimes he forgot and left the choke out. He thought of something and eased the choke back out a little to enrich the mixture to see if that would add any speed. The speedometer dropped from ninety-five to ninety. He pushed the choke back in. He couldn’t think of anything more to do. The old heap just didn’t have it. Put off the valve job too long, he thought.
On a road as straight as this it did not help a man to be a skillful driver. Any fool could tramp the gas and tool down the middle of the road. A crossroads snapped past. What about trying to make it into the next crossroads, he wondered, and take off down some country road. Try to lose Roebuck that way. Oh sure, he thought, let the son of a bitch catch me on a lonely back road and he’ll kill me sure.
The car behind continued to gain on him.