AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"I was sort of hoping you'd do that," she said, and then pushed him away. "For God's sake!" she said furiously. "Don't you dry yourself when you get out of your shower? I'm soaked!"
"Sorry," he said.
"Big date tonight?" Penny asked.
"I'm on call," he said.
"Which means?"
"Just what it sounds like. I have to make myself available. They' ll probably call me before long."
"Oh."
"I was just about to go out and get something to eat. Ribs, I thought. Sound interesting?"
"How hungry are you?"
"What?"
"You said they were probably going to call you before long."
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"Think about it, Matthew," Penny said, and then, a naughty
look in her eyes, she put her hand to the towel around his waist and snatched it away.
"Jesus!" he said.
"You ever hear of first things first?" she said.
****
A very large man of about thirty-five who had been sitting with what the General Services Administration called a Chair, Metal, Executive, w/arms FSN 453 232234900 tilted as far back as it would go, and with his feet on what the GSA called a Desk, Metal, Office, w/six drawers, FSN 453 232291330, moved with surprisingly speed and grace when one of the three telephones on the desk rang, snatching the handset from the cradle before the second ring.
"Six Seven Three Nineteen Nineteen," he said.
"Mr. Larkin, please," the caller said.
"May I ask who's calling?" the large man said, then covered the microphone with his large hand. "For you, sir," he called.
Across the room, H. Charles Larkin, who had been lying, in fact half dozing, on what the GSA called a Couch, Office, Upholstered, w/ three cushions, FSN 453 232291009, pushed himself to an erect position. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was 6:52.
"My name is Young, I'm the Criminal A-SAC, FBI, for Philadelphia."
"Young, FBI," the large man said, and took his hand off the microphone. "One moment, please, Mr. Young."
Larkin walked to the desk, grunting, his hand on the small of his back.
I'm getting old, he thought. Too old for that goddamned couch.
He took the phone from the large man.
"Hello, Frank."
"Charley, we have a name," Young said. "Matthews just called. That property is owned by Richard W. and Marianne Wheatley, husband and wife."
"Spell it, please," Larkin said, snatching a ballpoint pen extended in the hand of the large man.
