The Death of Lorenzo Jones Read Online Free Page A

anything.”
    “No. I’m an insurance investigator for Transatlantic Underwriters. I have some questions.”
    “And I don’t have to answer them. Good day, sonny. The door is thataway.”
    “Maybe you’d like it if I visited the police and had a friend at Headquarters close you up? You’re violating every health
     code on the books here.”
    “Don’t let the disorder fool you.” The doctor burped. “Everything here is absolutely sterile. But—ask away.”
    He picked up his hooch and poured a shot into a dusty glass. Maybe he could drown the thing down there.
    “I’m investigating the death of Lorenzo Jones. I want to know a few things. Like about his arm. His pitching arm.”
    “Ah yes, the poor young man. Wouldn’t catch me in one of those damned airplanes. No, sir. Like all young men, a fool. They
     come in with the syph all the time and expect -me to wash it out of their systems. Not Lorenzo, of course. No, he was married
     and clean. But others.”
    “The point is, Doctor,” Lockwood continued, “how was his pitching arm? I heard it was injured.”
    “Minor strain. I have the X-ray plates right here. Nothing a few weeks’ rest wouldn’t cure. He worried too much, that kid.
     He should have worried more about flying around in that plane.”
    “What did he worry about, aside from his arm?”
    “Didn’t say he worried about anything else. Just a figure of speech. He was a happy young fellow. Do wou want to see the X-rays?”
    “They wouldn’t mean anything to me.”
    “Well, anything else? I’m a busy man.”
    “Yeah, I can see that.”
    “Don’t let this office fool you. Too busy to clean up. Patients all the time, just had time for a snooze. Expect that doorbell
     will be ringing any second now.”
    Lockwood asked more questions about Jones’ arm but got no more information.
    Finally, he left, wondering if the doctor was actually telling the truth.
    Lockwood wasn’t satisfied. The half-baked theory that had been buzzing in his bonnet was buzzing again. Maybe Lorenzo Jones
     had actually ruined his arm during that last game. Maybe Wade figured he would lose a bundle from his five-year contract with
     Jones, and maybe he bumped Lorenzo off to save his dough.
    Doc was a wiley old geezer. Five times he had insisted that his examination showed that Jones was injured only superficially.
     But he looked nervous. No, he wasn’t telling the truth, instinct told Lockwood.
    In a minute, Lockwood tiptoed back. He listened at the door and heard Doc talking to someone over the phone, “… Yeah, the
     snooper was here, but he’s gone. No, I didn’t tell him anything. I am
not
drunk.” Then a receiver was put down. A short time later, more snoring.
    Not exactly innocent talk but nothing specific. Possibly it had been Wade on the other end. Lockwood checked his Longines.
     Time to see Robin at 21. It wouldn’t do to keep a lady like her waiting. Besides, those dapper gents who frequented the club
     wouldn’t leave her alone long.
    As he was about to start the Cord, Hook noticed that the coffin hood was up just a bit. He immediately took his hand from
     the ignition key, went out, and raised the hood. Neatly attached to the distributor was a bomb.
    Hook could hardly believe it—ten dynamite sticks wired with blasting caps, all neatly joined to the distributor. One twist
     of the key and good bye to Transatlantic’s ace troubleshooter.
    Lockwood was angry. Who the hell had done this?
    As he stood there at the curb, stupified by the sight of the ten sticks of dynamite, his stomach felt queasy. That feeling
     always came with the realization that going out on a routine case could lead to his demise if he wasn’t careful and lucky.
    Jesus, another second and boom!
    His mortality normally didn’t cross his mind. When it did, it just kept walking. But this bomb—could it be connected with
     the Lorenzo Jones case? Was this case going to be dangerous? It had looked to be a nice, albeit, hopeless task.