Merryll Manning Is Dead Lucky (30 page)

    “Ahhhhhhhhh!”

    Never will I forget that hideous cry! He covered his eyes with his hands. I slammed my fist into his belly and as he doubled over, I threw all my weight into a quick uppercut under his chin. He crumpled to the floor. I jumped on his chest, knocking the wind right out of him, side-straddled him and tore his hands from his eyes. He was screaming. I forced open his eyelids with my thumbs for a second or two before I fell back in fright.

    His eyes were dead eyes – black microdots of pupils set in blood-red baths of unspeakable horror. They were the eyes of nightmares, of ancient terrors and whispered fears, monsters, ghouls and changelings.

    By the light of the autocue, I ran to the main door. I’d momentarily forgotten it was locked and that Peter had the key. Although I shuddered at the thought of going through his pockets, I had no choice. Also I’d need to collar his dark glasses. But first, I would turn on the emergency lights. They at least would keep Peter under control.

    There was also a dimmer next to the emergency switch. I turned the dimmer up full blast and the whole set – including its little auditorium – was flooded with light.

    What the hell! There was young Trevor Holden, bold as life, sitting right smack in the middle of the second row of the audience’s seats.

    “How long have you been sitting there, Trev? I was almost killed right in front of your eyes!”

    “Almost, but not quite! Peter was always a sloppy operator. Never trust a guy who wears glasses! That’s what my dad used to say. Bum eyesight will always let you down. Particularly when you most need the bastard thing! A pity you never knew my dad. Dead now. Died in jail. A real smart operator, he was. Managed to kill himself before he was executed. Think of that! It was all hushed up. They even managed to proceed with the ‘execution’. They executed a corpse. Yes, my dad could have taught you a thing or two, Manning. But you’re like Peter there, a real sloppy operator. You just don’t have the guts for success. And you’re anything but smart. But above all, as I say, you got no guts – just like Peter. Big ambitions, but no guts to carry them out. You’re sentimentalists – that’s what you are! If I told Peter once, I told him a dozen times to get rid of that Jane. But not him! He fell in love with her. She was getting too close to him – and even worse, she was getting too close to me. I dunno know how she did it, but somehow she tumbled to my identity.”

    “You told her. You told Kathie yourself.”

    “You’re right. In a moment of weakness, I told the bitch. We all of us make mistakes. I don’t mind admitting it. Mistakes are part of human nature. We learn by our mistakes – that’s what my dad used to say.”

    “So which mistake are you? Trevor Holden or Gino Paletti?”

    “What does it matter? What matters is that I handled that whole scenario rather cleverly. I even put it into Peter’s mind that
you
killed Kathie/Spookie or whatever you like to call her!”

    “That was real smart!” I said.

    “Yes, even a half-smart young boy like me can always teach you old buzzards a few tricks.”

    “And no doubt you told Borne of your suspicions in my direction?”

    “Yes, I did try to put it into his mind. But you’ve got to be bloody careful with cops. I don’t trust ’em. Got too many tricks up their sleeves. And you never know what they’re really thinking. I try to have as little to do with them as possible. And that way, I never figure on their list of suspects. When I’m Trev Holden, I keep myself right in the background. When I’m Gino Paletti, I tend to be a bit more colorful. So when the coppers find you tomorrow or whenever, it’s Gino Paletti who
may
– just
may
be on their little lists – but never Trevor Holden.”

    “That’s true,” I said. “Very true! You have the game all sewn up. Beautiful! And you got everyone all suspicious of one another with your little 2x3 cards. You’re a real pro, Trev. Your dad would be proud of you. A real pro. No doubt about it!”

    Hoping now to catch the self-possessed Gino by surprise, I suddenly sprinted forward and ran towards the control booth’s ladder. Trevor/Gino was too far away to catch me. No doubt he had a pistol, a knife, or a weapon of some kind, but I just had to chance it! I was halfway up the ladder before I realized that Peter may have locked the control booth’s door, but there was no time to look for him, let alone search him for the key. I was vaguely aware that Gino could shoot me down with his pistol, so why didn’t he give it a try?

    Thank God, the control booth’s door was open! I bolted into the room, slamming the door behind me. The light from the autocue below refracted dimly through the booth’s windows – enough to see the phone, the mike, Jellis’s cue sheets, spools of tape. I was just about ready to reach for the phone when the autocue light went out and the whole set was plunged into pitch darkness. I dived for the phone, my fingers scrabbling wildly across the bench.

    The phone was working! I was entombed in utter darkness, but even a blind man can dial Emergency.

    A bored voice: “What service do you require?”

    “Police.”

    “Wait on.”

    The cops’ phone was ringing. It was ringing, ringing!

   
Answer it! Bloody hell!

    A rattle at the door.

    At last! “Police. Sergeant Oliver speaking.”

    “I’m at Kenovarnie’s TV studio. Trapped in the control room. Tell Inspector Borne that Merryll Manning…” The control booth’s door crashed open! The phone went dead.

    I knew someone was in the room, even though I could neither see nor hear him.

    I guess it didn’t matter if it was Peter Tunning or Gino Paletti. Maybe both of them were now in the room? My only weapon was the phone in my hand. Gino had a pistol, Tunning had his supernatural sight in the dark and who knows what weapons? Why didn’t I check his pockets when I had the chance?

    The room was pitch dark, but that wouldn’t stop Tunning for one second if his eyes were now back to abnormal.

    I dropped the phone and fell to the floor. There was no place I could hide, but maybe I could find something to use as a weapon!

    “I see you, Mr. Manning,” came his whisper. “You can’t hide from me.”

    “Where’s bloody Gino?” I whispered back.

    “Still trying to find his way in the dark, Mr. Manning. But we don’t have much time. As soon as he finds the ladder, he can sprint up here in the dark. Take hold of my hand.”

    “I can’t even see your bloody hand.”

    “On your shoulder. Feel it?”

    “Yes.”

    “Take hold of my hand: I’ll pull you up… Now I am standing in front of you. Don’t move! Gino has found the ladder. He is climbing up. I will let him know where we are. For the love of our Kathie, don’t move!”

   
Why should I trust him?
Well, what other choice did I have?

    “Gino! Gino! I have – what you say? – knocked out Manning! Come on up!”

    “Turn on the bloody lights!”

    “Nothing happens when I throw the switch. Manning must have done something to it.”

    “Manning, Manning! I’ll be glad to see the last of that bloody pest!”

    “No guns! We’ll throw him down the stairs! He got locked in, and missed his – what-you-say – his feet in the dark.”

    “Bloody hell! I can’t see a damn thing. Where are you, Peter? Ahhhh! I’m stabbed in the back! Bloody Manning’s loose!”

   “Not Manning, Gino! I, Peter – I am loose! This one is for Kathie!”

    “Ahhhhh!”

    “And this one is for me.”

    “Ahhhhhh!”

    “Help me throw him down to the set, Mr. Manning. But first, you take my knife and stab him in the back.”

    “Must I? Aren’t you going to take the credit here?”

    “You forget! The long memory of the Mafia. It is better I have nothing to do with this whatever.”

    “But the police will find you when they unlock the door?”

    “I have my key, Mr. Manning.”

   
Now
he tells me!

  
“Take hold of my hand!”

    I did so.

    “We are square, Mr. Manning?”

    “We are square, Mr. Tunning.”

    “And my Kathie is revenged!”

    “
Our
Kathie, Mr. Tunning.”

41

“Did you have an accident, Mr. Manning?” asked Boss Kent’s secretary on Monday morning.

    “Some accident!” I replied. “I’m here to tell Mr. Kent all about it!”

    “I’m sorry, Mr. Kent can’t see you now.”

    No way to treat a bloody hero! But I didn’t let my temper get the best of me. “Mr. Kent wants to see
me
,” I said. “He told me to come to his office first thing, Monday morning.”

    The secretary relayed this information via her intercom. “Tell him to go back to work,” growled Boss Kent’s voice. “I’ll send for him later today when I’m good and ready.”

    I leaned over and flicked the switch. “What work am I supposed to do?” I asked. “
80 Questions
is all finished and security problems all solved.”

    “Goddamn it! Why am I always bothered with these picayune details? Come in then. We’ll settle this here and now.”

    “I don’t expect to get a medal,” I said, facing him. “But you did promise me a bonus, and I’d like to move out of Security…”

    “A bonus? A medal? You son-of-a-bitch, I should kick you off the whole goddamn lot!”

    “Is it my fault that
you
hired some goddamn killer?” I shot back.

    “And do you know what you’ve done? A fine mess, I can tell you. I’ve been on the phone to the Assistant Commissioner all goddamn weekend.”

    “What for?” I asked. “Assistant directors are a dime a dozen. Put an ad in
Variety
, and you’ll have three hundred and eleven knocking on your door!”

    “I’m talking about contestants, you goddamned idiot. If you had your way, you’d knock one of our finalists into the goddamned pokey.”

    “Wonderful publicity!”

    “A contestant cheating? Someone who already knew the questions and all the bloody answers? Now that’s
real bad
publicity. We’d be laughed right off the goddamned tube. Fortunately, notwithstanding you and your idiot pal, Inspector Borne, I was able to pull a few strings, buy back a few favors, have most of the charges dropped and the joker released.”      

    “Darin released?” I couldn’t believe it.

    “And most of the charges dropped! No thanks to Merryll Manning – you goddamned idiot!”

    “A killer?”

    “Darin didn’t kill anyone, you moron!”

    “He belongs to the same gang. Who knows what he’s done?”

    “That’s just what we’ve got to find out. I spent half bloody yesterday trying to line up a bloody lawyer for him.”

    “I can help you out there. I know a lady – ”

    “God help us!”

    “But she’s expensive! But she’s the best!”

    “My God!”

    “Name’s Wallace. Felicity Wells Wallace.”

    “My God – he’s still here!” Kent threw the switch on his intercom: “Jenny! Bring me in a pitch fork, a rifle, a stick of dynamite! Any goddamned thing you can lay your hands on!”

    “I’ll give her a ring right now.”

    “I dare you! I bet you don’t even know her number without looking it up in the book.”

    “Just watch me! Or rather, listen to me… Felicity! I’ve got a big client for you. Name’s Kent. Arthur Kent. Big boss here in Hollywood at Kenovarnie’s TV studios. I’ll put him on for you.”

Saved by the bell – but saved for what?

    “O.K. Let’s put this goddamned mess on the table. If Wallace is as good as you and her reputation say she is, we don’t have to worry about Darin any more. And not a word about cheating will be getting into the papers. But Peter still disturbs me. He was obviously feeding Darin the questions to save himself at least fifty or sixty thousand.”

    “Give him the shaft,” I suggested. (That’s gratitude for you! Peter had saved my life – but only because of his love for Kathie). “It should be mighty, mighty easy to find a sponsor for next season. They’ll be lining up from here to ’Frisco. And Peter will be going out in a blaze of publicity anyway. He almost certainly won’t want to renew for next season – and particularly not at our new prices.”

    “Yes, we’ll still knock the ratings for dead, come Wednesday night – but no thanks to you! You’d have scuttled the whole goddamn ship.”

    “What about my voice?” I asked.

    “A neat gimmick, I’ll admit that! We’ll get the viewers’ reaction, come Wednesday night. In the meantime, draw up a list of spaces for the executive parking lot. I’m pecking-order sure there’s a whole lot of vehicles out there that don’t belong – yours for instance! And get cracking on our orphans of missing tapes. We’ll need them for the Christmas replays.”