Doc. Turner's Death Cue E-Book

Arthur Leo Zagat

• Herausgeber: Al-Mashreq eBookstore
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Serie: Doc. Turner Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 31

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Doc. Turner's Death Cue by Arthur Leo Zagat is a gripping tale of suspense and intrigue that will keep you guessing until the final page. When renowned physician Doc Turner receives a cryptic message indicating his imminent death, he is thrust into a high-stakes game of cat and mouse. As he races against time to uncover the identity of his mysterious tormentor, Turner finds himself entangled in a web of deception and danger. Each clue reveals a new layer of complexity, leading him deeper into a chilling conspiracy. Can Doc Turner solve the puzzle before the death cue claims its target, or will he become the next victim? Dive into this thrilling mystery and experience a story filled with unexpected twists and relentless tension.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Doc. Turner's Death Cue

Synopsis

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2

Landmarks

Table of Contents

Cover

Doc. Turner's Death Cue

Doc. Turner Series

By: Arthur Leo Zagat

Edited by: Rafat Allam

Copyright © 2024 by Al-Mashreq Bookstore

First published in The Spider, February 1937

No part of this publication may be reproduced whole or in part in any form without the prior written permission of the author

Synopsis

The twenty-year search for lost Agnes O'Neill swung back at last to Morris Street, burial place of sinister secrets. Bullets cut the three-million-dollar reunion road, and Doc Turner, defender of the weak, groped along it—to a chat with Death.

The Spider, February 1937, with "Doc Turner's Death Cue"

1

THE shot's sharp report would have gone unnoticed in the brawl of Morris Street's Saturday sunset if gray lines had not suddenly spider-webbed a black sedan's window.

Andrew Turner, in the doorway of his ancient drugstore, whirled to the sound. He glimpsed a feral snarl of disappointment distorting a predatory dark countenance, the glint of gunmetal slipping underneath a frayed lapel. Swiftly the white-haired druggist leaped across the sidewalk, his age-gnarled fingers clawing to snatch at the assassin's shoulder.

The swarthy, collarless runt saw him coming, slammed a brutal fist into Doc's chest. The blow sent Turner's frail form spinning backward, and before the dull wits of the bystanders quite realized what was happening, the incident was closed by the disappearance of the thug in the pushcart market's swarm.

Turner swayed back to balance. His blue eyes darted to the vehicle that had been the object of the startling attack.

So swiftly had the incident passed that the car was just skidding to a stop. The acrid tang of its friction-scorched tire-rubber cut through slum smells to sting the little pharmacist's wide nostrils. He squeezed between two pushcarts, darted into the garbage-strewn gutter. The sedan's door opened.

"'Tis Doc Turner himself," a high-pitched voice exclaimed. "Whiter a bit, but otherwise the same."

The face backgrounded by the gloom of the car's interior was sallow and wrinkled as a baked apple that has stood too long on a cafeteria's dessert counter. Its eyes were tiny and black as twin raisins, except that no raisins ever shone bright as these. A beaded black bonnet sat atop sparse grey hair, and a high, boned collar clasped a scrawny neck.

"Well, Doc?" the woman snapped. "And what are you gaping at? Have you no word of welcome for an old neighbor?"

"Martha O'Neill!" Doc gasped, dredging twenty years of memory for the name. "What on earth would anyone be...?"

"The youngsters around here are blasted careless with their stone-throwing," another voice interrupted him, from the driver's half of the front seat. "Good thing I've got shatterproof glass."

There was a note of warning in the interruption. Palpably it was a cue to conceal the attack from the old lady! Doc, peering for its source, made out a dapper, derby-hatted young man whose nose was too hawk-like for the watery brown eyes above them and the yellow sprouting of short hairs beneath.

"This is Cecil Parke, Doc," Mrs. O'Neill piped. "My lawyer. Don't judge him by that calf's mask of his. Strange as it might seem, there are brains behind that vapid look."

"Martha!" Turner brought his attention back to the woman. "What brings you to Morris Street after all this time?"

"'Tis a long story and not for the ears of half the world that's crowding behind you. Take me into that dingy hole of yours, and I'll be telling it to you. It's I that have been aching for the aroma of its herbs, and of the valerian that's the devil's stench itself. Come on, Cecil. I promised you the sight of a real drugstore. Come."