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- Herausgeber: Al-Mashreq eBookstore
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Serie: Doc. Turner Series
- Sprache: Englisch
Doc. Turner's Death Rendezvous by Arthur Leo Zagat is a high-stakes thriller that plunges readers into a world of espionage and intrigue. When Dr. Turner, a renowned scientist with groundbreaking research, is lured into a deadly trap, he finds himself in a race against time to uncover the truth behind the sinister plot against him. As he navigates through a web of deception, danger, and betrayal, Turner must rely on his wits and courage to survive. With every twist and turn, the stakes grow higher, and the line between ally and enemy blurs. Can Turner unravel the mystery before his rendezvous with death becomes a reality? Get ready for a pulse-pounding journey of suspense and high-octane action.
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Seitenzahl: 32
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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Table of Contents
Doc. Turner's Death Rendezvous
Synopsis
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Landmarks
Table of Contents
Cover
Doc. Turner's Death Rendezvous
Synopsis
Prison gates open in faraway Leavenworth, and Doc Turner gets an invitation to die!
1
THE shadows in the old drugstore on Morris Street bulked more blackly than usual along the shelving and between the grimy showcases, and the wee-hour silence seemed to brood with a queerly ominous hush. A night-owl "El" train pounded past outside, its clatter serving only to emphasize the quiet and to leave behind an added sense of pregnant dread. Behind the locked and bolted door of the ancient pharmacy the only light was a pallid beam that lay heavily, flat on the bare and splintered floor.
The thin layer of light seeped out from under the dirt-stiff curtain that during the day screened Andrew Turner's prescription room from the profaning gaze of his customers. Behind that curtain, raw luminance glared from an unshaded, pendent bulb; glinted from row upon row of bottles and little labeled boxes, and edged with its harshness the silver hair and stooped shoulders of the little old man seated at an ancient roll-top desk. Paper rustled, the scratch of a pen rasped the stillness, and a sigh quivered on air redolent with mysterious pungency of long-ago-dispensed decoctions, infusions, strange herbs and odoriferous drugs.
Doc Turner's gnarled, almost transparent hands blotted the check he had been writing, ripped it from its page. A few deft motions, and it was pinned to a white sheet headed "Statement of Account"; folded, slipped into an already stamped and addressed envelope, and added to an already tall pile of its fellows. The old druggist sighed again, jotted a few figures in the stub column of his checkbook, made a swift calculation, and noted the balance. A faint smile moved his bushy white mustache only slightly. "Two dollars and forty-three cents," he muttered. "After more than forty years. But they are all paid. I don't owe a cent." His age-bleared eyes strayed across the desk-top to where a flat, shiny automatic held down a newspaper clipping and a scribbled Government postcard. "All right, Mr. Wendell P. Logan, I'm ready for you."
His low voice was flat, grim; the smile was gone and his grayish face was set in stern, uncompromising lines. Suddenly one had a sure impression of strength, of hidden power that belied the age-shrunk, feeble body of the man. One knew, in that moment, how it was that the old druggist was a mighty tower of strength to the bewildered-eyed, otherwise friendless aliens crowding the teeming warrens of Morris Street. One knew, too, why the word had gone out, through the burrows of the human rats who prey on the defenseless poor, that it was safer to steer far clear of the poverty-stricken slum Doc had served for so many weary years. There were those who had ignored that warning; some of them ate now at the long, silent tables provided by the State for its unwilling guests—and others would never eat again. Andrew Turner's acid-stained thumb had drawn a line around his neighbors' homes, and his exploits had broadcast to the slimy crooks of a great city the edict, "Keep out!" Doc's Deadline, they called it, and it had been a veritable line of death for more than one two-legged jackal.
