The Barkley Towers was an expensive pile of rocks and plate glass at the river end of 57th Street. Johnny Liddell crossed a modernistic lobby furnished with brightly colored couches and chrome chairs which complemented the soft pastel carpeting.
He headed for the elevator bank labeled Penthouse, pushed the top button. After a moment, the car slid to a noiseless stop, the doors opened. He stepped out into ankle deep pile of the rug, crossed to the steel door leading to the penthouse.
PenthouseHe knocked, waited. On the second knock, he heard sounds from within the apartment, the door opened an inch.
“Who are you looking for?” The voice was low, sultry, still retained a faint trace of a southern accent.
“My name’s Liddell. I’m looking for Mary Lister.”
There was a slight pause. “What fo
