The Four Johns by Ellery Queen Page A

pioneer type.”
    â€œSomebody’s got to take it on,” said Viviano in a hard voice. “Time’s over when we can let the other slobs live like dogs. Do you know what it’s like in Ethiopia?” He studied Mervyn intently, the great eyes as blackly pitiless as the camera lens he held in his hand.
    â€œAll I know about Ethiopia is that Haile Selassie is the Lion of Judah, and that it used to be called Abyssinia.”
    â€œI mean with the people. Hell, their lot hasn’t improved in six thousand years. Ethiopians are human, aren’t they? Just like you and me.”
    Mervyn asked gravely, “You going to teach them photography?”
    Frank Viviano gave him a suspicious look. “Why not? Pictures have a universal appeal. They’ll go nuts over photos of Aunt Minnie making hyena soup, Rover chasing a baboon, Junior trying out his first spear.”
    Mervyn glanced at his watch. “That picture of Mary Hazelwood in the foyer—was it taken here?”
    â€œWhere else? With a long lens on the Mamiyaflex. She’s a natural beauty. Nice kid. You a friend of hers?”
    â€œI know her.”
    John Viviano’s brother barked his dark laugh. “She’s got John on the run, but good. When he starts goddamning a dame, I know he’s hooked. He’s susceptible—that’s how he got into this business. It attracts a lot of queers, but John’s all man. He takes a job where he can handle women, because that’s what he likes to do best.”
    â€œYou’re his partner?”
    â€œPartner, manager, errand boy, floor mat. I also do most of the work. John is the woman handler. How he loves to handle women.” Viviano raised his head. “That’s him now.”
    John Viviano came in jauntily. He stopped abruptly at sight of Mervyn. He set a camera bag down, came over to the bench and stared at the camera his brother was fixing. “That monstrous old Deardorff.”
    â€œWe need a big view,” grunted the older man. “Takes good pictures.”
    â€œI’m glad you like it. I think it’s a dinosaur.”
    â€œIf a dinosaur can make me a good big negative, I’ll use a dinosaur.”
    At this point John Viviano turned his attention to Mervyn. “What brings you here, Gray?” His voice was not unfriendly.
    â€œI want your help,” said Mervyn.
    Viviano glanced at him sharply, then at his watch. “Come upstairs. I’m in a hurry, but there’s time for a drink.”
    He took Mervyn up a narrow staircase into a sunny parlor with white walls, a red carpet, a green Empire sofa and an ornate gilt mirror. “Scotch? Bourbon?”
    â€œBourbon.”
    Viviano went into a pantry, returned with a pair of glasses. “Been here long?”
    â€œTwenty minutes.”
    â€œYou talk much to my brother Frank?”
    â€œSome.”
    â€œWhat did Frank have to say?”
    Who’s pumping whom? Mervyn thought. “Nothing of any consequence,” he said carelessly. “About the Peace Corps, mostly.”
    John Viviano began to stride back and forth. “They’d never take him. He’s a crackpot. Full of screwy ideas. Well, Gray, what’s on your mind?”
    â€œMary Hazelwood.”
    â€œDear Mary. You saw the photograph?”
    â€œYes. Well … to be candid, John, I’m in love with her.”
    â€œWho isn’t? So?” Viviano snapped his fingers impatiently.
    â€œShe’s gone off somewhere, and I’m worried. She hasn’t communicated even with Susie. I thought you might have some idea where she is.”
    Viviano laughed, thrusting his head forward like a snake. “Why don’t you say what you mean? No, I’m not the ‘John.’ Some other John is the ‘John.’ Whoever he is, I envy him. I’m in love with Mary, too.”
    Mervyn tried to look earnest. “I believe you, Viviano. But Mary doesn’t know too many