Mickey Spillane - [Mike Hammer]

by The Killing Man [lit]

  2 It was a dreamless night, but I awoke tired. I felt as if I had been running and to awaken was an effort. Only for a few seconds was there a blankness in time before the whole scenario of the day before came crashing down in front of me. My hand grabbed for the phone and I hit the buttons for the hospital. I was overanxious, got the wrong number and had to hit them again. This time the switchboard put me through to the nurse on VeldaÒs floor. Calmly, she told me Velda had had a quiet night, was still in critical condition, but improving. No, she could have no visitors yet. The relief I felt was like a cool wave of water washing over me. Hospitals never wanted to sound optimistic, so the report was a favorable one. I called Burke Reedey at home and got him out of bed. All he could say was ÓDamn it, IÒve been up all night. Who is this?Ô ÓItÒs Mike, Burke. WhatÒs with Velda?Ô ÓOh,Ô he said. ÓYou. Wait a minute.Ô I heard him pour something, heard him swallow it, then he said, ÓShe had a close one that time. One hell of a concussion. That blow was delivered with enough force to kill her, but her hair bunched under the instrument and blunted the impact. I was afraid weÒd find a fracture there but we didnÒt. All her vital signs are coming up and weÒre keeping her isolated for another day.Ô ÓShe regain consciousness?Ô ÓAbout four this morning. It was just a brief awakening and she went back to sleep.Ô ÓWhen can I see her?Ô ÓProbably this evening, but I want no communication. She is going to be highly sedated or have one hell of a headache. Either way she wonÒt want to talk.Ô ÓWhat was she hit with?Ô ÓSomeday theyÒll find another term for the usual Ñblunt instrument.Ò However, it wasnÒt a hard object like a pipe. This had a soft crushing effect and from what IÒve seen of leather blackjacks, this was what her attacker used. Incidentally, this is what I gave the police in my report.Ô He paused a moment, then went on: ÓMeg told me there was a dead man in the other office.Ô ÓBurke, you couldnÒt have helped. He was real dead. Velda was alive and thatÒs all that counted.Ô ÓYouÒre a sentimental bastard, you know that?Ô ÓJust realistic, pal.Ô ÓI want to know what this is all about.Ô ÓYouÒll get it.Ô ÓI hope so. YouÒre the only excitement I ever get anymore.Ô ÓExcitement I donÒt need,Ô I told him. ÓAnd Burke ...Ô ÓYeah?Ô ÓThanks.Ô ÓNo trouble. YouÒll get a bill.Ô I hung up, made coffee in the kitchen and had a leftover roll from yesterday. When I turned on the news I had to wait fifteen minutes before local events came on and the announcer mentioned a torture murder in the office of a Manhattan businessman. The case was under investigation and no names were made public. As yet, the victim was unidentified. I just finished pouring my second cup of coffee when the phone rang. Pat said, ÓI think you ought to come on down to my office.Ô ÓWhatÒs happening?Ô ÓFor one thing, we had an ID on our victim.Ô ÓWhatÒs the other?Ô ÓWe have some strange company here.Ô ÓBad?Ô ÓItÒs not good.Ô ÓWell. IÒll change my underwear,Ô I said. After the good news from the hospital, nothing was going to spoil my day. Sunday morning in New York is like no other time. From dawn until ten the city is like an unborn fetus. There are small sounds and stirrings that are hardly noticeable, then little movements take place and forms emerge, but nothing is happening. It is a time when you could get anywhere quickly and quietly because of the strange emptiness. The lonely cabbie who picked me up would be going off shift shortly and, fortunately, didnÒt want to talk. He took me to PatÒs building, took my money, switched on the OFF DUTY light and went back uptown. Sunday had even infiltrated the police department. On the ground floor it was coffee-and-doughnuts time with a minimum crew at work. Everybody was friendly including Sergeant Klaus who winked and told me Captain Chambers and company were expecting me upstairs. Pat was in the corridor when I got off the elevator and without a word, steered me into his office. When he closed the door he said, ÓYou told me you didnÒt know the guy who got killed.Ô ÓThatÒs right, I didnÒt.Ô Something had hold of Pat and he was mad. ÓYou sure?Ô ÓLook, Pat, whatÒs the deal here? I told you I didnÒt know him.Ô ÓHe was a delivery guy from a stationery store who brought up some letterhead samples for you to okay.Ô ÓVelda took care of that stuff.Ô ÓThe guy called the store and told the boss to go ahead with the order.Ô ÓSo thatÒs what he was doing at my desk. You get the time?Ô ÓAround ten twenty or so.Ô ÓThat fixes it then.Ô ÓBut thereÒs a little more to it.Ô ÓOh?Ô ÓHis name was Anthony DiCica. Mean anything to you?Ô I shook my head. ÓSo someplace he dropped the ÑDiÒ part of his name.Ô ÓSeems that way.Ô ÓThat accounts for the V.D. initials on that toolbox. It must have been his old manÒs. So where does that leave us?Ô ÓWe have a package on him in New York. He went down twice for minor crimes fifteen years ago. Petty stuff, but at least he has a record. That much we got when we ran his driverÒs license through.Ô ÓHow about prints?Ô ÓThose first knuckle joints came back from the lab this morning. We rolled them and got them on the computers.Ô ÓThen whatÒs on your mind, Pat?Ô ÓUsually we can handle our own homicides here without any interference. Suddenly some first-class interest shows up ... the DAÒs office.Ô I shrugged. ÓSo, heÒs got a right.Ô ÓThis is not a general occurrence, pal. When I got back here word had already come down. That note stays confidential until the DA decides to release it. What I think shook them up is that signature, Penta. Hell, it couldnÒtÒve been anything else.Ô ÓWhat did they give you on it?Ô ÓThey gave me a lot of shit, thatÒs all. I raised hell upstairs, but when the inspector says to go along, we go along.Ô I gave Pat a friendly rap on the shoulder. ÓIf those squirrels want to play games, let them. A nice screwball case like this can make some interesting headlines.Ô ÓTheir attitude stinks, Mike.Ô He paused, then glanced at me anxiously. ÓYou mention that note at all?Ô ÓThis is the first time IÒve been on something that the newshounds werenÒt all over me. Between this being the weekend and my office on the eighth floor where you could contain those guys, it was a pretty damn quiet murder. How many others did you have last night?Ô ÓFour in Manhattan.Ô ÓSo we got lost in the crowd.Ô ÓNot for long, boy, not for long. I can smell this one about to bust open like an abscessed tooth.Ô ÓItÒs a weirdo.Ô ÓWeirdo my ass. Wait until you see who wants to meet you.Ô ÓOh?Ô ÓWe have a new assistant district attorney who wants to speak to you. With her is somebody from the governorÒs office in Albany. He has a pretty heavy letter on embossed stationery that requests we give him full cooperation.Ô ÓAnd that he gets.Ô ÓCertainly,Ô Pat acknowledged. ÓLetÒs go meet your enemy.Ô New York City has numerous assistant district attorneys, but they arenÒt numbered in order of rank or seniority so they can all sound like the top dog on the block. Candace Amory was far from being a dog. She was a tall patrician-looking blonde with a cover-girl face and a body that didnÒt just happen. Every bit of her was carefully cultivated and when she moved you knew she danced and could ski and in the water could take two-hundred-foot dives in scuba gear. The high-breasted look she had was for real, enhanced by a suit so dramatically underplayed in spectacular design that it reeked of money that could buy whatever it wanted. You would never call Candace Amory ÓCandy.Ô You would want to kiss the lusciousness of those full lips until the thought occurred that it might be like putting your tongue on a cold sled runner and never being able to get it off. One day I would like to catch her off base and tag her with a ball where she would never forget. In that one second our eyes touched she knew everything I was thinking and knew I realized it as well. I nodded and said, ÓMiss Amory,Ô and held out my hand. It wasnÒt lack of etiquette, just a challenge she met without any change of expression at all. I knew she would have a good grip and let her feel mine too. ÓMr. Hammer,Ô she said. Her voice even matched the rest of her. Throaty, but not altogether soft. There was a firmness there. A tiny Phi Beta Kappa pin was suspended on a fine golden chain around her neck, nestling between her breasts. There was a dominance about her that she was exuding like an invisible veil and I smiled, just barely smiled with my eyes licking hers, and for an instant there was the minutest change of expression, the cat suddenly realizing the mouse was a cobra, and the veil was sucked back in. The man from Albany was Jerome Coleman and he didnÒt specify what his position was. But
he was official, he looked legal and he could have been a cop. We said a brief hello and took PatÒs offer to sit down around the small conference table. The chair I was offered made me the target for all remarks, so I ignored it and sat in the one next to it. If somebody wanted to fence me in they had better book me first. I saw Pat suppress a smile and Coleman seem annoyed. Miss Amory knew I did it deliberately and just as deliberately took the seat opposite me. ÓWho starts?Ô I said. Jerome Coleman felt inside his jacket and took out a folded sheet of paper and spread it out in front of him. It was upside down, but I saw it was a copy of the note left on my desk by the killer. ÓWe donÒt like enigmas, Mr. Hammer.Ô I kept my mouth shut and waited. Miss Amory said, ÓYou seem to be implicated in a murder. The alibi you gave Captain Chambers checked out, so you werenÒt involved with participation in the killing, but nevertheless, you seem to be a principal in the act.Ô ÓIÒm glad you said seem.Ô She ignored my remark. ÓApparently the victim was mistaken for you and horribly brutalized. If that was an act of vengeance, the killer certainly must have had a reason.Ô ÓMiss Amory,Ô I said, ÓIÒm glad you didnÒt read me my rights.Ô ÓYouÒre not being arrested, Mr. Hammer.Ô ÓThis is a direct interrogation, you know.Ô ÓQuite so. And you are a licensed private investigator under the laws of New York State, with a permit to carry a weapon and expected to be in full compliance with the laws and statutes of this state and to cooperate fully in assisting in their enforcement.Ô There was nothing I had to crawl out from under, so I smiled that little smile again. ÓWhat can I tell you?Ô ÓThe note has reference to you killing somebody,Ô she said. ÓThe note has reference to me killing the killer,Ô I reminded her. ÓAnd that is the enigma,Ô Coleman put in. His finger underlined the capitalized YOU DIE FOR KILLING ME. So far Pat had said nothing. He was letting me carry the ball. ÓMr. Coleman ... IÒve never been indicted for murder. Nor for a felony. What you seem to have here is some psycho who decided to crash my place to pull a wild stunt off.Ô ÓWe understand you never go to the office on Saturdays.Ô ÓRarely,Ô I said. ÓYou had an appointment with a person you never met.Ô ÓMost of my business is like that.Ô ÓYour secretary didnÒt give you any indication of what the meeting was about,Ô he stated. ÓIn my business, clients arenÒt interested in stating their affairs to secretaries. IÒm the prime mover.Ô He stared at me a long moment, then: ÓThe entire charade, it seems, was to set you up to be killed. That it was circumvented is not what weÒre after. It is why it happened at all. The killer apparently blames you for killing someone.Ô ÓAnd if he went to such lengths to avenge it, then it must have happened?Ô I waited. Nobody said anything. I added, ÓYour enigma is a beaut. He left the office alive with an accusation of having already been killed.Ô ÓWho is Penta?Ô Candace Amory asked. But I was ready for that one too. ÓWhy ask it of a dead man?Ô ÓBecause that note was written to be read by a man who wasnÒt dead yet. He was making sure the victim knew why he was dying and who was doing the killing. If he thought it was you he was murdering then he knew you would recognize the name before you died.Ô ÓClever thinking, maÒam, very clever. It could be possible, but unfortunately it isnÒt. Now I want to tell you something right now. If I had any information at all on this matter I would have given it to Pat on the scene last night. We have a fluke going here and I donÒt know where or how, but damn it, IÒm involved now. IÒm sure as hell involved. When he put Velda down I was in and IÒm going to stay in until that fucking psycho gets nailed to the wall. Sorry about the language, lady, but thatÒs what itÒs all about.Ô With a beautifully modulated tone of voice she said, ÓYouÒll do nothing of the fucking kind, Mr. Hammer. You stay completely away from this matter or your license will be revoked immediately. Pardon the language, please.Ô ÓThe ballÒs in your court,Ô I said sarcastically. ÓYes, I know. And if I were you, IÒd reflect a little on the origin of this name Penta. As a matter of fact, I think IÒd reflect for no longer than one more day before you have a letter from the Bureau of Licenses.Ô She stood up and looked down at me. ÓClear?Ô I stood up slowly and she wasnÒt looking down at me any more. She was tall, but not that tall. ÓVery clear,Ô I said. When they walked out of the room Pat let out a short laugh. ÓShe really dumped one on you.Ô He laughed again. ÓShe really doesnÒt know you very well, does she?Ô ÓHell, canÒt she read the papers?Ô I kicked the chair out and sat down again. ÓWhat did your guys find in my office?Ô ÓNothing.Ô ÓJust like that? Nothing?Ô ÓYou and Velda laid down most of the prints, some came from the cleaning lady and a couple others seemed to have come from the dead guy. Our killer left smudges, so he was wearing gloves, and not the surgical kind that can transfer prints to surfaces on occasion. The adhesive tape was the kind you buy in any drugstore. He used two full spools of two-inch-wide stuff and took the spools with him.Ô ÓThey vacuumed, didnÒt they?Ô ÓAnd thatÒs tedious lab work. A couple days and weÒll see what they picked up.Ô ÓDidnÒt anything turn up on the Penta ID?Ô Pat gave me an annoyed scowl and shook his head. ÓThat went out on the wires first thing. Washington, Interpol ... theyÒve all been notified. Trouble is, itÒs the weekend. Everybody takes off the weekend and some overworked clerk has got everything backed up.Ô He sat back, stretched and said, ÓWhat are you planning to tell the Ice Lady?Ô ÓTo go piss up a stick.Ô ÓGive her Penta instead. SheÒll love you for it.Ô ÓI can do without that. Who is she, anyway?Ô Pat got up and poured himself a cup of coffee. He dropped in a couple of Sweet ÑnÒ Lows, sipped it and said, ÓSomebody the DA has been keeping under wraps. She was the tactician on the two major cases that jumped him into the office last year. Suddenly she wants into field work and you drew her, buddy.Ô ÓGreat.Ô ÓDonÒt try screwing with her brain. SheÒs a real whiz kid.Ô ÓNot if she tried pulling a stupid bluff on me. Who the hell does she think I am, some kid with a new ticket?Ô ÓBelieve me,Ô Pat said, sheÒs got something going for her. IÒd cover my ass if I were you.Ô The big clock on the wall read ten twenty-five and I reset my watch. I told Pat I had some things to do and would call in later. He damn well knew what I had in mind and just said so long. Weekends are the odd times when the regular shift of office maintenance personnel is off and the occasional help comes on. Some are the steadies picking up a few extra bucks, a few are retirees bolstering their pensions and Social Security, and most of them I knew over the years. They were on yesterday and they were on today. The guard in the lobby was an old-timer who let me know the cops had spoken to everyone on the job yesterday and from what he could find out, nobody had anything to offer. Saturday had been a quiet day and, as always, there had been strangers in the building, but that was common and nobody seemed to have stood out from the rest. I went in the office and Nat Drutman, the building manager, gave me a typed list of the help. ÓYou had some reporters looking for you earlier,Ô he told me. ÓLet them in?Ô ÓTemptation almost got me. One guy offered me five bills for a couple of photos.Ô ÓWhat kept you back?Ô ÓMan, the place was still wet from the cleaning. That carpet is going to have to come up.Ô ÓThey still around?Ô ÓAs of an hour ago they were.Ô ÓIÒll keep my eyes open.Ô ÓWhy donÒt you check your office? Those guysÒll do anything for a photo.Ô There were four on the list that could possibly have seen someone going to my office. Unfortunately, the first two hadnÒt seen anything and like they said, ÓWe wouldnÒa told dem cops nothing anyway, Mike. To you weÒd say. To them, nuts.Ô It was the third name that came up with something curious. Her name was Maria Escalante. She changed the sand in the ashtrays at the elevator banks and she was new in the building. I found her dusting the blinds at the far end of the third floor and said, ÓMiss Escalante?Ô She turned, saw me and stiffened. ÓI have a green card,Ô she said almost defiantly. ÓI told the others, I have a green card.Ô She reached under her sweater and pulled out a wallet, thumbing its contents. ÓLook,Ô she told me. ÓI show it to you.Ô Her Mexican accent was thick. ÓThatÒs all right, lady, I believe you.Ô She tightened up at that. ÓYou are a policeman?Ô I rarely ever did it, but I popped my own wallet open to my license. It looked pretty damn official. She shook her head. It wasnÒt enough. ÓLet me see your pist
ola.Ô That she could understand. I wondered what part of Mexico she came from. I opened my coat and let her see the .45 in the speed rig on my left side. ÓSi. I believe. My name is Maria Escalante and I live at ...Ô I waved her off. ÓI donÒt need that, Maria.Ô ÓI tell the other policemen I donÒt see nothing. They want to know about the trouble on the floor ocho ... floor eight. I×Ó ÓMaria ...Ô I reached out and took her hand and she was shaking. ÓThey scare you about your green card?Ô Immediately her mouth tightened and she held back the tears. ÓOne said ... he could take it ... that maybe it was no good ...Ô ÓIs it good?Ô ÓYes. After the amnesty I get it. I am legal now. I am going to be a US citizen.Ô ÓHe couldnÒt take it. He was just trying to shake something out of you, understand?Ô After a moment she frowned, then bobbed her head. ÓWhere were you yesterday?Ô I asked. ÓFrom the bottom to floor number ... five. I did the ashtrays. I ran the sweeper.Ô ÓMany people?Ô ÓSome. Mostly it was a day off.Ô ÓYou know them?Ô She nodded again. ÓThey come in, they leave, nobody stay after noontime. Maybe four people.Ô ÓThink about ten oÒclock. You see anybody then?Ô ÓWho you want me to see?Ô I let go her hand. ÓBeats me. I wish I could answer that.Ô ÓOne walker is all.Ô ÓWhatÒs a walker?Ô ÓHe comes up the stairs. He walks. The elevator is downstairs a long time, but he walks. He come to floor five and he keeps walking up.Ô ÓWhat time?Ô ÓJust before my break. I go for coffee at ten.Ô I motioned with my hands, trying to draw some information out of her. ÓWhat was he like?Ô All I got was a noncommittal shrug. ÓThink.Ô She looked up at the ceiling a few seconds. ÓHe was a big man. He wore a hat.Ô I waited. She shook her head. There was nothing more to add. ÓHe see you?Ô ÓI did not see his face so he did not see my face,Ô she stated flatly. ÓVery big?Ô I asked her. ÓMiddle-size big?Ô She shrugged again. ÓHe wore a coat. Like for the rain.Ô Like he could put on after a kill to cover up any bloodstains. ÓHe carry anything?Ô Another shrug. ÓDid you mention any of this to the other policemen?Ô A flash of fear touched her eyes again. ÓI ... they made me afraid and I could not think to tell them. Do you think they will ...Ô ÓForget it, Maria. You have nothing to worry about at all. Just be a good US citizen, okay?Ô I got a little smile then. ÓSi, si, very okay,Ô she said. And now I had a walker. He was big. He wore a raincoat and a hat. There would be a thousand other guys just a few blocks away who could answer that description, but at least it was a start. There was more that went with the description. He carried some kind of a billy club, but most likely a straight professional blackjack. He had a knife that was honed razor-sharp. It would have to be functional, small enough to carry dis-creetly, big enough to work efficiently. It could be single- or multi-bladed. I elected for a standard brand-name pocketknife with a four-inch main blade with a possible smaller one opposing. He could have a gun, but guys who prefer steel donÒt seem to use guns. That took care of the weaponry. His personal profile was pretty damn shaggy. He had no compunction about taking out a woman. He felt no revulsion about torturing a victim. He could kill with absolute ease and apparently took a great deal of satisfaction from a grotesque act of murder. He was a deliberate killer and seemed to be acting as an avenger of sorts. Fear wasnÒt in his makeup either. He came at me knowing I could put a gun in my hand pretty quickly and would have used it just as fast, but it was his expertise against mine and he was counting on his own. But he was a dumb son of a bitch because he killed the wrong guy. And if he wasnÒt so dumb heÒd know that and come back to have another try at me. And this time IÒd have a little avenging going for me too. Somebody who was very good had gotten into my office. A pick had been used on the lock and the place had been thoroughly searched. The desk drawers had been pulled open, and only shut to get at the ones beneath. Both closet doors swung wide and the filing cabinets had the drawers completely removed and set on the floor. There was no ransacking, simply a fast search job for something big enough to be seen easily. I put everything back the way it was, not concerned about disturbing prints. Anybody clever enough to come in with picklocks would have been enough of a pro to wear plastic gloves. I had to make five calls before I located Petey Benson in the Olde English Tavern on Third Avenue. Ever since he had been on a special assignment covering a serial killer case in London he had shepherdÒs pie on Sunday. He was alone, the remains of his dinner pushed aside, and he was finishing the paper with a stein of beer in his hand. ÓNow you show up,Ô he said. ÓRead the paper yet?Ô ÓUh-huh.Ô ÓWhoÒs sitting on the story? All we got were official handouts.Ô ÓThereÒs a loco loose, Petey. TheyÒre playing this one cool.Ô ÓBullshit. WhatÒs the story? They said Velda was sapped and there was a killing in your office.Ô ÓThatÒs the story. Hell, I came in after it was all over.Ô ÓCome on, donÒt hand me that baloney. A crackpot killing doesnÒt mean much, but doing it in your office does.Ô ÓAll I can figure is, some gonzo came in out of the rain with a big mad on at something he thought I did and went after a guy who happened to be in my office at the wrong time. He made a messy job of it and got out without being seen.Ô ÓThat sounds like a crock.Ô ÓIt is, but itÒs the only crock I got.Ô He gave me a crooked grin and folded his papers up. ÓSo what do you want with me?Ô ÓWhatÒs the scoop on Candace Amory?Ô ÓAh, you have many faces, old boy.Ô He picked up his stein and swirled the beer around. ÓYou want one of these?Ô Before I could answer he waved to the waiter and motioned for two more steins. ÓDo you want a personal or a professional opinion?Ô ÓStart with a pro rundown.Ô ÓWell educated, intelligent, brainy, intellectual, or is that being redundant?Ô ÓThe pointÒs clear.Ô ÓSheÒs sharp, mean as a snake, and when it comes to winning doesnÒt have any conscience at all. She takes every advantage she can of being a woman and doesnÒt seem to have chinks in her armor at all. She has powerful friends because sheÒs so damn good at what she does and any political enemies who tried to lean on her didnÒt know what hit them.Ô ÓGreat,Ô I said sourly. ÓSheÒs got a nice ass, hasnÒt she?Ô ÓI only saw her from the front.Ô ÓThatÒs pretty good too.Ô Petey chuckled. ÓWhy the inquiry?Ô ÓSheÒs coming out in the open,Ô I said. The waiter put the steins down with the handles facing in the wrong direction. I spun the mug around and slopped some of the beer on my sleeve. Petey took a pull of his beer and wiped the foam from his lip. ÓNot to be unexpected. That lady has been waiting her chance. I take it sheÒs into this thing with you?Ô ÓSheÒs asking questions.Ô He took another pull at his drink. ÓA wonderment,Ô he said. He looked at me across the table, his eyes probing. ÓWe have something big here, I imagine.Ô ÓWhere did she come from, Petey?Ô ÓWell, nobody does any great research on political appointments of that nature. The DAÒs office runs a lot of lawyers, plenty of lady lawyers too. But this one was a little special. After she got out of school she spent a year in the FBI, did private legal work in Washington, D.C., then came back to New York. ItÒs easy to see why the DAÒs office picked up on her.Ô ÓShe well liked?Ô ÓBeats me, Mike. She probably is, but I donÒt know how. A lot of the hotshots date her, but she doesnÒt keep them around very long. SheÒs still not married. Got a nice pad up near the UN.Ô He hoisted the stein and drank the rest of the beer down without a stop. He belched, then said, ÓYou got plans for the lady?Ô I did the same thing with my stein but I didnÒt belch. ÓNope,Ô I told him. ÓItÒs just better to know what to expect.Ô That wise old face of his had a knowing expression and he leaned forward and laid his chin in his hands. ÓSomething going down?Ô ÓSomething smells funny.Ô ÓLike the old days?Ô I nodded and my eyes tightened up. ÓI donÒt like it, friend. I thought those old days were gone for good.Ô ÓDo I get the story?Ô ÓWhy not?Ô I said. ÓYou watch out for the lovely lady DA. Though I sure would like to see you two tangle, a real kiss ÑnÒ kill situation.Ô ÓThanks a bunch.Ô ÓNo trouble.Ô I picked up his check when I left. ÓYou can leave the tip,Ô I told him.