* * *
A hot, soapy shower turned me new again. I turned the power head from a stinging needle spray to the thudding vibrating sequence, then back to normal for a final five minutes while I shaved my beard off under the running water. When I dried off, I pulled my Jockey shorts on, made a tall CC and ginger with a twist and turned on the phone recorder. The first call was from the dry cleaners telling me my clothes were ready. The second was from Russell Graves in Manchester, England, who wanted me to return his call. He gave me the number and I put the phone on my shoulder and dialed it. The British phone did its double burp, rang twice, and a heavily accented voice said, ÓYes, can I help you?Ô ÓRussell? This is Mike Hammer. WhatÒs happening?Ô This time he didnÒt sound flippant at all. ÓMr. Hammer ... I think you had better know, well ... this business with the mutilated fingers?Ô ÓYes?Ô ÓTwice I have been called upon by persons I suspect are from the police. They wanted to know about my interest in the ... the dead man.Ô ÓDid they identify themselves?Ô I heard him swallow. ÓThey didnÒt have to. They have a way about them, yÒknow.Ô ÓRussell, you are in England, buddy. The police donÒt work that way.Ô ÓThese were ... a different sort of police.Ô ÓWhat are you talking about?Ô ÓBritish intelligence agents donÒt work under the same rules as our bobbies.Ô ÓThey threaten you?Ô ÓLet me say ... they were threatening. Only when they determined I was a bona fide reporter did they leave. The implication I got was ... that I was an unwelcome intruder.Ô ÓDid they say that?Ô ÓIt was what they didnÒt say, yÒknow. IÒm afraid thereÒs something very big in the wind. They were very frightening.Ô ÓWhy the call then?Ô ÓBecause ... one mentioned, well, rather out of turn, I doubt if he was aware of it... not to go looking for Ñthe others.Ò Now, he might have said Ñany others,Ò but IÒm quite sure he said Ñthe others.Ò In that case, there would be more.Ô ÓBeautiful, Russell, you did fine. DonÒt go out looking for any of them.Ô ÓOh, you can be sure of that, Mike. IÒm really not into violence. Those men were quite burly. Knew what they were about too. Thought youÒd want to know, however.Ô I thanked him again and hung up. I sure was in the middle of something. They hadnÒt quite finished their meeting when I got to Candace AmoryÒs office. Her door was open and I could hear their quietly argumentative voices down the hall. In a steely tone I heard Coleman say, ÓIn all this time there has to be somebody able to identify him. This one-name ÑPentaÒ business must have some significance.Ô ÓWell, weÒre coordinating all the information the embassyÒs gathered in. We really havenÒt all that many men in the field×Ó I interrupted him from the doorway. ÓWhy not, Mr. Bradley?Ô The interplay of glances between the three of them was quick. Candace reacted with sudden surprise and I knew she had forgotten our date for a drink. Before she could answer, Bradley said, ÓWhy should we? A couple of killings×Ó ÓCut the crap, Bradley. If this Penta demands StateÒs being on the scene weÒre in a big-league ball game.Ô ÓMr. Hammer ...Ô He turned sharply, facing me, a big guy carrying a lot of federal authority. He was all set to read me right out of the picture, but he wasnÒt that big. I walked into the room and said, ÓWhich couple of killings are you referring to? I can name three more civilian jobs that carry PentaÒs trademark and a lot of others on the political scene without any fingers.Ô I was lying about the last bunch, but he didnÒt know that and I saw him stiffen visibly. He looked at Coleman quickly, then back to me. ÓHow do you know that?Ô Now it was better. He wasnÒt challenging me at all. He knew that someplace I had gotten information I wasnÒt supposed to have, and he didnÒt know what I was going to do with it. I wasnÒt somebody he could put a hold on and he had to make up his mind fast. I gave him a simple noncommittal shrug. Coleman cleared his throat. It had caught him off guard too. ÓYou seem to have some unusual sources, Mr. Hammer.Ô I still didnÒt say anything. ÓDid Captain Chambers tell you this?Ô Truthfully, I said, ÓI donÒt think Pat even knows about it.Ô I was full of truth these days. Ray Wilson probably hadnÒt had time to tell him and he didnÒt know Russell Graves. ÓAnd, of course, you arenÒt going to tell us where you got the information from.Ô ÓWhat difference does it make?Ô I asked him. ÓNow we all know what the facts are.Ô Candace AmoryÒs face seemed to be frozen, but her eyes were blazing. I added, ÓToo bad you didnÒt let the lady district attorney in on your show.Ô Ice was in her voice too. ÓYes, that is too bad. I thought we were a team.Ô ÓWe were going to, Miss Amory. For the moment we thought it best to ignore the background and concentrate on the current situation.Ô Bradley was really trying now. ÓPerhaps if Mr. Hammer leaves, we can put our cards on the table×Ó I didnÒt let him finish. ÓWhy donÒt you tell her youÒre after a terrorist, Bradley?Ô I ignored him then and looked at Candace. ÓHeÒs a hit man, kid. A coolly professional killer who can work in the big time and enjoys signing his work with finger mutilation. Somebody took him out of his grade and put him in the political arena. Now heÒs over here.Ô Candace walked to the door, closed it, then came back to the table. To Bradley she said, ÓI assume this is true?Ô ÓGenerally, yes.Ô While the static was still in the air I said, ÓWhy donÒt you put the cards on the table, people? Whether you like it or not, IÒm in. ThereÒs no way you can cut me out now.Ô Before Bradley could stop her, Candace looked directly at him, but was speaking to me. ÓMr. Bradley is the State DepartmentÒs expert on this Penta person. I though his assignment was fairly recent, but it looks like heÒs been at it for some time now. Is that right, Mr. Bradley? Or do I reach my associates in Washington to find out?Ô There was no embarrassment in BradleyÒs face at all. They train the State guys well. When something sours, they go with the play and take the best way out. He talked to me too, but his eyes were on hers. ÓYes, itÒs quite true. I have led a specially selected team to locate and seize Penta for the past eleven years. WeÒve gotten close several times, so have the British, but every time he has eluded us. There have been nine important political assassinations credited to him, but on these there were no mutilations. Instead, there was a simple slash across the backs of all four ringers and the thumb in each case. Rather than leaving a signature, he was initialing his work. When our agent apparently surprised him in England, he reverted to his previous method of total finger amputation to show his displeasure.Ô ÓWhoÒs his boss?Ô I asked him. ÓIt would have to be an unfriendly. Somebody funds him well.Ô From the side, Coleman cut in with, ÓWe suspect that he could be somebody in a low level of politics or a police organization. The way he moves, he seems to have a great deal of insight into our activities.Ô ÓAnd if you must know, Mr. Hammer, it was because of the death of our agent in England that I was removed from my post and brought back to the States.Ô ÓThen why are you here?Ô ÓBecause IÒm the only one who has had any previous experience with this personÒs operation. When Victor Starson gets here, IÒll be relieved and transferred to Washington.Ô ÓMeanwhile,Ô I reminded him, ÓPenta is here.Ô ÓAnd so are you, Mr. Hammer. Please remember that it was you he came for.Ô ÓNow weÒre back to square one. IÒm a political zero. I have no ties to government policy in any way. IÒm the one big mistake in this scenario.Ô ÓThis killer hasnÒt made a mistake yet,Ô Bradley said softly. ÓAs long as his identity is an absolute mystery, all the odds are on his side.Ô ÓBuddy, heÒs no ghost. HeÒs been seen by a lot of people. Trouble is, they never knew who they were looking at.Ô I paused and looked at all three of them. To Bradley I said, ÓBut you are wrong about him never making a mistake.Ô They waited to hear the rest of it, but I looked at my watch, then at Candace. ÓWe going to get that drink, Miss Amory?Ô But Coleman wouldnÒt let it drop. ÓYou were saying, Mr. Hammer ...Ô ÓI was saying that this is a police matter in the City of New York and youÒll just have to wait for Captain Chambers to release any fresh information. You ready, Miss Amory?Ô Everybody left. The good-byes were fuzzy. Candace and I got in a cab and I had the driver take us to the Old English Tavern. Petey Benson was at the bar talking baseball to a yuppie type and almost dropped his teeth when he saw me with Candace. I nudged CandaceÒs shoulder. ÓCare to meet a fan?Ô ÓDoes he vote?Ô ÓWhat difference does it make? You were appointed.Ô ÓOne
day that will change.Ô ÓHe votes,Ô I told her. She smiled pleasantly. ÓThen by all means, introduce us.Ô Petey was a little uncertain about taking the hand she held out, but grinned and gave her fingers a squeeze. He appreciated civilian authority from an objective viewpoint, not this close. ÓPeteyÒs one of the good-guy reporters, Miss Amory. Got real hidden talents.Ô ÓWonderful,Ô she said. Silently, Petey was kicking my tail. I told him, ÓYou feel like doing me a favor, pal?Ô ÓNope, I donÒt ever ...Ô ÓGet into your files and get me some information on DiCica. Not his record or any late stuff. Go back as far as you can.Ô ÓWhy? The guyÒs dead.Ô ÓJust do it, okay?Ô For a second I thought he was going to tell me to forget it, but he read my eyes a second and nodded slowly. ÓSure,Ô he told me. ÓOnly because of one thing will I do it.Ô ÓWhatÒs that?Ô ÓWe got computers and fax machines now and I donÒt get tied up for a week scanning old copy.Ô I threw five bucks on the bar and ordered beers for Petey and his baseball buddy, then went back to a table with Candace. I answered her question before she could ask it. ÓThe killer was after DiCica or me. Now, I know all about me, and I know something about DiCica. What I want is to know all about DiCica.Ô ÓWe know all about DiCica.Ô ÓHell, kid, not even DiCica knew that. He led two completely different lives.Ô She waited until the waiter brought the drinks, then toyed with her glass while she put her thoughts together. She knew I was watching her, feeling her with my eyes, reading the little bits of body language that she let slip, and let her mouth go firm. ÓDonÒt do that,Ô I said. Her expression questioned me. ÓYou got a nice, sensual mouth, kid. DonÒt squeeze it shut like that.Ô ÓPlease!Ô She glanced around quickly, afraid someone had heard me. I grinned at her. ÓNow talk to me, pretty lady.Ô This time she shook her head and smiled back. ÓWhy do I go from hot to cold with you?Ô ÓBecause youÒre playing the game too, doll.Ô ÓAnd what does the winner get?Ô ÓIÒm not sure what the prize is yet,Ô I told her. She let her teeth slide over her lower lip, folded her hands under her chin and gave me a studied gaze. ÓYouÒre going to be a winner, arenÒt you?Ô I didnÒt answer her. ÓThatÒs whatÒs disturbing me. Disturbing everybody. YouÒre the piece that doesnÒt belong, but has to be there. As my friends say, a lousy private cop in a position they canÒt shove around. Why is that, Mike?Ô A slight shrug was the best I could do. ÓMy boss defers to Captain Chambers. He recognizes his professionalism and appreciates his opinion. Somewhere you have a niche in all this and nobody but you seems to know where it is.Ô She paused dramatically. ÓWhere is it?Ô ÓRight in the middle of the shitpile,Ô I said. ÓGross.Ô ÓNot really. You ever been shot at?Ô Her head made a slight negative movement. ÓWhen it happens,Ô I told her seriously, ÓyouÒll know what I mean.Ô ÓBut youÒll still be a winner.Ô ÓCandace honey, whoever stays alive the longest wins. Right now something is happening and nobody wants to spell it out. We have federal agencies sniffing around, the State Department playing footsies in a murder case because theyÒre afraid they might screw up the political scene. Right now all thatÒs a lot of crap. WeÒre working on a murder, a killing that comes under the jurisdiction of the New York Police Department.Ô ÓNo murder is simple.Ô ÓAnd a kill isnÒt complicated,Ô I reminded her. ÓOnly the motives are complicated.Ô She took her hands down now, settling back in her chair. Her head tilted slightly and she gave me that odd stare again. ÓSee Å thatÒs the other thing about you thatÒs puzzling.Ô This time I waited. ÓSomeone wanted to kill you. Most likely he still wants to kill you and you donÒt seem to be scared a bit.Ô ÓDonÒt fool yourself.Ô ÓYouÒre scared?Ô ÓNot the way youÒd count scared. IÒm cautious. And you have to be alive to be scared.Ô ÓThatÒs a thought.Ô ÓIÒll give you another,Ô I said. ÓBe scared, but donÒt let your hand shake.Ô ÓLater IÒll ask you to explain that.Ô She snapped her pocketbook open and pulled out a vanity, glanced at the mirror and put it back. ÓLater?Ô ÓAfter you take me home,Ô she said impishly. They forget sometimes, these beautiful women. There are times when they can lift their skirts up to their eyebrows and nobody will even blink because they did it in the dark, and right then my eyes were closed. When the cab pulled up to her building and the doorman did his little sprint, I said, ÓWhen your hand shakes, you miss the target, kitten.Ô She glanced at me, frowning, and asked, ÓIs your hand shaking?Ô ÓIt doesnÒt matter, honey. IÒm not aiming.Ô I kissed the tip of my finger and stuck it on the end of her nose. This time she smiled and got out of the cab. It wasnÒt an impish smile at all.
7 The workout at BingÒs Gym let me tear at something physical for a change. Weight machines were enemies I could push and shove at, my jaws clamped hard in the effort. I could pound at the heavy bag and rap the hell out of the light one, and even if it wasnÒt the real thing, there was something therapeutic about it that made me feel better. I would have kept it up, but Bing reminded me that I was overdoing it for this session and ushered me into the steam room with a towel wrapped around my middle. Nobody else was there, so I sat and let my mind drift through the details of an old hardcase being mutilated and killed in my office. One lousy murder and the whole world fell apart. The DAÒs office is in, the FBI is in, the CIA is in, the State Department is in, because a guy they call Penta took out a wacko hood. And that put me in too. But there was one thing that only I knew for absolute certainty ... I really wasnÒt in at all. There was no way at all that I could have any involvement with the killer. Even if he was the Penta everybody was after, he was after nobody else except DiCica. It sure as hell wasnÒt me. Question. Which DiCica? The old hit man he was before he had memory smashed out of his skull? In that case, the motive was pure revenge. But why wait so long? DiCica hadnÒt been in hiding. Even the mob boys knew where he was. Right now Pat would have his inquiries in the works and Petey would be working from another end. Something could show up here ... possibly. DiCica with his memory back could be something else. The mob didnÒt care about him as a person. All they wanted was what he had that could bring pressure on their organization. They could kill him, but that left his information lia-ble to a possible discovery. Their misconception that he had contacted me for assistance meant that they didnÒt order the kill. So ... another part of the organization, an upstart group or person wanting to get control or possibly another family entirely, knew DiCica had flashes of memory recall and went after him. In that case, did the torture session get it out of him? Who set up the appointment to meet me in my office? Could that have been legitimate and the guy scared off by the action that day? Logical and possible. The screwy thing was the trademark mutilation by somebody named Penta our government and the British government seemed to know all about, and it sure wasnÒt likely that someone in the mob circles was able to contact anybody working on PentaÒs level. I let it run through my mind again and the only answer I could come up with was that somebody had picked up some stray facts about Penta and did a duplicate, but more elaborate job of mutilation on the DiCica kill to throw in the most beautiful red herring I ever saw. And I still was in the middle of it. After a shower I got dressed and grabbed a cab to the hospital. This time the overnight parkers had left cleared space and there was no Mercedes parked with wheels turned away from the curb. Oddly, I wondered what my muggersÒ options would have been if I had grabbed a cab at the entrance that night. Downstairs I picked up a vase of flowers, took the elevator up to VeldaÒs floor and walked to the desk. For one second I almost dropped the flowers. Pat was there talking to Burke Reedey and all I could think of was something had happened to Velda. When he half turned, saw me and nodded agreeably, I knew there was no trouble. ÓWhatÒre you doing here?Ô I asked him. ÓSame as you, pal, bringing flowers to a friend.Ô But he knew what I had been thinking and added, ÓSheÒs okay.Ô I glanced at Burke for confirmation and he grinned. ÓItÒs a good recovery, Mike. We had her for some other tests this morning and the prognosis looks fine.Ô ÓCan I see her?Ô ÓSure, but sheÒs asleep. Leave your flowers and weÒll tell her you were here.Ô Even though the cop on the door saw me talking to Pat, he waited for him to nod okay before he let me in. I put the flowers down quietly, then stood beside
the bed watching her. The swelling had gone down some and the discoloration had taken on a different hue, but the improvement was noticeable. Her breathing was strong and regular, and I said, ÓSleep well, kitten,Ô in a barely audible whisper. Pat and I found the visitorÒs lounge, got some coffee and a table away from the main crowd. ÓYou look like somethingÒs bugging you,Ô I said. ÓI spoke to Ray Wilson this morning.Ô ÓAnd now IÒm in deep shit, I suppose.Ô ÓNo more than usual.Ô ÓWhatÒs the beef then?Ô ÓJust cool the use of departmental facilities, Mike. The word has come in loud and clear. This Penta business is being taken out of our hands.Ô ÓThe hell it is,Ô I told him. ÓThe DiCica murder comes under NYPD jurisdiction.Ô ÓNot when Uncle Sammy thinks otherwise.Ô ÓSo why tell me about it?Ô ÓBecause youÒre still the fly in the ointment. YouÒre a principal in the case and even though youÒre licensed under the state laws, youÒre still a civilian, a US citizen, and thereÒs nobody harder to keep quiet than one of our own.Ô ÓYou can do better than that, Pat.Ô ÓOkay, our CIA pal, Lewis Ferguson, has asked for an audience inÔ×he looked at his watch× Óforty-five minutes.Ô ÓWhere?Ô ÓIn one of those cute little places the State Department reserves for quiet conferences. Take your time. Finish your coffee.Ô Pat had an unmarked car and we drove up Sixth Avenue to the Fifties, parked in a public garage and went into the side entrance of the half-block-wide building. The elevator took us up to the ninth floor and we turned left to the frosted glass doors marked SUTTERLIN ASSOCIATES, ARCHITECTS. Inside, a glass booth surrounded the receptionist, and when Pat spoke to her through the cutout in the window, she told us to wait, spoke into the phone, and a minute later a young guy in a business suit with the body language of the State Department came out, ushered us down the hallway and knocked on an unlabeled door, waited for the buzzer to click it open and waved us in. Bennett Bradley and Ferguson were there already, Bradley behind his desk and Ferguson pacing beside him, ignoring three chairs already positioned. There was no handshaking, just perfunctory nods, and we all sat down at once. Bradley didnÒt waste any time. He leaned forward on his desk, his fingers clasped together, the expression on his face as if his shorts were too tight. ÓGentlemen,Ô he started, Óbefore we begin, I want it understood that this meeting, and what is said here, is strictly confidential. Three of us represent government agencies and understand that position, so to you, Mr. Hammer, I want to make myself clear. Is that understood?Ô I said, ÓI hear you.Ô ÓGood. I believe Mr. Ferguson has something to say.Ô The CIA agent shifted in his chair to face Pat. He reached in his pocket and took out an envelope I recognized right away. ÓCaptain Chambers, I have an item here that was routed through our office for identification.Ô He dumped the tooth I had found into the palm of his hand. PatÒs face hardened and he said tightly, ÓI was supposed to get a report in my office.Ô ÓLetÒs simplify things,Ô Ferguson said. This time he looked at me. ÓI understand you found this.Ô I hedged a little. ÓI came by it, yes.Ô ÓHow?Ô ÓLetÒs say IÒm in the business of looking for clues. I was a victim of a crime of aggravated nature and made it my business to look for my assailants. That is what is called a clue.Ô ÓI donÒt need sarcasm, Mr. Hammer.Ô ÓNone intended,Ô I said soberly. The hardness eased out of PatÒs face. ÓYou assumed this came from the mouth of an assailant?Ô ÓSomething did. This was the only thing that could have.Ô ÓAnd you took it right to Captain Chambers.Ô ÓCorrect.Ô I knew what was coming and got there first. ÓThe mugging on me wasnÒt any street crime, so donÒt letÒs beat that dead horse. This went down as a very knowledgeable venture by people who knew all the ropes. They had team-work, knew drug handling, didnÒt bother to confiscate my money or weapon ... hell, they even wore spook shoes that could handle any surface efficiently and quietly.Ô ÓYou are referring, of course, to the CIA?Ô Pat spoke up and said, ÓThatÒs where the identification finally came from then, didnÒt it?Ô Ferguson took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ÓYes.Ô When he had gathered his thoughts, he went on: ÓThe recipient of that partial had the work done at a government facility after he lost it on a CIA operation. It was listed in his file and recorded on the computers.Ô ÓWho was he?Ô Pat asked. When Ferguson didnÒt answer immediately, I said, ÓWant me to leave the room?Ô A touch of scorn was in FergusonÒs voice. ÓI donÒt think that would make any difference at this point, would it, Captain Chambers?Ô ÓYou said it in the beginning, pal. HeÒs in this pretty damn deep and if he wants to make anything public he can do it. Just remember that heÒs still a good guy.Ô ÓWell put. All right, the partial belonged to an agent named Harry Bern. He was an old hand who came into the agency in 1961. He had a military background, was well rated but considered a little reckless out on assignments. When there was all that fury about extremes in our covert operations, certain agents considered touchy were released. He was one of them.Ô Pat said, ÓI suppose you checked his passport?Ô Ferguson seemed surprised at that. To him cops werenÒt expected to think that far ahead. ÓHe made numerous trips abroad. Apparently heÒs in this country now.Ô ÓApparently,Ô I muttered. ÓAnd heÒs not alone.Ô This time Ferguson squirmed in his chair again. ÓAnother one we released was his partner, Gary Fells. They came in together and they went out together. They had almost identical background and personality profiles.Ô For the first time Bradley let out a hrumph to get our attention and when he had it, said, ÓTheir quizzing you, Mr. Hammer, as to the whereabouts of Penta is what brings the State DepartmentÒs interest into the picture.Ô ÓYou canÒt locate either of these guys?Ô I asked. ÓRemaining invisible if they have to is one of their specialties.Ô ÓGood training.Ô ÓShould be. They were in the first cadre General Rudy Skubal commanded.Ô Neither Pat nor I showed any change of expression, but we both knew what the other was thinking. General Skubal wasnÒt new to me at all. A long time ago he had tried to recruit me into his organization, even going to the trouble of having Pat put some pressure on me. Old Skubie, I was thinking, who took himself and the other tigers, as he called them, deep behind enemy lines for twenty-two months, a wild bunch of trained fighters fluent in Slavic languages, who raised complete hell with enemy communications until they rejoined with American units after the Normandy landing. Most of those tigers went into frontline field work with the CIA in its early days and became shadow legends with government spooks. ÓWhere do we go from here?Ô Pat asked. Bradley unclasped his fingers and made a steepie of them. ÓNowhere. That is, you donÒt. As of now, the police department is being removed from the case. Of course, Captain Chambers, you know what that entails, donÒt you?Ô Pat nodded, saying nothing. ÓAs for you, Mr. Hammer, your total silence is required. Not requested, but demanded. There will be no more investigating the Penta affair or your assailants since this all will be in the hands of federal agencies. The nature of this case is so sensitive that the fewer involved the easier it will be to process. Now, are there any further questions?Ô I said, ÓIs looking into the murder of Anthony DiCica any part of the Penta business?Ô Bradley unsteepled his fingers and gave a shrug. ÓI canÒt see what DiCica has to do with it, Mr. Hammer. Penta was after you,Ô ÓThanks a bunch,Ô I said. ÓSince IÒm to be the quiet target then, do I get any cover?Ô ÓI may sound callous, Mr. Hammer,Ô Bradley told me, Óbut youÒve already made your sentiments very clear. You prefer to remain unguarded. Now, just to make sure we all understand your position, do you or do you not prefer a guard? I ask this because in your way, you too are a professional and licensed to carry firearms.Ô ÓJust let me take my chances, Mr. Bradley. I get nervous when people are watching me.Ô ÓSo be it,Ô he said and stood up. The meeting was over. When Pat and I got to the street, he said, ÓYou got to go anywhere?Ô ÓNo, but IÒll walk you to the garage.Ô ÓSure, then maybe you can tell me about that bit with DiCica.Ô ÓCome on, Pat, weÒre both thinking the same thing. It could have been DiCica he was really after and anything else was a sham. What have you got on the guy?Ô We had stopped on the corner and Pat checked his watch. ÓIÒm going off duty. How about a beer?Ô ÓHow can you go off duty? ItÒs afternoon.Ô ÓIÒm the boss, thatÒs how.Ô ÓFine, a beer sounds great and ErnieÒs Little Plac
e is right here. You ever been in ErnieÒs?Ô ÓNo.Ô ÓGood. Neither have I.Ô Over the beer Pat told me about Anthony DiCica. He had a listing of all his arrests, convictions that were a laugh, and the victims he was suspected of killing. Every dead guy was involved in the mob scene and two of them were really big time. Those two were hit simultaneously while they ate in a small Italian restaurant. It was suspected by the police that it was more than a social dinner. It was a business affair and the killer, after shooting both parties in the head twice, made off with an envelope that had been seen on the table by a waiter. Following the hit there had been an ominous quiet in the city for a week, then several more persons in the organization either died or were mysteriously missing before a truce seemed to be declared. It was two weeks later that Anthony DiCicaÒs head collided with pipe in a street brawl. ÓLetÒs make a script out of this, Pat.Ô ÓOkay,Ô he agreed. ÓOur boy Anthony went a little bit further when he hit those mob guys. He knew they were plotting against his employer and grabbed the papers. When he saw what he had, he knew he was in a position of power, but didnÒt quite know how to handle it, so hid it somewhere.Ô He paused. ÓNow your turn.Ô ÓThe mobs turned on themselves thinking of a double cross somewhere, then realized what had happened and cooled it. It took a couple of weeks to locate our Anthony, but they went a little overboard in bringing him in and cracked his skull. After that he was no good to anybody. They still needed his goods and had to wait for him to come out of the memory loss before they could move ...Ô Pat lifted his beer and made a silent toast. ÓWe really took his place apart, you know.Ô ÓNo, I didnÒt know. What did you find?Ô ÓZilch. There were no hiding places at all. We even tried the cellar area. If he had anything at all, itÒs someplace else.Ô ÓNow what?Ô ÓWe wait the way we usually do,Ô he told me. I grinned at him. ÓBalls. When are you going to ask me?Ô He grinned back and said, ÓOkay, wise guy, when are you going to see General Skubal?Ô ÓSoon. Since youÒre off this case I go alone, but thereÒs no reason why we canÒt have a few talks together later, is there?Ô ÓNone at all.Ô ÓAnd IÒm not investigating the Penta affair at all. Just seeing an old friend. Right?Ô ÓRight.Ô ÓAnd the next time old Bradley boy demands I do something, I think IÒll rap him in the kisser with a civilian citizen hook.Ô ÓGood thinking. You know where Skubal is?Ô ÓI have his address in my office. IÒll get it tonight.Ô We finished our beers and when Pat left I made two calls looking for Petey before I found him in his office at the paper. He told me to come on over. He sounded excited. Until I saw his office, I hadnÒt realized Petey BensonÒs status at the newspaper. Most of the working reporters had a desk with a console in the quiet bedlam of the main section, but Petey had his own room, not a compartment, with a door that closed and his own bank of filing cabinets. ÓMan,Ô I said. ÓI thought you did all your work out of barrooms.Ô ÓThatÒs all eyewash for the peasantry.Ô ÓYouÒve ruined your image, pal.Ô ÓNope. Been around too damn long to do that. What you see here is seniority at work. Plus sheer expertise, of course. Technology and computer chips rule the system these days and he who has the most gadgets wins. Wait till you see what IÒve come up with.Ô I tossed my hat on an old Smith-Corona typewriter and pulled a chair up next to Petey. ÓYou have a work-up already?Ô He nodded. ÓWeÒre lucky weÒre dealing in areas that have good terminal systems. You know anything about computers?Ô ÓVery little.Ô ÓOkay, let me brief you a little. In backtracking DiCica, I was able to get into records of public information, had some friends on the other end do a little legwork and between the FOI Act and the power of the press, weÒve got some history on Mr. Anthony DiCica. Ready?Ô ÓHit it.Ô PeteyÒs fingers moved over the keyboard and the console came alive. ÓWhere do you want to start?Ô ÓAll right, weÒll go for basics.Ô Then he brought Anthony Ugo DiCica up in green electronic reality. Born January 2, 1940, of Maria Louisa and Victorio DiCica in Brooklyn, New York. Victorio was a cabinet maker by trade, a World War II veteran honorably discharged in 1945. Maria DiCica had two stillbirths There were no other children. Anthony graduated Erasmus Hall High School, June 1958, worked one year in VictorioÒs cabinet shop, then left and was arrested for the first time a year and one week later. ÓHow do you like it, so far?Ô Petey asked me. ÓHe made the streets pretty early. PatÒs got his rap sheet, so skip that part and stay with the personal stuff.Ô Petey hit the keys again. ÓHis father was killed in a holdup shortly afterward, as you see. Now, hereÒs an excerpt from the News about the murder of a man suspected of having killed Victorio. He was even wearing VictorioÒs watch. Anthony was picked up and questioned, but released for lack of evidence. However, the word was that Anthony found the guy and hit him.Ô ÓHe discovered his profession, didnÒt he?Ô ÓMore than that,Ô Pete said, Óhe found a patron. Juan Torres.Ô I knew the name, and it hit me with force. ÓNow weÒre into the heavy cocaine scene.Ô ÓYouÒd better believe it,Ô he agreed. ÓYou know where Torres stood with the organization?Ô ÓHe was a damned lightweight for a long time, I remember that. Something happened that pushed him right up the ladder.Ô Pete nodded, chewing on his lower lip. ÓHeÒd just disappear for months at a time and when he showed up he was a little bit bigger. We finally figured out. Juan Torres was a finder. You know what that is?Ô I shook my head. ÓHeÒs got family scattered all through Mexico and South America. A million cousins, you know? HeÒs got that touch, and where thereÒs a coke source he taps into it. He was a nobody, a nothing, but maybe thatÒs how he made it work. The way prices are on the street, no operation was too small to tap into. Torres got the leads, made the deals and the organization moved him up. Oh, he was a damned good finder, all right. He was right inside the Medellin cartel when it first started.Ô Reaching across me, Petey picked four printed photos off his desk and handed them to me. In each one Juan Torres and Anthony DiCica were in close conversation against different backgrounds, obviously very familiar with each other. Here DiCica was dressed in expensive outfits, jewelry showing on both hands. Again Petey keyed the board and brought up bills of sale and records of deeds to two houses. ÓDiCica was the sole support of his mother. She still lives in the Flatbush house enjoying an income from two dry-cleaning establishments he bought for her years ago.Ô ÓWhat about the other one?Ô ÓA two-family place. Both rentals of long standing. The house was in his name, the rentals went to his mother. In the terms of his will she inherits the houses,Ô ÓDoes Maria know what happened to her son?Ô ÓHereÒs a copy of a report on her. When Anthony was in that trauma following the beating, she assumed he would die. She collected his belongings and only saw him once after that when he was released. He didnÒt even know her. All he remembered was something his papa had made, she said.Ô He erased the screen and brought up another report, a letter from the medical supervisor in the hospital that attended to Anthony. He concluded that DiCica had absolutely no memory of his previous life, his mental faculties were severely impaired in certain areas, but he was capable of leading a satisfactory, if minimal, existence. ÓWhat are you saving for me?Ô I asked him. ÓSomebody else was keeping a watch on both those houses,Ô he told me. ÓLook at this.Ô Two minor items from the Brooklyn Eagle appeared. The home of Mrs. Maria DiCica had been burglarized, but nothing seemed to have been taken. The elderly lady and her live-in housekeeper had been locked in the pantry while the ransacking went on. The dateline was two days after Anthony had been admitted to the hospital. One day later a minor squib reported an attempted robbery of another house, where the residents downstairs were trussed up and gagged while the robbers prowled through the premises before doing the same thing to the upstairs apart-ment where the residents were away. ÓBoth those houses belonged to DiCica,Ô Petey said. ÓHowever, since nothing was reported stolen, they were after something else entirely. Now,Ô he said with emphasis, Ócheck this one out.Ô The headline was bigger this time, under a partially blurred photograph of a pair of frightened old ladies. For the second time in a month their home had been entered and this time the women had been bound, their mouths taped shut, and kept unceremoniously on the kitchen floor while the intruders went about systematically tea
ring their house apart. Apparently they found nothing. Neighbors reported that street speculation assumed the DiCica woman to have a horde of cash in the house since the ladies lived so frugally. Before I could say anything, Petey keyed the console and grinned. ÓDonÒt ask me how I got this.Ô It was a copy of a bank statement. The amount was over three hundred thousand dollars, all in the name of Maria DiCica. Deposits were regular and automatic from several sources. ÓOur boy Anthony had set his old mother up in fine fashion. So, what were the houses being burglarized for and who did it?Ô He sat back and looked at me. ÓOr should I ask?Ô ÓI can give you an off-the-record opinion, Petey, but that will have to do for now.Ô ÓGood enough.Ô ÓDiCica had some devastating information on the mob. He hid it somewhere before he was clobbered.Ô With a look of finality, Petey shut the console down. ÓEnd of case. It died with Anthony.Ô ÓThe hell it did,Ô I said. ÓSomebody in the organization thinks DiCica suddenly remembered and dropped his secret on me.Ô ÓBrother!Ô ÓSo if it dies, itÒll die with me.Ô ÓOnly youÒre not dead yet?Ô ÓNot by a long damn sight.Ô ÓBut they got pressure on you, I take it?Ô I nodded. ÓThe bastards as much as said it was my ass if I donÒt produce.Ô ÓShake you up?Ô ÓIÒve been in the business too long, kiddo. I just get more cautious and keep my .45 on half cock.Ô He watched me frowning, grouping his thoughts. ÓThat mutilation of DiCica could have been a message to you then.Ô ÓItÒs beginning to look like it,Ô I said. ÓWhat do you do now?Ô ÓSee how far I can go before I touch a tripwire.Ô ÓYou donÒt give a damn, do you?Ô he said. ÓAbout what?Ô ÓAnything at all. You donÒt want any backup, no protection Å you want to be out there all alone like a first-class idiotic target.Ô I shrugged. ÓThereÒs a lot more of them than there are of you, kiddo,Ô I watched him and waited. He finally said, ÓThey know how you are, Mike. YouÒre leaving yourself wide open.Ô I felt that tight grin stretch my lips and said, ÓThatÒs the tripwire I set out.Ô When she answered the phone, I said, ÓWould you really like to be president?Ô There were three seconds of quiet and I knew she was studying the way I had said every word. ÓThere are a lot of obstacles on that road.Ô ÓI think I can clear a few of them out.Ô ÓHow?Ô I looked at my watch. ÓIÒll be at your place in fifteen minutes.Ô All I had to do was walk around the corner and I made it in five. The doorman nodded, called CandaceÒs apartment, then told me to go up. As I expected, I caught her in the middle of getting ready, obviously flustered at being half-dressed. ÓYouÒre a real bastard,Ô she said. ÓCome on in.Ô I tossed my hat on a chair and followed her into the living room. She walked against the light and for a brief moment her naked body was silhouetted through the fabric of her housecoat and she did a half turn, looking back at me impishly, and I knew she was well aware of what she was doing. ÓLike?Ô she asked. ÓCute.Ô ÓJust cute?Ô ÓKiddo, you are one helluva broad, as they used to say.Ô ÓOh?Ô ÓEspecially in the buff.Ô ÓBut youÒve only seen me once in the buff.Ô ÓIt made an impression then too.Ô I grinned at her. ÓNow go finish dressing.Ô ÓThat I will do, believe me.Ô She held out her hand and took mine. ÓYou, Mike, are going to sit and watch and tell me all about the presidency.Ô Without any hesitation, she led me toward the bedroom, ushered me in and pointed to a satin-covered chair next to her vanity. ÓAnd, of course, you are going to be a gentleman. You realize that, donÒt you?Ô ÓCertainly.Ô She was playing my game right back at me and my voice sounded hoarse. I sat down, but I wasnÒt comfortable. Women are born clever. They begin life as little girls who have an instinct base that turns little boys inside out. They never seem to lose any of it, just getting better every day. They can comb their hair or put on lipstick in a way to make any guy feel a sultry ache in his groin, and now I had to watch her sitting there, deliberately opening the housecoat around her shoulders, letting it slide down to her elbows so that it lay across the fullness of her breasts, seeming to balance on her nipples. She studied herself in the mirror, her tongue licking out to wet those luscious lips before she touched them with a feathery brush end. Her reflected glance met mine. ÓYou were saying?Ô ÓThe police have been pulled off the Penta case.Ô ÓOur office was notified.Ô She did the trick with her tongue again. ÓIf you ... and I mean you personally ... suddenly came up with something very explosive that would put you in the headlines even bigger than you expected when you busted into this affair ...Ô Her eyes held mine again. ÓItÒs another step up. The DAÒs office is next.Ô She took the hairbrush now, running it through the blond silkiness. It made a quiet, snaky sound and the muscles played very gently under her skin with the movement of her arm. The back of the housecoat slid down almost to her waist. ÓYour office isnÒt the police department. ItÒs still an investigative agency if it chooses to be.Ô Her eyebrows arched an affirmative and she put the hairbrush down on the vanity, studied herself again and stretched herself, arms out, fingers splayed in an odd theatrical gesture. She crossed one leg over the other, the gown falling away carelessly, leaving one side nude to the hip. I said, ÓYou have the intellect and the machinery to do something I need and do it fast. The cops have snitches out there you can reach if you play your cards right. Most likely you already have programs in place you can tap for the information I want.Ô She seemed to glide around on her seat until she faced me, the movement an instinctive feminine device that shocked a manÒs nerve endings, making me feel as if I were giving up to a slow drowning. Then a survival instinct jerked me back and I watched while she folded her hands in her lap, the motion letting the housecoat fall all the way, so she sat there, seemingly unconscious of the fact that the lovely swells of her naked breasts were mine to see. She smiled and I said, ÓYouÒre a pretty beastie, lady.Ô ÓAre you disturbed?Ô ÓNot that much.Ô ÓYou lie, Mike.Ô ÓNicely, I hope.Ô ÓYes. Very nicely. Now, what is it you want of me?Ô ÓSomething has our local organized crime group bent out of shape. ItÒs big enough to squash them if it gets out and big enough to kill for to keep it quiet.Ô She said, ÓYouÒd better explain.Ô ÓIt started with Anthony DiCica,Ô I told her, then laid the details out for her one by one. She let me finish without saying a word and when I got to the end she unconsciously pulled the robe up around her again, frowning in thought. She tilted her head at me, her eyes carefully shrouded. ÓNo games?Ô ÓStraight, kid.Ô ÓIÒm simply an assistant district attorney.Ô ÓNevertheless, you have the clout. Your boss has enough on his desk to keep him busy. All he wants is to get into court anyway. The legwork isnÒt his speed.Ô Candace nodded and asked, ÓWill Captain Chambers cooperate?Ô ÓWhy not? Interagency cooperation isnÒt active participation. HeÒd like to screw that State Department patsy anyway.Ô ÓOh, Bennett Bradley is all right. HeÒs pretty disappointed at not having found Penta after all these years. When all of a sudden the name showed up here ... well, you can imagine how he feels, especially with a replacement for him due.Ô ÓWell, hell, he doesnÒt give a damn what we do about DiCica anyway. All he wants is one last clear shot at this Penta character. When can you get things started?Ô She got to her feet before I could and smiled down at me. ÓThe first thing in the morning, Mike.Ô Her tongue made her lips wet and she held out her hands and when I took them, she pulled gently and I stood up, feeling her fingers kneading my shoulders. ÓWhere do people like you come from, Mike?Ô ÓWhy?Ô Girls can do strange things with their clothes too. With barely a movement, everything can suddenly fall away and they are naked and bare and nude all at once, the poutiness of their flesh pressing against your clothes like a hot iron, and they can squeeze themselves into the forbidden areas of your body the way water follows the contours of the earth. Her mouth was soft, warm lips so cushiony and alive, feeling and tasting that it was like a kiss within a kiss. I enjoyed the flavor of her, the pillowed sensation of being enfolded by nakedness, and when it got too much, I pushed her away gently. I knew what the look in her eyes meant. I knew what her smile meant. I grinned at her and took my lumps because she was getting back at me for the last time. ÓYouÒre the real bastard,Ô I said. The corner of her mouth twitched. ÓUh-huh.Ô I took a long look at her standing there, soft, sensual musculature that was never mot
ionless, the light outlining the gentle ripples of her body. ÓThink we can start over?Ô I asked her. She smiled. There was a glint in her eyes. ÓWhy not?Ô she said. I got my hat from the chair and got out of there. Downstairs there was a chill in the air and New York was getting that funny smell back again.
Mickey Spillane - [Mike Hammer] Page 7