The Girl Hunters

by Mickey Spillane

  It was reasonable in a way. I nodded.

  “But he had to die,” Art continued. “There was one thing he knew that was known only to the next in line in the chain of command, the ones taking over the organization.”

  “Like what?”

  “He knew every agent in the group. He could bust the whole shebang up if he spilled his guts to the West and the idea of world conquest by the Reds or the others would go smack down the drain.”

  “This you know?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No. Let’s say I’m sure of it, but I don’t know it. At this point I really don’t care. It’s the rest of the story I pulled out of the hat I’m interested in.” And now his eyes cocked themselves up at me again. “He was tracked down and killed by one known to the Reds as their chief assassin agent Gorlin, but to us as The Dragon.”

  If he could have had his hand on my chest, or even have touched me anywhere he would have known what was happening. My guts would knot and churn and my head was filled with a wild flushing sensation of blood almost bursting through their walls. But he didn’t touch me and he couldn’t tell from my face so his eyes looked at me even a little more obliquely expecting even the slightest reaction and getting none. None at all.

  “You’re a cold-blooded bastard,” he nearly whispered.

  “You said that before.”

  He blinked owlishly behind his glasses and stood up, his coat over his arm. “You know where to reach me.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you need anything?”

  “Not now. Thanks for the ticket.”

  “No trouble. Will you promise me something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Just don’t use that gun on The Dragon.”

  “I won’t kill him, Art.”

  “No. Leave that for me. Don’t spoil my pleasure or yours either.”

  He went out, closing the door softly behind him. I pulled the center desk drawer out, got the extra clip and the box of shells from the niche and closed the drawer.

  The package I had mailed to myself was on the table by the door where Nat always put my packages when he had to take them from the mailman. I ripped it open, took out the .45, checked the action and dropped it in the holster.

  Now it was just like old times.

  I turned off the light in my office and went outside. I was reaching for the door when the phone on Velda’s desk went off with a sudden jangling that shook me for a second before I could pick it up.

  Her voice was rich and vibrant when she said hello and I wanted her right there with me right then. She knew it too, and her laugh rippled across the miles. She said, “Are you going to be busy tonight, Mike?”

  Time was something I had too little of, but I had too little of her too. “Well—why?”

  “Because I’m coming into your big city.”

  “Isn’t it kind of late?”

  “No. I have to be there at 10 P.M. to see a friend of yours and since I see no sense of wasting the evening I thought that whatever you have to do you can do it with me. Or can you?”

  “It takes two to dance, baby.”

  She laughed again. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Sure, come on in. If I said not to I’d be lying. Who’s my friend you have a date with?”

  “An old friend and new enemy. Captain Chambers.”

  “What is this?”

  “I don’t know. He called and asked if I could come in. It would simplify things since his going out of his jurisdiction requires a lot of work.”

  “For Pete’s sake—”

  “Mike—I don’t mind, really. If it has to do with Leo’s death, well, I’ll do anything. You know that.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Besides, it gives me an excuse to see you even sooner than I hoped. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “See you in a little while, Mike. Any special place?”

  “Moriarty’s at Sixth and Fifty-second. I’ll be at the bar.”

  “Real quick,” she said and hung up.

  I held the disconnect bar down with my finger. Time. Seven years’ worth just wasted and now there was none left. I let the bar up and dialed Hy Gardner’s private number at the paper, hoping I’d be lucky enough to catch him in. I was.

  He said, “Mike, if you’re not doing anything, come on up here. I have to get my column out and I’ll be done before you’re here. I have something to show you.”

  “Important?”

  “Brother, one word from you and everybody flips. Shake it up.”

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Good.”

  I hung up and pushed the phone back. When I did I uncovered a heart scratched in the surface with something sharp. Inside it was a V and an M. Velda and Mike. I pulled the phone back to cover it, climbed into my coat and went outside. Just to be sure I still had the night to myself I walked down, out the back way through the drugstore then headed south on Broadway toward Hy’s office.

  Marilyn opened the door and hugged me hello, a pretty grin lighting her face up. She said, “Hy’s inside waiting for you. He won’t tell me what it’s all about.”

  “You’re his wife now, not his secretary anymore. You don’t work for him.”

  “The heck I don’t. But he still won’t tell me.”

  “It’s man talk, sugar.”

  “All right, I’ll let you be. I’ll get some coffee—and Mike—” I turned around.

  “It’s good to have you back.”

  When I winked she blew me a kiss and scurried out the door.

  Hy was at his desk inside with his glasses up on his forehead, frowning at some sheets in his hand. They were covered with penciled notations apparently culled from another batch beside his elbow.

  I pulled up a chair, sat down and let Hy finish what he was doing. Finally he glanced up, pulling his glasses down. “I got your message across.”

  “So?”

  “So it was like I dropped a bomb in HQ. Over there they seem to know things we don’t read in the paper here.” He leaned forward and tapped the sheets in his hand. “This bit of The Dragon is the hottest item in the cold war, buddy. Are you sure you know what you’re up to?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay, I’ll go along with you. The Reds are engaged in an operation under code name REN. It’s a chase thing. Behind the Iron Curtain there has been a little hell to pay the last few years. Somebody was loose back there who could rock the whole Soviet system and that one had to be eliminated. That’s where The Dragon came in. This one has been on that chase and was close to making his hit. Nobody knows what the score really is.” He stopped then, pushed his glasses back up and said seriously, “or do they, Mike?”

  “They?”

  I should have been shaking. I should have been feeling some emotion, some wildness like I used to. What had happened? But maybe it was better this way. I could feel the weight of the .45 against my side and tightened my arm down on it lovingly. “They’re after Velda,” I said. “It’s her. They’re hunting her.”

  Hy squeezed his mouth shut and didn’t say anything for a full minute. He laid the papers down and leaned back in his chair. “Why, Mike?”

  “I don’t know, Hy. I don’t know why at all.”

  “If what I heard is true she doesn’t have a chance.”

  “She has a chance,” I told him softly.

  “Maybe it really isn’t her at all, Mike.”

  I didn’t answer him. Behind us the door opened and Marilyn came in. She flipped an envelope on Hy’s desk and set down the coffee container. “Here’s a picture that just came off the wires. Del said you requested it.”

  Hy looked at me a little too quickly, opened the envelope and took out the photo. He studied it, then passed it across.

  It really wasn’t a good picture at all. The original had been fuzzy to start with and transmission electrically hadn’t improved it any. She stood outside a building, a tall girl with seemingly black hair longer than I remembe
red it, features not quite clear and whose shape and posture were hidden under bulky Eastern European style clothing. Still, there was that indefinable something, some subtlety in the way she stood, some trait that came through the. clothing and poor photography that I couldn’t help but see.

  I handed the photo back. “It’s Velda.”

  “My German friend said the picture was several years old.”

  “Who had it?”

  “A Red agent who was killed in a skirmish with some West German cops. It came off his body. I’d say he had been assigned to REN too and the picture was for identification purposes.”

  “Is this common information?”

  Hy shook his head. “I’d say no. Rather than classify this thing government sources simply refuse to admit it exists. We came on it separately.”

  I said, “The government knows it exists.”

  “You know too damn much, Mike.”

  “No, not enough. I don’t know where she is now.”

  “I can tell you one thing,” Hy said.

  “Oh?”

  “She isn’t in Europe any longer. The locale of REN has changed. The Dragon has left Europe. His victim got away somehow and all indications point to them both being in this country.”

  Very slowly, I got up, put my coat and hat on and stretched the dampness out of my shoulders. I said, “Thanks, Hy.”

  “Don’t you want your coffee?”

  “Not now.”

  He opened a drawer, took out a thick Manila envelope and handed it to me. “Here. You might want to read up a little more on Senator Knapp. It’s confidential stuff. Gives you an idea of how big he was. Save it for me.”

  “Sure.” I stuck it carelessly in my coat pocket. “Thanks.”

  Marilyn said, “You all right, Mike?”

  I grinned at her a little crookedly. “I’m okay.”

  “You don’t look right,” she insisted.

  Hy said, “Mike—”

  And I cut him short. “I’ll see you later, Hy.” I grinned at him too. “And thanks. Don’t worry about me.” I patted the gun under my coat. “I have a friend along now. Legally.”

  While I waited, I read about just how great a guy Leo Knapp had been. His career had been cut short at a tragic spot because it was evident that in a few more years he would have been the big man on the political scene. It was very evident that here had been one of the true powers behind the throne, a man initially responsible for military progress and missile production in spite of opposition from the knotheaded liberals and “better-Red-than-dead” slobs. He had thwarted every attack and forced through the necessary programs and in his hands had been secrets of vital importance that made him a number one man in the Washington setup. His death came at a good time for the enemy. The bullet that killed him came from the gun of The Dragon. A bullet from the same gun killed Richie Cole and almost killed me twice. A bullet from that same gun was waiting to kill Velda.

  She came in then, the night air still on her, shaking the rain from her hair, laughing when she saw me. Her hand was cool when she took mine and climbed on the stool next to me. John brought her a Martini and me another Blue Ribbon. We raised the glasses in a toast and drank the top off them.

  “Good to see you,” I said.

  “You’ll never know,” she smiled.

  “Where are you meeting Pat?”

  She frowned, then, “Oh, Captain Chambers. Why, right here.” She glanced at her watch. “In five minutes. Shall we sit at a table?”

  “Let’s.” I picked up her glass and angled us across the room to the far wall. “Does Pat know I’ll be here?”

  “I didn’t mention it.”

  “Great. Just great.”

  Pat was punctual, as usual. He saw me but didn’t change expression. When he said hello to Laura he sat beside her and only then looked at me. “I’m glad you’re here too.”

  “That’s nice.”

  He was a mean, cold cop if ever there was one, his face a mask you couldn’t penetrate until you looked into his eyes and saw the hate and determination there. “Where do you find your connections, Mike?”

  “Why?”

  “It’s peculiar how a busted private dick, a damn drunken pig in trouble up to his ears can get a gun-carrying privilege we can’t break. How do you do it, punk?”

  I shrugged, not feeling like arguing with him. Laura looked at the two of us, wondering what was going on.

  “Well, you might need it at that if you keep getting shot at. By the way, I got a description of your back alley friend. He was seen by a rather observant kid in the full light of the street lamp. Big guy, about six-two with dark curly hair and a face with deep lines in the cheeks. His cheekbones were kind of high so he had kind of an Indian look. Ever see anybody like that?”

  He was pushing me now, doing anything to set me off so he’d have a reason to get at me but sure, I saw a guy like that. He drove past me on the Thruway and I thought he was a tired driver, then he shot at me later and now I know damn well who he is. You call him The Dragon. He had a face I’d see again someday, a face I couldn’t miss.

  I said, “No, I don’t know him.” It wasn’t quite a lie.

  Pat smiled sardonically, “I have a feeling you will.”

  “So okay, I’ll try to catch up with him for you.”

  “You do that, punk. Meanwhile I’ll catch up with you. I’m putting you into this thing tighter than ever.”

  “Me?”

  “That’s right. That’s why I’m glad you’re here. It saves seeing you later.” He had me curious now and knew it, and he was going to pull it out all the way. “There is a strange common denominator running throughout our little murder puzzle here. I’m trying to find out just what it all means.”

  “Please go on,” Laura said.

  “Gems. For some reason I can’t get them out of my mind. Three times they cross in front of me.” He looked at me, his eyes narrowed, “The first time when my old friend here let a girl die because of them, then when Senator Knapp was killed a batch of paste jewels were taken from the safe, and later a man known for his gem smuggling was killed with the same gun. It’s a recurrent theme, isn’t it, Mike? You’re supposed to know about these things. In fact, it must have occurred to you too. You were quick enough about getting upstate to see Mrs. Knapp here.”

  “Listen, Pat.”

  “Shut up. There’s more.” He reached in his pocket and tugged at a cloth sack. “We’re back to the gems again.” He pulled the top open, spilled the sack upside down and watched the flood of rings, brooches and bracelets make a sparkling mound of brilliance on the table between us.

  “Paste, pure paste, Mrs. Knapp, but I think they are yours.”

  Her hand was shaking when she reached out to touch them. She picked up the pieces one by one, examining them, then shaking her head. “Yes—they’re mine! But where—”

  “A pathetic old junkman was trying to peddle them in a pawnshop. The broker called the cops and we grabbed the guy. He said he found them in a garbage can a long time ago and kept them until now to sell. He figured they were stolen, all right, but didn’t figure he’d get picked up like he did.”

  “Make your connection, Pat. So far all you showed was that a smart crook recognized paste jewelry and dumped it.”

  His eyes had a vicious cast to them this time. “I’m just wondering about the original gem robbery, the one your agency was hired to prevent. The name was Mr. and Mrs. Rudolph Civac. I’m wondering what kind of a deal was really pulled off there. You sent in Velda but wouldn’t go yourself. I’m thinking that maybe you turned sour away back there and tried for a big score and fouled yourself up in it somehow.”

  His hands weren’t showing so I knew one was sitting on a gun butt. I could feel myself going around the edges but hung on anyway. “You’re nuts,” I said, “I never even saw Civac. He made the protection deal by phone. I never laid eyes on him.”

  Pat felt inside his jacket and came out with a four-by-five glossy photo.
“Well take a look at what your deceased customer looked like. I’ve been backtracking all over that case, even as cold as it is. Something’s going to come up on it, buddy boy, and I hope you’re square in the middle of it.” He forgot me for a moment and turned to Laura. “Do you positively identify these, Mrs. Knapp?”

  “Oh, yes. There’s an accurate description of each piece on file and on the metal there’s—”

  “I saw the hallmarks.”

  “This ring was broken—see here where this prong is off—yes, these are mine.”

  “Fine. You can pick them up at my office tomorrow if you want to. I’ll have to hold them until then though.”

  “That’s all right.”

  He snatched the picture out of my fingers and put it back in his pocket. “You I’ll be seeing soon,” he told me.

  I didn’t answer him. I nodded, but that was all. He looked at me a moment, scowled, went to say something and changed his mind. He told Laura goodbye and walked to the door.

  Fresh drinks came and I finished mine absently. Laura chuckled once and I glanced up. “You’ve been quiet a long time. Aren’t we going to do the town?”

  “Do you mind if we don’t?”

  She raised her eyebrows, surprised, but not at all unhappy. “No, do you want to do something else?”

  “Yes. Think.”

  “Your place?” she asked mischievously.

  “I don’t have a place except my office.”

  “We’ve been there before,” she teased.

  But I had kissed Velda there too many times before too. “No,” I said.

  Laura leaned forward, serious now. “It’s important, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s get out of the city entirely. Let’s go back upstate to where it’s cool and quiet and you can think right. Would you like to do that?”

  “All right.”

  I paid the bill and we went outside to the night and the rain to flag down a cab to get us to the parking lot. She had to do it for me because the only thing I could think of was the face in that picture Pat had showed me.