The Erection Set

by Mickey Spillane

  “What’s in a name, pal? You know what the poet said about the rose.”

  “Except that you don’t smell so sweet, Mr. Dogeron Kelly. When you mention the name of Dog, you aren’t mentioning a popular figure. In certain quarters, that is.”

  “You have any enemies, Dick?”

  “Certainly, and justifiably so. I deliberately try to cultivate them. It’s part of my business.”

  “Know anybody without enemies?” I asked him.

  He thought a moment and shook his head. “No.”

  “I do.”

  Lagen looked at me with a small, superior smile. “Really? Who?” ,

  “They’re all dead,” I said quietly.

  For a good ten seconds he sat there staring at me, then he took a long pull on the cigar and watched the smoke drift toward the ceiling. “Who are dead, Mr. Kelly, the persons ... or the enemies?”

  “Take your choice, Mr. Lagen,” I said.

  Across the table Lee and Rose had stopped talking and were looking at us both. Lee’s face had that tight expression again and his eyes were worried things, like those of a guy crossing the street and seeing a truck bearing down on him, not knowing whether to jump back or make a dash out of the way.

  We dropped Rose off at a beauty parlor uptown, then cut back toward Lee’s office. Outside, the walkers huddled close to the sides of the buildings, away from the blast of the rain, or fought umbrella duels going down the middle of the sidewalks. In the front of the cab the wipers kept up their clocklike ticktock above the humming of the tires.

  Finally Lee said, “Lagen’s got an unhealthy interest in you, Dog.”

  “Ah, he’s always had a thing for the Barrins.”

  “It’s you, not the Barrin family.”

  “Balls.”

  Lee turned his head, his expression questioning. “Why, buddy?”

  “Why what?”

  “Come on, Dog. I know how he operates. He never comes up without any answers. He won’t let it go until he gets one, either.”

  “I still believe in personal privacy. I wish him luck.”

  Lee nodded and looked straight ahead again. “The way you say that makes it look like he isn’t going to have any.”

  “Could be.”

  “Most people aren’t that sharp at hiding things.”

  “Most people,” I agreed.

  “I’ve been wondering too.”

  “All you have to do is ask, Lee.”

  “Yeah, that’s what you told me before.”

  “Then ask.”

  “I’m afraid of what you might tell me.”

  “So don’t ask.”

  “I don’t think I will,” he said.

  When Lee went to make arrangements for his bash, I told him I’d pick him up about five, then had the cabbie take me down to the elite establishment of Weller-Fabray, Tailors. Two gentlemen who ran an oil company and a newspaper syndicate were being serviced by a pair of immaculate young men in formal morning wear, showing shirts and cravats whose label and style were their own price tags.

  In the back, the manager saw me enter, gave me a businesslike smile of recognition and left his account book to say hello. This time he spoke Spanish without realizing it and took my hand. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Kelly. I trust the suits were satisfactory.”

  “Perfect. Sorry I didn’t let you know I was coming the last time.”

  “I understand.”

  “My buddy was a little upset.”

  “He didn’t understand.”

  “Your merchandising attitude is a little rough, my friend.”

  “It’s an attitude that affords me the pleasure of doing what I do. Now, let’s back to you.”

  He took my arm and we drifted back toward the fitting rooms. I said, “Something’s getting scratchy on the Continent.”

  His shrug was eloquent. “One leaves, another one comes in.”

  “Somebody wants me tapped out. They tried through The Turk.”

  “Tried,” he repeated. “A word that says everything. I’m surprised that it would be The Turk. One would think he’d be glad to leave well enough alone.”

  “That’s what I figured. He could be fronting for somebody.”

  “Likely, but he is crass enough to try something on his own. The last episode was quite detrimental to his stature ... and his little empire. Don’t forget, it was The Turk who personally wiped out Louis Albo and took over his operation.”

  “He was a younger gun then. He didn’t have anything to lose.”

  “Does he have now?”

  “I’m retired, my friend. The event sent shock waves throughout the troops.”

  “But you’re alive,” he said. “Speculation persists that you have something that can guarantee your living.”

  “Maybe.” ..

  “Then you’d better decide which way you’ll go.”

  “Sure. Meanwhile, send out a probe and see who’s doing the pushing. If there’s going to be an advantage, I want it on my end.”

  “Very well, I’ll try.” He held out his hand and I took it. “I hope I don’t open up old sores.”

  “Don’t sweat it.”

  I went to leave and he stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Mr. Kelly ...”

  “Yes?” ,

  “Just why did you . , discontinue your activities? You knew what would happen.”

  “Yeah, but I hoped it wouldn’t. Just let’s say I got tired of the whole fucking shooting match.”

  Lee had made a pair of drinks and brought one into the bedroom for me. I had my coat off and was hanging it up when he said, “What’s that for?” He was looking at the gun on my belt.

  The weight of the .45 was so natural I had forgotten about it. “You counted the money,” I said. “Millions make for targets.”

  His voice was shaky. “It’s all in the bank.”

  “Only you know that.”

  “Dog ...” Before he could finish the buzzer went off, a long, insistent growl from the other room. Lee put his glass down and went to answer the door. I took the gun off my belt, stuck it on the closet shelf along with the box of shells and went out to join him.

  This time he was pasty white, his eyes wide, darting back and forth between the two standing there before reaching out to me. One was in his middle forties, built like a heavyweight fighter, the other a few years younger, slim and angular, but with all the earmarks of a terrier. They didn’t have to flash their ID’s; the cop sign was all over them. No matter where you are, that look never changes.

  “Evening, gentlemen,” I said.

  The older one stared, frowned a second, then asked, “Mr. Kelly?”

  Lee stepped between us, the old wingman moving up to cover his partner. “Listen, they haven’t got a search warrant ...”

  “At ease, kid. They were invited in.” I looked at the cop. “Weren’t you?”

  “After a fashion.”

  I tasted my drink, liked it and took another pull. “What can I do for you?”

  It threw them a little off base. That and something else they hadn’t put their finger on yet. The one who identified himself as Sergeant Tobano said, “Can you account for your whereabouts today?”

  “Every minute.”

  “Witnesses?”

  “All the way. Why?”

  He held out his hand and the other one handed him a manila envelope. He tapped the package against his thigh and watched me. “How about, let’s say, eleven thirty this morning.”

  “We had just gotten back into the city.”

  “We?”

  “Two friends of mine and the driver of the car.”

  “Go on.”

  I took another pull of the drink and put the glass down so I could get a cigarette out. “We dropped my lawyer friend off ... his name is Leyland Hunter, by the way, then my other friend, female Caucasian named Sharon Cass, and I got out at the garage and I walked her home.”

  “What garage?”

  “Beats me. It’s in the East Fifties.�
��

  “Denier Garage?”

  “Now that you mention it, yes.”

  He opened the envelope and drew out two eight by ten photos and handed them to me. I held them out in front of me and looked at them. Beside me Lee’s breath gagged in his throat. Bridey-the-Greek and Markham were enough to make anybody gag. They both looked dead as hell with all the blood around Markham’s face and the ice pick still stuck through the Greek’s balls.

  “Messy,” I said.

  “Recognize them?” the cop asked me.

  “Am I supposed to?”

  “That’s not the question, Mr. Kelly. Look at them again.”

  “So it’s two guys laid out in a public john.”

  “How do you know it’s a public john?”

  “Who has urinals in their house anymore?” I said without taking my eyes off the photos. I was beginning to enjoy myself. “Where do I fit in?”

  “That’s the toilet in the Denier Garage. You were in that toilet when you were there.”

  “That’s right. I asked the attendant for directions, had my friend wait for me and went to take a leak. I finished, buttoned up my fly and left.”

  “Did you see these two?”

  “Not when I went in.” I handed the photos back and he stuck them in the envelope. “How did I come into this?”

  “The attendant remembered the limousine you came in. We checked the license out, contacted your friend Leyland Hunter and he gave us you.”

  “I can give you my other friend’s address too if you want.”

  “Never mind. We have that.”

  “So?”

  The two cops glanced at each other, not quite decided whether to be puzzled or aggravated. The younger one said, “We thought you might have seen something. They came in right after you. One wanted to know if that alcove went out to the street. The attendant said it went to the john and they headed in that direction.”

  “There wasn’t anybody around when I came out,” I told him. “There were plenty of parked cars, though. Somebody could have been behind them.”

  Sergeant Tobano’s mouth was in a taut smile. “You didn’t seem very shook up over those pictures. Not like your friend here.”

  “I’ve seen dead men before, Sergeant.”

  “These aren’t dead, Mr. Kelly.”

  Lee breathed a quiet Damn!

  They both moved toward the door. “Okay, thanks. We may check back.”

  Tobano was reaching for the doorknob when I asked him, “Who took those pictures, Sergeant?”

  “A free-lance photographer who happened on the scene right after you left. He ought to make himself a buck from them.”

  “He a suspect?”

  “Nope. One of the boys who parked cars happened to go in with him at the same time. The other guy fainted.”

  “Queasy stomach,” I said, and picked up my drink.

  “Some people are like that,” the sergeant told me.

  When they left, Lee half ran to the bar and poured himself another drink. He finished that one and made another before he turned around. A shudder ran across his shoulders and he swirled the ice around in his glass. Finally he raised his head and stared at me. “You lied to them, Dog, didn’t you?” ,

  I finished my drink too and joined him at the bar for another.

  “Yes.”

  “You actually saw them there ... that guy with his face all mashed in and the other one ...”

  I raised my glass in a silent toast. “Hell, buddy, I did it to them.”

  XI

  I knew the call would come so I sat up and waited for it. At ten minutes past three the phone rang and I told Chet Linden to meet me at the Automat on Sixth Avenue. There was a deadly evenness to the tone of his voice and I could feel the mad seeping up my arms into my shoulders.

  Why the hell couldn’t they lay off me? I wasn’t an unknown quantity they had to speculate about. They knew damn well what was going to happen if they pushed too far. When you make it through the hard way you aren’t about to take any shit from anybody anytime. A lot of tombstones spelled that out loud and clear.

  They were waiting at a table in the back for me, Chet and Blackie Saunders, the wipe-out boy from Trenton, sipping coffee like a couple of night owls on the way home. I faked sneezing into a handkerchief and had my face hidden when I went past their backup man who made like he was looking in a storefront window next to the Automat. I turned the corner, cut back and had the nose of the .45 in his ribs without him spotting me and said, “Lets join the others, buddy.”

  His reaction was real pro. Just a simple shrug of the shoulders and he headed toward the door. There might have been others, but with three under my gun, nobody was going to make any trouble at all.

  When they saw us coming the picture was all there. Blackie started to rise, but Chet waved him down and nodded to me like nothing had happened at all. I took a seat with my back against the pillar, told the outside man to join me and looked at all three unpleasant faces.

  “Coffee?” Chet asked.

  I ignored him. “Why the kid games?” I nodded at the guy beside me.

  “Blackie a habit too?”

  The rangy killer from Jersey stared at me, aching for a chance to cut loose. I was hoping he would. Chet said,

  “He’s on something else.”

  “He’d better be, Chet. Or didn’t you tell him about me?”

  “Blackie knows.”

  “Then he isn’t very impressed.”

  Saunders let a snarl slip into low gear. “I’m never impressed, hotshot.”

  “There’s always a first time, Blackie. It’s generally the last time, too.”

  “He’s got a gun in his hand,” the guy beside me said.

  Chet gave him a disgusted grimace and looked back at me. “Cool it, Dog. I just want to talk.”

  “Your party, kid.”

  “We saw Markham and Bridey.”

  “How about that?”

  “You like to add all the fancy frills, don’t you?”

  I grinned at him. “Why not? I don’t have a murder one going against me. As soon as the cops check those hoods’ records they aren’t going to be too interested in running me down. They like intramural rivalry. It keeps the economy active in floral shops and funeral parlors and makes their job that much easier.”

  “A nice clean kill might, but this looks like an invitation to war.”

  “You nailed it, Chet. That’s what it is. Unless The Turk takes it gracefully and figures it’s a warning to lay off.”

  “The Turk never takes anything gracefully.”

  “So I’ll put some machinery in motion.”

  “In a pig’s ass you will! This kind of crap is what we were afraid of.”

  “Don’t bug me, buddy,” I said. “I didn’t instigate it. Anybody who rides my tail is going to hurt and that goes for The Turk too.” I paused and looked at him. “That’s what surprises me. That little fat turd isn’t big enough to go for this kind of heavy work.”

  “Ever figure somebody’s behind him pushing hard?”

  “I thought of it.”

  “Why, Dog?”

  I didn’t answer him.

  “Nobody retires from this business,” he stated flatly.

  “Me,” I said. “I did.”

  “You only thought you did. When you retire, you’re dead.”

  “So I hear. I’ve decided to be the exception.”

  Chet tasted his coffee again, then handed it to Blackie and told him to get a fresh hot one. He told the other guy to join him and when they both left he said, “I made a lot of phone calls, Dog. Right now I’m beginning to get some strange notions.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like why are three different international syndicates sweating like hell because you left the scene.”

  “Because I know too much.”

  “Everybody knows too much,” he told me. “They don’t give a damn about knowing.”

  “Knock off the games, Chet.”


  “Being able to prove too -much is something else again.”

  “Ah, hell,” I grunted. “You mean the old dodge about tangible facts that would come out if I got knocked off?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Then why send Bridey and Markham after me?” Blackie and the other one came back with coffee and set the cups down on the table. When they sat down Chet stirred in his sugar and milk, then pushed the cup away from him. “Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be a hit. Maybe they were going to just take you and put the squeeze on. That pair knows all the tricks and when they want somebody to talk that somebody talks.”

  “Those jokers got the wrong somebody this time.”

  “And next time?”

  “Get to the point, Chet. This shit is beginning to bore me.”

  “We’re involved in this too, Dog. If you talk you throw all of us out into the open and let me tell you something, kid, we mean more to us than you do.”

  “That why you brought your bit hit man along?”

  “We have plenty of hit men, Dog. You don’t know all of them.”

  “But they all smell alike.”

  “I’m real sorry now that I kept the others off your back,” he said viciously. His voice was barely a whisper, but he meant every word of it.

  My teeth were showing when I said, “You can always change your mind, pal. Like starting right now. I’ll take all three of you out and be gone before the noise dies down.”

  Chet’s eyes narrowed and the skin pulled tight around his mouth. He knew I wasn’t fooling either and it showed in his face. “You wouldn’t get away with it.”

  “Want to try?” I sat back and they could see the nozzle of the .45 staring at them from the crook of my crossed arms.

  All three of them sat absolutely still. “Never mind,” Chet said.

  I nodded slowly, watching them. “Then you call the plays, Chet. Just remember... I don’t play a defensive game. It’s only the guys on the offense who win. Any more tries come my way and I won’t worry about where they come from. Everybody is going to be a target, so if you’re on the ball you cool it, and get the word out to the others to cool it, otherwise it’s just all one big package as far as I’m concerned.”