Me, Hood!

by Mickey Spillane

  “How come you work on Saturdays?”

  “Only some Saturdays. It’s quiet then and on busy seasons you can catch up.”

  “I get the kick. Carmen here?”

  “Miss Smith?”

  I shook my head. “Carmen. We’re buddies.”

  Her eyes flicked away, then came back annoyed a moment before the smile touched them again. “Second best. That’s how I always come out. No, she’s not here. She was shopping and was in and out a couple of times. Did you call her home?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  She reached for the phone and dialed a number. I heard it ring about half a dozen times then the redhead said, “Nobody’s there, but do you want to leave a message?”

  I didn’t get it and she caught my look. She reached behind her head and slid a wall picture to one side. There, built in, was a tape recorder with half-filled spools. “Cuts in after the tenth ring,” she said. “Canned voice asks for a message and you’re free to talk for three minutes. Besides, they record all outgoing calls. Shall I leave a message?”

  “Clever,” I said. “So tell her I’ll be there for supper at six.” I heard the flat enunciation of the canned secretary, then the message was passed on.

  When she hung up the redhead said, “Tell me, Mr.…”

  “Ryan.”

  “… Mr. Ryan… you’re not going to hurt… Miss Smith, are you?”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “She has lights in her eyes.”

  I waited for the rest of it.

  She said, “I know who you are, Mr. Ryan. Although the pictures in the papers hardly flatter you.”

  I could feel myself go warm with a flash that only fear can start. Like a jerk I left myself wide open and this kid could put a damper on the whole thing. Maybe she saw what I was thinking. It should have been plain enough.

  She smiled again. There was no malice, no guile in it at all. “I’m concerned about Miss Smith. Does she know?”

  “She knows. She’s helping out.”

  “You didn’t do those things?”

  “Some of them,” I told her without hesitating. “They were justified. I think in the end it’ll all come out clean.”

  “Think?”

  “If I get knocked there’ll be no washday, sugar. I’ll be all dirty socks and bad memories, no wash, just a burial like skunk-sprayed clothes.”

  For a short space the laughter left her eyes and she said seriously, “Don’t let that happen, Mr. Ryan.”

  “I’ll try not to,” I grinned.

  There were some packages Carmen had left there and I took them with me. In their own way they provided a good cover on the street. A guy with packages has a normal look about him.

  By the time I reached Carmen’s apartment it was a quarter to six and I took the back way in. I got off the service elevator and used the key she had given me. When the door opened some crazy low-beat jazz flowed out at me and I saw her dancing to it in the middle of the room.

  I put the packages down, walked in and watched her. She was great. To that jangled sound she danced a sensuous dance that didn’t match the beat, but fitted the mood perfectly. Her sweater was tight and black and her breasts were free beneath it. Under their lovely swelling the mesh stretched and the flesh tints made startling contrasts against the black. The skirt was a full thing, deeply maroon, and when she spun it mushroomed out, giving a brief glimpse of long legs, beautifully rounded. Very deliberately, almost professionally, she twisted fast, and the mushroom flattened for a single moment and you knew that like with the sweater, there was nothing else at all. She laughed at me across the room and I caught at the studded belt she wore and drew her convexly against me and tasted her mouth.

  Her breathing was deep and fast and there was a bloom in her face. Her eyes were lit up like stars and she touched my cheeks with her fingers. “I’ve never felt like this before, Irish.”

  “I haven’t, either.”

  “I wish this were… for real. That we weren’t… looking for anyone.”

  “We’ll do it again. Another time.”

  “All right. Shall we eat? I have steak.”

  “I want you.”

  “Later,” she said.

  You got to see these places to believe them. It was what somebody had done to an old building to get floor space in one room and at the far end built a platform for the band. The Johns were on either side, but you could smell them when you came in. Later, with sweat, gin and cheap perfume you wouldn’t notice it, but early, they stank.

  The guy at the door took the ticket and gave Carmen a double take. She went all the way with the act even to a mouthful of gum and a shoulder strap bag that was nothing more than a weapon. The robbers inside hadn’t started up-pricing the soft drinks yet, waiting for the whiskey crowd to come in. All five pieces of the band were there, real gone already in a cloud of smoke. They were doing a soft cha-cha with closed eyes, not playing for anybody but themselves as yet.

  I took Carmen into the dance, playing it snug right in front of the sax man. He winked down at us and let it moan low. In back of us, at the door, they were coming in fast, about three stags to every couple. It was a trouble night.

  Saturday, rain, not enough dames.

  I said, “You need any prompting?”

  Her hair swirled to the tempo of the music. “I know what to say.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Alfredo Lias. Off the Gastry. I gave him money to buy me a watch overseas. He said he’d meet me here.”

  “And watch out for the wolves.”

  “I like wolves,” she said.

  At 10 the place was crowded. Only stragglers were still coming in. All sides of the room were lined with the stags, eyeing the women, cutting in on those they picked out. Roaming around like restless dogs were a half dozen big ones, stopping the fights that started and getting rid of the troublemakers.

  I took Carmen to the soft drink concession and bought two ginger ales for a buck. Before she finished hers, a sleek-looking gook in sharp duds came over and without looking at me, asked her to dance. She glanced at me for confirmation and I said, “Go ahead, it’ll be a rare experience.”

  The gook’s face pulled tight, but he took her arm without speaking and melted into the crowd on the floor. The little guy tapped my arm and said, “Señor, be careful of that one. He did not come here just to listen to the music.”

  I waited until they came around again and when the gook protested, I poked my finger in his eyeball and we walked away. In back the guy screamed into his hands.

  We asked around and neither of us found the one we were looking for. At midnight they drew for the door prize and some dame won a bottle of Scotch.

  At one the band was looking at their watches and two good-sized fights had broken out across the room. The bouncers took care of them in a hurry and a few were hustled out lengthwise. Couples had started to leave and even the ranks of the stags were thinning out. If Lias knew his friend was dead it wasn’t likely that he’d be in a gay mood. If he were anywhere he’d be on the fringe of the crowd, taking advantage of numbers.

  I sent Carmen into the ladies’ john to see what she could find and began to tour the stags. Most of them were in bunches, talking, arguing, drinking and all the while thinking they were having a good time. I went all around the room without seeing anyone I’d tag as Lias, then I stopped for a Coke again. Carmen had been gone quite a while and I searched for her in the crowd, trying to pick her out of the mess. The guy with the apron full of money said, “You lose your gorl, señor?”

  Without thinking I said, “No… my friend. Alfredo Lias. He’s off the Gastry.”

  “’Fredo? He was just here. He walk right behind you with that Maria.” He stood on his toes and craned his neck, then shot his finger out. “See him, there he is, señor!”

  I pretended to look, missing the direction. The guy said, “There, señor, the grey suit, by the empty soda boxes.”

  “I see him. Thanks.”

&nb
sp; “Sure, señor.”

  I crossed the floor, picking my way through the couples who were applauding the band. I looked at the sax man taking a bow and Carmen grabbed my arm. I pushed her ahead of me weaving through the groups.

  “Ryan… he’s here! A girl said he’s with Maria and…”

  “I know it, kid. There he is right there.” I pointed to him and just then the band started another cha-cha-cha. I folded her into my arms and danced toward the one called ’Fredo. Before I reached him he stepped out onto the floor with the pretty black-haired girl and began to lose himself in the maze.

  But he didn’t lose me. I steered Carmen closer and then there he was, looking down at the girl Maria without really seeing her at all. His face was a mask that hid another face that was pure terror.

  We moved in close until I was standing beside him. I said, “’Fredo…” and the white of fear blanched the tan of his face and when his eyes met mine they were sick to death.

  I made with a laugh, old friends meeting again, forced a handshake on him and herded us all outside the dance square. I told Carmen to take Maria and powder their noses while we said hello and when they left put my arm around the guy and for everyone’s benefit who wanted to look did a palsy bit that went over all the way.

  But not with Alfredo Lias. His eyes came up to mine, deep and black. For some time now he had been living with this and now he thought it was here.

  “You will keel me now, señor?”

  I talked through a laugh and motionless lips. He was the only one who heard it. “I want you out of this mess, mister. I’m the only chance you got to get out, understand?”

  He didn’t but he said, “Si!”

  “First we got to talk. You been here before?”

  “Si. Often we come here.”

  “Anything out back? We have to talk somewhere.”

  His hand was like a talon around my forearm, hope giving him new life again. “By the corner is a door. Out back is where the garbage is put. Señor, they will kill me, no?”

  “I hope not, kiddo. You go back there. I’ll tell the girls to stay put and cruise on out.”

  “Si! I go. I tell you anything.”

  He walked away and angled across the dance floor. I waited beside the Johns until Carmen and Maria came out then told them to hang on. Neither asked any questions. They seemed glad to talk.

  I cut across in front of the bandstand where they started the next number. Halfway across I stopped and stared at the guy dancing with the tall, raven-haired doll. I said, “Hi, kid.”

  Jake McGaffney looked at me and said, “What’re you doing here, Irish?”

  “What about you?”

  He grinned at the doll. “Hell, ask Bets here. She drags me to all these damn native affairs.”

  The doll smiled, said something to me in Spanish and danced off with Jake.

  I got across to the other side, behind two kids wheeling out cardboard containers of refuse. The first one pulled at the door and while it was all the way open the night was split apart by the slamming reverberations of three close shots and right behind it every girl in the place began to scream her lungs out.

  There was one mad rush for the front exits and curses spit out in a dozen different languages. Up front they clawed their way to the street over one another, knowing full well what those blasts meant. The two kids had jumped off like startled rabbits leaving the container wedged in the doorway and I had to climb over it to get outside.

  My hand was tight around the butt of the .45 and I sucked myself into the shadows. I waited a full minute, but it didn’t matter at all. Whoever fired the shots had gone.

  But I wasn’t alone. The small sound came from behind the stacked soda crates and I saw the dull grey of his suit and the contrasting brown of his face. He was almost white now. He had one hand across his stomach and he had no reason to be alive at all.

  I knelt beside him, the gun still in my hand. He saw it, but I shook my head. “I didn’t do it, ’Fredo.”

  His voice was a harsh whisper. “I know… señor.”

  “Did you see him?”

  “No. He was… behind me. I thought… it was you.”

  “Look, I’ll get you a doctor…”

  His hand touched my arm. “Señor… please, no. It is too late. I get bad. Now I pay. Like Tom. I pay. It is better.”

  I didn’t argue with him. I said, “You know what you took from the ship?”

  He nodded, his eyes half closed.

  “What was it, ’Fredo?”

  A hiccup caught at his chest and I knew there were only seconds left. “Eight… kilos… señor,” he whispered.

  Then I knew what it was all about. I wanted one last confirmation. “’Fredo… listen. Juan talked you into selling to Billings?” His nod was weak and his eyes closed. “Somehow you heard about Lodo. All of you knew about Lodo?”

  I put my ear close to his mouth. “We… are all… dead men… señor.”

  “Billings had the eight kilos last then?”

  Another whisper. “Si.”

  “’Fredo… who is Lodo?”

  There was nothing more he could say.

  From outside you could hear the sirens and the voices, and more sirens and more voices. They were getting louder and I couldn’t wait. I went over the fence the way the killer had gone and like the way a city-bred animal can, found my way back to the open street and the safety of the night and the rain.

  I had to show the cabbie the money before he’d take me back. He let me off where I asked and I found Pete-the-Dog selling his papers on the ginmill beat. I took him outside, bought all of his sheets for a couple minutes talk and got what I wanted. Some unknowns had brought action into the block. Somebody shilled Golden into popping off and he was dead. Holmes was in an emergency ward with a couple of slugs in his chest and not expected to live. Steckler was picked up on an assault charge against Razztazz and to top it a Sullivan Act violation which kicked his parole out and he was due in the big house for the rest of his stretch. Razz was okay. A little beat, but okay. I gave Pete his papers back and started back to the house.

  The womb.

  The familiar pattern, I thought. That’s all a hood had was his house. His womb. You die in sleep. Each awakening was a birth. It was something precious, something you couldn’t take away.

  There hadn’t been time to find Carmen, but I knew, somehow, that she’d be all right. Tomorrow I’d see her. Tomorrow.

  I walked down the street paying no attention to the rain at all. It slashed down at me, the wind giving it a sharp bite. I held my head up and let it lick at my face. The stinging sensation had a cleansing, astringent effect and I thought over all the things that had happened. Not just tonight. All the other nights. There didn’t have to be any more looking because I knew I had all the pieces. They were there. They would just take a little sorting out in the morning and I’d have the whole picture. Then the money. Then Carmen. Then life.

  I opened my coat, held the .45 in my hand while I fumbled my key out. I shouldn’t’ve bothered because the door was already open. I took my hat off, held it while I felt my way to the living room and flipped on the switch.

  Even before the first blossom of light filled the room I remembered what was wrong. Pete-the-dog hadn’t mentioned one name: Mario Sen.

  And here he was waiting for me to come in the door and his gun was leveled right at my stomach. He waited to let me see him smile his killer’s smile and it was a smile too long. He never noticed the .45 in my fist under the hat I was holding and my first slug blew his brains all over the wall. The cordite and blood stink rushed into the room and for the first time I felt a little sick.

  Out in the kitchen I let the water run until it was cold, took a long drink to wash the bitterness away that stained my mouth and went to the phone. I dialed the Big Man’s number and when he came on I said, “This is Ryan. I found Lias. He’s dead.”

  “I heard the report.”

  “He wasn’t dead when I reach
ed him, Big Man.”

  The intake of his breath made a sharp hiss. “What was it?”

  “Big Man… about how much would eight kilos of heroin be worth on the final cut?”

  He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice but couldn’t make it. “That’s way up in the millions. There hasn’t been a single shipment that size in twenty years!”

  “That’s what was in your package mister. That’s why everybody died.”

  “Have you located it?”

  “Not yet. But I will. If you had a tail on Billings all the while, where did he hang around?”

  “Hold on.”

  I heard a file drawer slide open, the rustle of papers, then the drawer slam shut. He picked up the phone again. “His movements were pretty well regimented. Mornings at the Barkley for breakfast and a shave, on to the Green Bow or Nelson’s, several bars in the Forties and generally into the Snyder House for a card game at night. Just before he was killed he made two trips to where the city’s planning that new Valley Park Housing Development. Walked around the block, but that was all.”

  “Those buildings are going to be torn down,” I said.

  “In a few months. There are still some families there yet.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “Any help?”

  “Yes. Yes. Lots of help. Meantime you can pick up another dead man at my place. His name is Mario Sen. He won’t be missed. He was planted here to get me and you guys passed him over. I took care of it myself.” I paused, then added, “I’ll call you back.”

  I hung up the phone while he was still trying to talk and sat down. It made lots of sense now. I knew what Billings was doing in that old section. I had an apartment there for 10 years and he found out where. He was going to plant the stuff in my pad before he died and let it go from there.

  The only thing he didn’t know was that I had just moved out!