Me, Hood!

by Mickey Spillane

  “Listen, Fly, first thing the fuzz does is look around Big Step’s places and that means the first thing they come here. This looks good with him here? Big Step wants a kidnapping rap besides? Maybe he can cover for the shooting… he woulda been somewhere else while it was going on, but this he won’t hold still for.”

  The one called Fly pushed back a chair and walked around the room. I knew the guy. He was a cheap hood from the east side who did errands for the Stipetto brothers and lived off the white Horse he peddled around the neighborhood. He was his own best customer.

  “So what’ll I do?”

  Lisa said, “Go bring up a car. We can get him over back of the store until we hear from Big Step.”

  Fly was glad to have somebody else make the decision. He grunted an acknowledgment, came over to me and yanked my head up. I kept my eyes closed and played it cute.

  He said “You awake, Ryan? Come on, punk. Up. Wake up.” He gave me a backhand across the jaw that didn’t do much except make me put down another mental mark in his dead book. “Quit stallin’, Ryan. You hear me?”

  “Let him be,” Lisa cut in. “You sapped him pretty hard.”

  “Damn’ right I did. This boy carries a big piece. You see that .45 I took off’n him?”

  “I saw it,” Lisa said, her tone bored.

  “He had a cap of H on him too. You know that?”

  This time Lisa sounded more interested. “Him? I didn’t know this big coot blasted any?”

  “He carried it. In his watch pocket.”

  “Well, he always was a nervy guy. So now we know. He’s like all the rest. Got to get his nerve up a vein.”

  “He won’t get this one. I’m running short myself and I won’t have time to get to Ike South if we gotta drag him around.” He let my head go and deliberately, I let it slump back down.

  Now everything was screwed up proper. Real snafu. The one thing that broke me out of the big bind in the restaurant winds up in a hype’s pocket and I’m worse off than I ever was.

  Think, boy, I told myself. Think awfully hard. Life in college those two years way back so long ago. Show your book learning. You got going against you only one scrawny doped up punk and a broad Big Stipetto kept on his side. How formidable could they be?

  Pretty formidable. Before I could think Fly swung at the back of my head and that far off sound of metal on bone, quieted by a small layer of flesh in between, reached me from far off and the black was with me again.

  When sense and sound and sight came back, it flushed a searing pain down the back of my skull into my spine. It lasted a few minutes before settling down to a steady throbbing at the base of my head. This time I was on the floor, my hands behind me, my ankles tied and drawn up so they touched my fingers. In the old days they used to throw a loop around your neck too so that any movement would mean you choked yourself to death.

  Fly said, “He’s okay now. You okay, Ryan?”

  I swore at him.

  “See, I told you he was all right. I don’t know why the hell you was worried about him. Big Step is only gonna knock him off anyway. Now you wait here and don’t leave, you hear?”

  “I’m not staying…”

  “Maybe you’d like for me to pass that on to Big Step. He’d flatten your face agin, you give him any trouble now. Maybe nobody’ll come in, but if’n they do, somebody better be here to steer ‘em off.”

  “You hurry,” Lisa sulked.

  “Nuts, baby. Nobody’s hurryin’ Big Step. First I gotta find him. He ain’t gonna be a happy one when I do. With Little Step dead he’s liable to come over here running. Maybe he’ll want to wait to enjoy what he’s gonna do even more. You just stay put.”

  Fly left without saying anything further. I lay there staring at the dark, until the line of light that marked the door suddenly blossomed and the switch clicked the room into a bright, painful glare.

  Lisa said, “You’re sure a trouble maker, Ryan.”

  A long time ago Lisa Williams had been a beautiful doll. She had soloed at the Copa, done two musicals on Broadway and seemed headed for Hollywood. She was still beautiful in one way. There weren’t many girls who were built like her. She was one full breasted, heavy-thighed bundle of sex that was a marvel to look at. Then you reached her face. Something had happened to it. A car accident could have done it. So could a pair of brutal fists. Big Primo Stipetto didn’t like his sex machines playing around in other back yards. In his own with his kid brother Penny, it was even worse.

  I said, “Hello, Lisa. It’s been pretty long.”

  “Hasn’t it though.” She paused, looked quickly at her hands, then said absently, “What’d you want to get messed up with Big Step for?”

  “I didn’t know I was.”

  “He’s real old fashioned, Ryan. Anyone who touches his kid brother goes face to face with him. You shouldn’t’ve killed the kid.”

  “Look… I didn’t kill the kid.”

  “Oh Ryan…”

  I sucked my breath in, held it and shook my head to clear it. “Penny Stipetto was a cinch to get bumped one day. So he came after me and if he had tried it I would have taken him apart. Somebody else did it, though. Not me.”

  “Ryan… I…”

  “Forget it, kid.”

  She watched me a moment, biting her lower lip between her teeth. “I can’t forget it. I remember… other things.”

  “Well don’t then.”

  “That’s not easy to do.”

  “Give it a hard try.”

  “Don’t be so damn tough, Irish. Maybe I just don’t like to be in somebody’s debt. Ever think of it that way? Just because you kept that crazy Doe Wenzel from shooting me and took the slug yourself… oh, hell.”

  “Listen,” I told her, “forget the bit. You don’t owe me anything.”

  A cramp caught at the muscles in my lower back and I arched against the ropes. I could feel the tendons pull taut from my neck down and for a full minute the paralyzing agony of the thing held me rigid.

  Before I could stop her she was on her knees crying softly, her fingers tearing at the knots on the rope and then suddenly I was free to move and the relief of it was almost too much to take. I lay there and tried to come back to normal slowly and when I made it I said, “Thanks.”

  “Who was I fooling anyway,” Lisa said.

  We both heard the door slam out front at the same time. I waved her out quickly, shut the door and put my ear to it. Fly came back in the other room, breathing hard, his voice tight with excitement. “I got Big Step right off on the phone. By damn, he’s coming over now. You hear that… now. Well have a real party, by damn. That wise punk’ll get his good for sure now. We’re gonna do it right here in about five minutes. Boy, I’m gonna enjoy tellin’ that punk!”

  His feet came across the room, he yanked the door open and there I stood, grinning at him. It took a good three seconds before his hopped up mind realized the full implications of what he was seeing, then before he could move I chopped one across his jaw to shut him down. I put too much mad behind it. He was too small and I was too big for so much mad. He half flew back across the room, skidding on his back, then rolled once and lay in a soft heap with blood running down his chin and his breath dragging in through a twisted jaw.

  I found my .45 in his waistband, then probed through his pockets for the capsule. When I didn’t find it I tried the seams, the linings, his shoes and every place he could have had it on him. But it wasn’t there.

  Lisa said suddenly, “Ryan… Big Step…”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Five minutes.” I had maybe two left. I couldn’t afford to take the chance on staying. I got up, looked at her squarely and said, “He took a cap off me. I need it.” When her eyes went funny I added, “I’m not on the stuff. There was something else in that cap besides H.”

  “I’ll… I’ll try,” she said hesitantly.

  “Okay baby. And thanks again. Just tell Primo Stipetto Fly did a lousy job tying me up. Now hold still a second.”
<
br />   She saw what I was going to do and never moved. I hit her just right so there could be no doubt about what happened when Big Step came in. I put her down easy and got out of there.

  I got word to Pete-the-Dog to meet me at Tony Bay’s deli and he left his news stand long enough to fake picking up a sandwich. It was a smart move because Pete told me both Newbolder and Schmidt had been alternating holding a steady stakeout on my apartment and detailed a guy new to plainclothes to watch him and a few others on the block. Homicide had a blanket over the area and I was to be the pigeon.

  Pete said, “You’re nuts to move around daytimes, Ryan.”

  “I got no choice, kid. Look you hear any word about Penny Stipetto?”

  “Word? Man, that’s all I hear. You’re their boy, you know that.”

  “But you know better.”

  “Sure,” Pete nodded, “I do, but I ain’t Big Step. After the other brother catching it he’s laying it all on you. I’m hearing thing’s would scare a snake.”

  “I got a favor coming, Pete?”

  “Anytime. Just anytime.”

  “Start asking. Somebody around must’ve seen something when Penny got it.”

  “In this town two blocks away is somebody else’s turf, Irish. Over there they’re more scared of the Stipettos than they like you. These days it’s real nervous.”

  “So ask around. Don’t stick your neck out, but see what you can pick up.”

  “Okay, I can do that. Who you want off your neck first, the fuzz or Step?”

  I grinned at him, just a little guy, a nobody with a paper stand, but a heart as big as your hat and ready to do anything for a friend he was asked to.

  “Any help in either direction will be fine,” I told him.

  He let out a low chuckle and picked up his wrapped sandwich. “Boy, your connections sure went sour fast. I thought you had an in with the fuzz after that job last year. I thought you was some kind of hero.”

  “Nobody’s nothing with the murder squad when they think you pulled a big hit. They gave me one break. They won’t give me two.”

  “Tough. Anything you want from the house?”

  “No. I can get in if I want to. Better if I stayed away though. If you pick up anything, call me at Andy’s.”

  “Right.”

  I plucked a late copy of the paper from his pocket. “This mine?”

  Pete-the-Dog nodded, grinned and walked away. I took the paper out the back door with barely a nod at Tony Bay and opened it up in the alley.

  My publicity was a full page wide.

  In brief, it stated that in an attempt to apprehend a suspected killer, a gunfight ensued with the wanted man’s confederates during which time four persons were killed and several injured. Among the dead were Vincent (Little Step) Stipetto, Carl Hoover and Moe Green, associates of the notorious Primo (Big Step) Stipetto. The other dead man was identified as one Lewis Coyne, address unknown. Two other men engaged in the gunfight escaped, as did “Irish” Ryan, the one suspected of having gunned down Fred (Penny) Stipetto.

  For a street shooting of that size, the account was awfully vague. I was suspected of being a target for the Stipettos, yet accused of having them on my side, their diversionary shooting getting me off the hook. Nobody seemed to have pieced the thing together and if they had, it wasn’t given to the reporters.

  Karen Sinclair was listed as critically wounded and taken to Bellevue Hospital and identified as a secretary in the FCC offices in Manhattan, but that was all.

  And I was in the middle of a real fine mess. Like before, everybody wants to kill me and while they try I’m supposed to deliver a lost state secret to somebody who will nab me if I do.

  Great life for a hood.

  From a luncheonette near Seventh I called the hospital. I gave a phony name, said I was an AP correspondent and queried the operator about the condition of Karen Sinclair. Habit got the better of her and she put me through to the floor. Someone told me Karen Sinclair was still on the critical list and not available for an interview. I thanked them and hung up. I changed phones before making the next call, figuring that if the Sinclair dame had been telling the truth, there’d be Federal fuzz running down every lead they got.

  The operator at the precinct house switched me into the office and a heavy voice said, “Newbolder speaking.”

  “This is Ryan, Sergeant.”

  After a moment’s heavy pause Newbolder said in a bored tone, “All right, boy, where are you?”

  “Public phone. Don’t bother tracing it. I’ll be out of here in a minute.”

  He knew it and I could tell he wasn’t going to be bothered trying. Maybe he was still remembering last year. “Are you coming in?”

  “Not yet. I have something I have to do first.”

  “Oh?” His voice was too soft.

  “Let’s get something straight first. Don’t waste time trying to hang Penny Stipetto’s killing on me. I didn’t pull it off. I had nothing at all to do with that hit. You poke around for another angle and you’ll get some answers.”

  He didn’t answer me at first, then he said quietly, “I didn’t think you did. You looked good for it though. Besides, you’d be better off in custody than having Big Step breathing down your throat.”

  “He doesn’t bother me.”

  “No? Well he bothers me now. He’s ready to blow the top off things.”

  “Let him. What about the Sinclair girl?”

  Newbolder came back too fast. “What about her?”

  “She talk?”

  He still spoke too fast. “What would she have to say?”

  “That’s what I’m wondering.”

  “Damn you, Ryan…”

  “She’s in the picture, Sergeant. That mess last night wasn’t all me. Big Step had his men out there waiting for me, but she was something right out of the blue.”

  “Ryan…” I knew he was signalling for a tracer now and cursing himself for not having put one on the phone before.

  I said, “I’ll call you back, kiddo,” and hung up.

  Now the bit was tighter than ever.

  Until now Newbolder had figured that the Sinclair dame sitting with me was a pure accident and I took advantage of the diversion she stirred up outside to take off. Now he was figuring me as being part of a larger picture. In a way it was good. I could always get the fuzz for company real fast if I needed them.

  Chapter 3

  THE DAY man at the Woolsey-Lever Hotel was Lennie Ames and he owed me a favor. Two years ago he had been making book right at the desk when a team from vice came in to tag him, only I spotted them first, picked up his briefcase of receipts, markers and cash and walked off with the evidence. He got them back after the heat was off and never had the nerve to get in the game again. And I hadn’t asked for the favor back until now.

  When I walked into the shabby, off-Broadway hotel, Lennie Ames spotted me coming through the door and turned white. Like everybody else, he had seen the papers, only he knew what was coming up. With the barest nod of his head he motioned toward the office and I went in, shut the door and waited. Two minutes later Lennie came in quickly, eased the door closed and plunked down in his chair behind the desk. “Irish… for Pete’s sake…”

  Before he could finish I said, “I’m collecting now, buddy.”

  “Does it have to be me? Man, ever since those hustlers got rousted off Eighth they’ve been operating out of here. Every night some plainclothes dick comes prowling around. Yesterday there’s an investigator from the D.A.’s office in asking questions…”

  “All I want is a room and no trouble.”

  “You already got the trouble.”

  “That’s something I have to clean up.”

  He got up, walked to the window and peered out through the Venetian blinds, then closed them all the way. “Look, Ryan, the cops I can steer off, but suppose that Stipetto mob tracks you here? You think they won’t put things together? They know what you did one time. So they’ll squeeze me and I sq
ueeze easy. I’m chicken, man. I’m ready to run right now. Big Step will put a slug in me as fast as he will you if he knows I’m hiding you out.”

  “I don’t remember waiting to be asked to do a favor that last time, Lennie.”

  He looked at me, his eyes mirroring his embarrassment. “Okay, Irish, so I was a heel for a while.” He grinned at me and tried to light a cigarette with hands that shook enough so that it took two matches to do it. “We keep a spare on the fourth floor northwest corner. It’s marked MAINTENANCE SUPPLIES and has an exterior fire escape exit that leads down to the courtyard in back. There’s a John, a wash basin and a cot in there and you don’t have to register. The handyman who used it died in a sanatorium three months ago and we’ve been contracting our maintenance work, such as it is. Any questions, you tell them you and he made the arrangements. Leave me out of it.”

  “Good enough. What about the night manager?”

  “A screaming fag afraid of his own shadow. He’s had a lot of trouble and we’re the only ones who’ll give him a job. He’ll do anything to keep it. I’ll take care of him.”

  “You’ll tell him then?”

  “Damn right. It’s better they know. I’ll tell him you’ll land on him like a ton of bricks if he opens his mouth.” Lennie pulled the drawer out, threw me a key and said, “It’s all yours now. Don’t do me any more favors and I won’t do you any.”

  “Sure,” I said, pocketed the key and left.

  It was only a little cubicle, but it was enough. I could sweat out the days there and use the phone if I had to. The door had a barrel bolt on the inside and the window went up easily. I cased the yard, spotted a handy exit through the six foot fences if I needed it, then flopped down on the cot.

  Now was a time for thinking.

  I had walked into one hell of a mess. Big Step thought I knocked off his brother and I had the motive, the ability and the time to do it. So he was after me.

  The fuzz took the same attitude on recommendation from their varied sources of information and were scouring the city for me. I had a record of arrests even if there were no convictions and they’d love to see me take a fall. I had been in their hair too damn long.