Me, Hood!

by Mickey Spillane

  I lifted the gun and let him look down the big hole.

  He saw it. He saw the hammer back and he could smell the cordite and the blood in the room. He said, “He went back to get… the thing.”

  “Where?”

  And I knew he was telling the truth when the fear came back and he opened his hands helplessly. The fear was too big to let him lie, the smell of blood too strong.

  I reached out and turned him around. “Look at that one,” I said.

  Automatically, he looked down at the corpse on the floor, the one without any face left at all. Then I swung the .45 and laid it across the side of his head so hard the scalp split and blood and tissue splashed over my hand. He went down without a sound, falling so that he was almost kissing the faceless body of the one by the radiator.

  I went back to Karen and said, “Did they hurt you?”

  “No… not yet. They… were waiting.”

  “Can you walk?”

  “I can try.”

  “Maybe I can carry you.”

  “It won’t be necessary.”

  “We have to get out of here. It isn’t over yet.”

  She looked down at herself, gradually swinging her legs over the edge of the bed until she was sitting up. A grimace of pain went across her face, then disappeared.

  “Wait a minute,” I told her. I jacked a shell in the chamber of the Luger I took from the guy, threw it to her and raced up the stairs to the rooftop and unbolted the steel fire door. I found my trenchcoat where I threw it behind the parapet and took it back down again.

  Women. They are all alike. Death they could face up to, public nakedness… never. She gave me a wry smile as I helped her into it, then followed me down the stairs. We went through the print shop and I unbolted the door so the others would have no trouble. I found the phone, dialed Shaffer’s number and got him after I identified myself. He said, “Where are you, Irish?”

  “Down under the Brooklyn Bridge, a place called Mort Gilfern’s Print Shop.”

  “We know it.”

  “Then hit it. There are two dead guys and a cold one here waiting.”

  “Did you do it?”

  “All by myself, buddy. I have news for you too.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m shaggin Karen Sinclair out of here too.”

  “Damn you, Irish, you…”

  I chopped him off fast “You asked for this, friend, so I’m doing it my way.”

  He was still swearing at me when I hung up.

  Going the eight blocks before I found a taxi wasn’t easy. I had to stop a dozen times and let her rest, my arm around her waist. Beneath my hands she was a warm, live thing, big and beautiful, the gutsy type I knew she would be and each time she stiffened and I knew she was hurting bad I felt the pain myself.

  The taxi took us up to the Woolsey-Lever and I went through the lobby with her, both of us putting on an act. The rain had soaked her hair into a lovely wet backdrop against her face and her laugh was a tinkly thing I hadn’t heard before. The fag behind the desk gave us an obnoxious glance and returned to answer the switchboard with a sniff of disdain, paying no attention as we got into the automatic elevator.

  I got her upstairs, into the room and laid her down gently on the bed. I undressed her then, throwing the trenchcoat and hospital gown over the back of the chair. Both the bandages were showing a little seepage of blood through the gauze and when I pulled the sheet over her she grinned through the hurt and let her eyes close.

  Naked, she was too beautiful. Even a deliberate attempt to disguise it couldn’t last long at all. I couldn’t look at her too long, didn’t dare touch her, and hated anyone that ever saw her like I was seeing her now.

  “Can you wait for me?”

  She opened her eyes, made a smile again. “Forever if I have to,” she said. “How do they call you?”

  “Irish.”

  “No other name?”

  “Ryan.”

  “What are you going to do now, Irish?”

  “I’d hate to tell you. Sleep.”

  “Yes, Irish,” I arranged the coverless pillow under her hair and let her fall back gently.

  Someplace in the city another person was waiting to die. He didn’t know it yet, but he would. I knew what “The Thing” was… and I knew where “back” would be.

  And now I didn’t need any more help.

  With her eyes closed she said, “Irish…”

  “What, honey?”

  “The only… record… of where those missile pads are…”

  “Yes?”

  “In that capsule. It would take… six months to locate them again… and it will be too late by then. I… can’t tell… our people.”

  “That’s what I thought. Don’t worry about it.”

  I caught the barest glimmer of light from her pupils as she looked at me. “I won’t.”

  Chapter 7

  I LOVED THE NIGHT. It was part of me, rain and all. It was an environment suited to me personally like it had been tailored that way and I put it around me like a cloak. I waved down a cab that was letting out a couple across the street, hopped in and gave him a street corner two blocks below Fly’s pad. As we passed the Paramount building I looked up and checked my watch. It was a little after one.

  Somehow the rain took on a new intensity, battering against the cab. The wipers worked furiously as if they were trying to claw through the downpour. I passed a buck over the driver’s shoulder and got out, waited until he left and walked the rest of the way in total solitude. It was coming down too hard for anyone to be on the streets at all, even to look for a taxi and that’s the way I wanted it.

  The place where Fly had lived was in the basement rooms of a brownstone tenement, ugly places that were born with New York and now stood like decayed teeth in the jaws of the city. Cars were parked, nose to bumper along the curb, some junk heaps, others new and expensive from the newer apartments a few blocks away, the owners grabbing any available parking space as close as they could get to home. They would be lucky if they had tires left tomorrow.

  I made my pass of the place from the opposite side, then crossed over and came back. I could be a target from a rooftop or window but I had to take the chance. There wasn’t enough time left to case it thoroughly. When I reached the building I didn’t hesitate, I took the short flight of stairs in two jumps, held in the shadows a second, then pushed the battered grill door back. I listened, but the noise of the rain didn’t let any other sound filter through. The other door was already open, held against the wall with a brick.

  With the .45 pushed ahead of me I went inside, feeling my way along the wall until I came to Fly’s door. As carefully as I could, I turned the knob, nudged the door gently so that it eased back until it touched the arm of a chair and stopped. The only light in the room came from the street lamps outside, an ineffectual pale amber reflection barely able to reach through rain and filthy glass panes.

  But it was enough. Fly’s body was there, all right, his neck still at that strange angle.

  It was more than enough too because it let me see the other body stretched face down a few feet away almost hidden in the deeper shadows of a sofa.

  I stood there, crouched to one side of the door jamb, letting my eyes become accustomed to the gloom, ears straining to catch any sound. Little by little I could see the ruin of the place, the sliced open furniture, the scattered junk all over the floor.

  No, the job had been done. Two dead men and a ransacked apartment meant that they had come and gone. I stepped inside, walked to the other body on the floor and turned the head to one side.

  It was Big Step’s watcher, Martino. I put my foot under him and flipped him over. Whoever had placed the knife into him had done the neatest, most professional job I had ever seen. It had been expertly thrust and Martino had been dead without ever knowing it. A few glassy-eyed steps maybe, but that was all. It was the kind of thrust and tear wound only a trained expert like Manos Dekker could deliver.


  When I looked around the place I saw the similarity of pattern there. It was like the back of Tarbush’s Coffee Shop, every available hiding place being torn apart in the search, nothing missed.

  And nothing found, either. The shakedown had started at one side and gone to the other, winding up at the door beside the upturned table. I grinned to myself because I knew it wasn’t too late yet. That capsule was still hidden somewhere. Manos Dekker might know where ordinary people would stash a hot item, but he wasn’t dealing with ordinary people. He was up against a hop-head guarding his most valued treasure, his security against slow death.

  I stood in the middle of the room and peered through the semi-darkness, objects beginning to become apparent. Dekker had done most of the work for me already. It didn’t take much more. There was hardly an item that hadn’t been ripped or smashed, taken apart minutely in the futile search.

  There wasn’t much to it really. Too many addicts used the same gimmick, each thinking they had pulled an original trick. I picked up the cheap ceramic lamp whose hollow base had been smashed open, knocked the dented shade off and looked at the bulb. It was unbroken, but not screwed all the way down. I gave it a couple of turns and it came out in my hand. The capsule so many people had died for was there inside the socket. I dumped it out and held it in my hand.

  Behind me Big Step said, “Don’t move, Ryan. Not one move or you have a hole in you big enough to throw a cat through. Lay that rod on the table. Easy.”

  And now it was over. All the way. The muscles under my skin were bunched and jumping and I knew there wasn’t any use trying for the long shot. All I could do was stay alive as long as I could. I let the capsule dribble between my fingers unseen and heard it roll on the floor. Very elaborately, careful to let him see how I was doing it, I laid the .45 on the table and turned around.

  Big Step wasn’t alone. Ernie South was right next to him with a gun in his hand too and the smile he wore said I was ripe for dying any second. Step bumped Ernie with his elbow. “Close those curtains on the window.”

  Ernie nodded, walked around me and yanked the cord on the Venetian blinds, then pulled the drapes over them. The dust came out in a small cloud and I thought for a second I might be able to move in the almost total darkness. But Step thought of it too and flipped the light switch on before I had the chance.

  “I knew you’d come back, Irish. I knew you’d sucker yourself right into my hands.”

  “So I’m a jerk.”

  “A big one. We were waiting upstairs.” He grinned at me slowly, his hate filled eyes black with a wild passion. “Killing Fly was stupid, Irish. You think you could tie us into it by letting him stay at Tarbush’s? Ernie and me, we got him back here and when you put a shiv in old Martino you even did us a favor. So the cops make it out like Fly stuck him and he had a chance to break the creep’s neck before he died.”

  “Where’s the knife, Step?” I asked casually.

  “Come off it, punk. Who cares? We’ll put another one in the hole.” He moved away from the door and sat back on the arm of the old wooden chair by the wall. “So you catch Fly raiding Ernie’s warehouse. You figure he got more tucked away here and come looking for it, only you gotta kill Martino first.” He gave a slow glance around the room, then back to me. “Fly did a damn good job of hiding it, but if Ernie has to tear this place apart board by board, he’ll find it. That’s just too much loot to throw away. And me, I got what I want, Irish, I got you.”

  Ernie said, “He stashed those packets of H, Step. Don’t you bump him until he talks.” He looked at me, teeth bared with anger. “Or do you want to make it easy on yourself.”

  I shrugged, watching them both for any opening at all. “I don’t have your junk.”

  “Suit yourself, buddy,” Ernie said. “I’m going to enjoy playing with you.” He got up and walked around behind me. I just started to swing when the butt of his gun smashed into my skull with a crack I barely heard before all sight and sound disappeared into a maelstrom of ink and I felt myself falling from a great height.

  How long it was, I couldn’t tell. I came to with a rush of sudden pain that swept down from the top of my head and invaded my whole body. My hands and legs were behind me and when I made a spasmodic move there was a tug at my neck and a cord tightened there almost shutting off my breath.

  Big Step still sat there, smiling pleasantly, enjoying the scene. “The Capone loop, Irish. Every move makes it tighter. Soon you’ll get a cramp and you’ll be able to feel yourself die inches at a time.”

  “Where is it, Irish?” Ernie South asked me.

  I let out a strangled sound and shook my head. What a damn fool I was! Big Step was right when he called me a sucker. I try it alone and blow the whole bit including myself. A woman I wanted and a whole world might die because I was a damn idiot. All I had to do was make a phone call.

  Big Step got up, pulled the chair around so he could watch me and sat down in it, his legs stretched out in front of him. “Take it slow, Irish. This is for Penny and Little Step. My brothers.” A look of pain crossed his face. “They was kids, Irish. You got them both dead. However the hell you worked it, I don’t know, but you got them dead and you’re paying.” He glanced over at Ernie and said, “If he goes out loosen up that cord and start him over again. We got plenty of time.”

  Ernie nodded agreeably. “He’ll start talking a couple times around.”

  “Sure be will, won’t you, Irish? You’ll tell Ernie what you did with his stuff then I’ll kill you quick for killing Penny and Little Step.”

  The voice from the door said, “He didn’t kill Penny, Step.” I couldn’t move an inch except for my eyes. Ernie and Big Step both make quick moves toward their belts, but stopped halfway there. Leaning up against the door jamb with a flat black automatic in her hand was Lisa Williams and she was gassed to the ears, a drunken smirk twisting her mouth in a crazy smile, her eyes glassy, her hair in wet strings down her head. The broken nose, the scars on her face stood out lividly, giving her a frightening appearance.

  Both Ernie and Big Step looked at each other, not wanting to take a chance with a drunk with a gun, but it was Big Step who spoke first, just trying to make enough conversation to get her off guard. “What you say, Lisa?”

  “Irish didn’t kill your brother, Step, but I’m going to kill you. I promised myself that a long time ago, and now I’m going to do it.” She eyed the two bodies on the floor, looked briefly at me and her lips pulled into a taut snarl. “You had to kill Fly and him and now you want to kill Irish too. You damn louse.”

  “Look you drunken bum…”

  “You didn’t have to kill Fly, Step.”

  He half rose from the chair. “Put that rod away, Lisa. This punk here bumped Fly. You think I…”

  “Sit down, Step.” She pointed the gun at his middle, but still keeping Ernie in view. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I can see for myself. I know things like I know who killed Penny.”

  Big Step scowled, seemed to crouch in the chair. “Who, Lisa?”

  “Ernie South here.” She looked across the room at him and gave a silly laugh.

  Big Step’s frown deepened and he turned to stare at Ernie. “What the hell’s she talking about?”

  I could see Ernie, too. He was sweating. “She’s drunk,” he blurted.

  “Sure I am,” Lisa told him, “But I know. You think he was Penny’s friend? Like hell he was. You handed over territory to Penny he wanted for himself and he hated Penny’s guts. He got him out all right. All he had to do was wait and when Penny went for Irish with his big mouth and what he was going to do, Ernie killed him.”

  The sweat was really there now and Big Step saw it too. He let his eyes slide from Ernie back to Lisa and asked, “How’d you find out?”

  “Fly told me.”

  Ernie stood up in a rage, his hands trembling. “A goddamn hophead tells a drunk and you listen to her? What kind of…”

  “I think it makes sense, Ernie,” Big Step s
aid. “I heard noises like that from the boys. Moe tried to tell me and so did Carl Hoover and I wouldn’t listen, but I’m listening now.” His hand moved closer to his belt when he turned back to Lisa. “How did Fly know, Lisa?”

  She laughed again, never taking the gun off him. “He saw him. He was looking for him to hit him up for some H and saw him. He was saving the story until he wanted to put some real heat on Ernie for a big bundle, only now he’ll never be able to do it.” Her face changed slowly and tears ran down the side of her face. “You killed Fly like you did me and now you go, Step.”

  The flat look on Big Step’s face I had seen before. It was a death look and it was aimed at Ernie South. The narcotics dealer went white as the powder he peddled and every cord in his neck stood out like fingers. “Damn you, Lisa… she’s lying… she’s…” He never finished. His hand streaked for the gun in his belt, found and fired it in a split second and doubled Lisa up in the doorway as the slug took her right in the stomach.

  But the sound of it was lost in the bigger roar of Step’s rod that bucked in his hand and put a hole in Ernie South’s temple and drove him over the arm of the couch. He got up then, smiling like it was an everyday occurrence, thumbed back the hammer and walked over to me. “Too bad, Irish, but I can’t leave you here to talk, y’know?” He pointed the gun at my head and I closed my eyes.

  The blast came, a sharp, flat crack and I felt the concussion on my cheeks. There was no pain, no sensation at all. I forced my eyes open, looked up, hardly able to breathe. Above me Big Step Stipetto was arching in the final dance of death, his eyes staring in disbelief, the hole that went through his neck from back to front pumping blood furiously until the torn spinal cord got its last message through to his brain and he crumpled in a heap, dead.