The Mike Hammer Collection, Volume 3

by Mickey Spillane

  He got the import of it right away but didn’t say anything. From all appearances this was a break-in and anybody could have done it. The implications were too big to let the thing out now and he wasn’t going to do much explaining until we had time to go over it.

  The reporters had already gathered and were yelling for admittance. Tomorrow this kill would make every headline in the country and the one in Brooklyn would be lucky if it got a squib in any sheet at all. There was going to be some high-level talk before this one broke straight and Pat knew it too.

  It was an hour before we got out of there and back in the car. Some of the bigwigs of the political party had arrived and were being pressed by the reporters, but they had nothing to say. They got in on VIP status and were immediately sent into the den to be quizzed by the officers in charge and as long as there was plenty to do we could ride for a while.

  Pat didn’t speak until we were halfway back to the city, then all he said was, “One of your theories went out the window today.”

  “Which one?”

  “If Sim planned to kill Sue, how would he excuse it?”

  “I fell into that one with no trouble, Pat,” I said. “You know how many times he has been threatened?”

  “I know.”

  “So somebody was trying to get even. Revenge motive. They hit the kid.”

  “But Sue is still alive.”

  “Somebody thought he got her tonight. I’ll tell you this . . . I bet the first shot fired was into that bed. The killer turned on the light to make sure and saw what happened. He didn’t dare let it stand like that so he waited around. Then in came Sim. Now it could be passed off as a burglary attempt while the real motive gets lost in the rush.”

  I tapped his arm. “There’s one other thing too. The night of the first try there were two groups. Levitt and Kid Hand. They weren’t working together and they were both after the same thing . . . the kid.”

  “All right, sharpie, what’s the answer?”

  “I think it’s going to be three million bucks,” I said.

  “You have more than that to sell.”

  “There’s Blackie Conley.”

  “And you think he’s got the money?”

  “Want to bet?”

  “Name it.”

  “A night on the town. A foursome. We’ll find you a broad. Loser picks up all the tabs.”

  Pat nodded. “You got it, but forget finding me a broad. I’ll get my own.”

  “You’ll probably bring a policewoman.”

  “With you around it wouldn’t be a bad idea,” he said.

  He let me out in front of my apartment and I promised to call him as soon as I heard from Velda. He was going to run the Torrence thing through higher channels and let them handle this hotcake.

  I went upstairs, called through the door, and let Geraldine open it. Velda still hadn’t gotten back. Sue was inside on the couch, awake, but still drowsy from the sedatives she had taken. I made Geraldine sit down next to her, then broke the news.

  At first Sue didn’t react. Finally she said, “He’s really dead?”

  “Really, sugar.”

  Somehow a few years seemed to drape themselves around her. She looked at the floor, made a wry face, and shrugged. “I’m sorry, Mike. I don’t feel anything. Just free. I feel free.”

  Geraldine looked like she was about to break, but she came through it. There was a stricken expression in her eyes and her mouth hung slackly. She kept repeating, “Oh, no!” over and over again and that was all. When she finally accepted it she asked, “Who, Mike, who did it?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “This is terrible. The whole political . . .”

  “It’s more terrible than that, kid. Politicians can always be replaced. I suggest you contact your office when you feel up to it. There’s going to be hell to pay and if your outfit gets into power this time it’ll be by a miracle . . . and those days, believe me, are over.”

  She started asking me something else, but the phone rang and I jumped to answer it. Velda said, “Mike . . . I just heard. Is it true? ”

  “He’s had it. What did you come up with?”

  “About the time you mentioned . . . nobody could account for Torrence’s whereabouts for almost two hours. Nobody really looked for him and they all supposed he was with somebody else, but nobody could clear him for that time.”

  “That does it then. Come on back.”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “Shake it.”

  In a little while I was going to be tied in with this mess and would be getting plenty of visitors and I didn’t want either Geraldine or Sue around. Their time would come, but not right now. I called a hotel, made reservations for them both, dialed for a cab, and told them to get ready. Neither wanted to leave until I told them there was no choice. I wanted them completely out of sight and told Geraldine to stay put again, having her meals sent up until I called for her.

  Events had moved too quickly and she couldn’t think for herself any longer. She agreed dumbly, the girls got into their coats, and I walked them out to the cab.

  Upstairs I sat at the desk and took the letter out of my pocket. Like the straw, it was crisp with age, but still sealed, and after all these years smelled faintly of some feminine perfume. I slid my finger under the flap and opened it.

  The handwriting was the scrawl of a drunk trying hard for sobriety. The lines were uneven and ran to the edge of the page, but it was legible enough.

  It read:Darling Sue:

  My husband Sim is the one we called The Snake. Hate him, darling, because he wants us dead. Be careful of him. Someday he will try to kill us both. Sim Torrence could prove I helped deliver narcotics at one time. He could have sent me to prison. We made a deal that I was to be the go-between for him and Sonny Motley and he was going to arrange the robbery. He could do it because he knew every detail of the money exchange. What he really wanted was for Sonny and the rest to be caught so he could boost his career. That happened, didn’t it, darling? He never should have left me out in the cold. After I had you I wanted security for you and knew how to get it. I didn’t love Sim Torrence. He hated me like he hates anybody in his way. I made him do it for you, dearest. I will hide this letter where he won’t find it but you will someday. He searches everything I have to be sure this can’t happen. Be careful my darling. He is The Snake and he will try to kill you if he can. Be careful of accidents. He will have to make it look like one.

  All My Love,

  Mother

  The Snake . . . the one thing they all feared . . . and now he was dead. Dedicated old Win with Sim, an engineer of robberies, hirer of murderers, a killer himself . . . what a candidate for governor. The people would never know how lucky they were.

  The Snake. A good name for him. I was right . . . it worked the way I figured it. The votes weren’t all counted yet, but the deck was stacked against Sim Torrence. In death he was going to take a fall bigger than the one he would have taken in life.

  Torrence never got the three million. He never gave a damn about it in the first place. All breaking up that robbery did was earn him prestige and some political titles. It was his first step into the big-time and he made it himself. He put everybody’s life on the block including his own and swung it. I wondered what plans he had made for Sally if she hadn’t nipped into him first. In fact, marrying her was even a good deal for him. It gave him a chance to keep her under wraps and lay the groundwork for a murder.

  Hell, if I could check back that far with accuracy I knew what I would find. Sim paid the house upstate a visit, found Annette Lee asleep and Sally in a dead drunk. He simply dragged her out into the winter night and the weather did the rest. He couldn’t have done anything with the kid right then without starting an investigation. Sally would have been a tragic accident; the kid too meant trouble.

  So he waited. Like a good father, which added to his political image, he adopted her into his house. When it was not expedient for him to have h
er around any longer he arranged for her execution through Levitt. He sure was a lousy planner there. Levitt talked too much. Enough to die before he could do the job.

  In one way Sue forced her own near-death with her crazy behavior. Whatever she couldn’t get out of her mind were the things her mother told her repeatedly in her drunken moods. It had an effect all right. She made it clear to Sim that he was going to have to kill her if he didn’t want her shooting her mouth off.

  Sim would have known who The Snake was. Sally had referred to him by that often enough. No wonder he ducked it at the trial. No wonder it seared him silly when Sue kept insisting her mother left something for her to read. No wonder he searched her things. That last time in Sue’s little house was one of desperation. He knew that sooner or later something would come to light and if it happened he was politically dead, which to him was death in toto.

  But somebody made a mistake. There was a bigger snake loose than Torrence ever was. There was a snake with three million bucks buried in its hole and that could be the worst kind of snake of all. Hell, Sim wasn’t a snake at all. He was a goddamn worm.

  I folded the letter and put it back in my pocket when the bell rang. When I opened the door Velda folded into my arms like a big cat, kicked it shut with her heel, and buried her face against my neck.

  “You big slob,” she said.

  While she made coffee I told her about it, taking her right through from the beginning. She read the letter twice, getting the full implication of it all.

  “Does Pat know all this?”

  “Not yet. He’d better take first things first.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Call Art Rickerby.”

  I picked the unlisted number out of memory and got Art on the phone. It took a full thirty minutes to rehash the entire situation, but he listened patiently, letting me get it across. It was the political side of it he was more concerned with at the moment, realizing what propaganda ammunition the other side could use against us.

  One thing about truth . . . let it shine and you were all right. It was the lies that could hurt you. But there were ways of letting the truth come out so as to nullify the awkward side of it and this was what the striped-pants boys were for.

  Art said he’d get into it right away, but only because of my standing as a representative of the agency he was part of.

  I said, “Where do I go from here, Art?”

  “Now who’s going to tell you, big man?”

  “It isn’t over yet.”

  “It’s never over, Mike. When this is over there will be something else.”

  “There will be some big heat coming my way. I’d hate to lose my pretty little ticket. It’s all I have.”

  He was silent for a moment, then he said, “I’ll let you in on a confidence. There are people here who like you. We can’t all operate the same way. Put a football player on the diamond and he’d never get around the bases. A baseball player in the middle of a pileup would never get up. You’ve never been a total unknown and now that you’re back, stay back. When we need you, we’ll yell. Meanwhile nobody’s going to pick up your ticket as long as you stay clean enough. I didn’t say legal . . . I said clean. One day we’ll talk some more about this, but not now. You do what you have to do. Just remember that everybody’s watching so make it good.”

  “Great, all I have to do is stay alive.”

  “Well, if you do get knocked off, let me repeat a favorite old saying of yours, ‘Kismet, buddy.’ ”

  He hung up and left me staring at the phone. I grinned, then put it down and started to laugh. Velda said, “What’s so funny?”

  “I don’t know,” I told her. “It’s just funny. Grebb and Charlie Force are going to come at me like tigers when this is over to get my official status changed and if I can make it work they don’t have a chance.”

  That big, beautiful thing walked over next to me and slid her arms around my waist and said, “They never did have a chance. You’re the tiger, man.”

  I turned around slowly and ran my hands under her sweater, up the warm flesh of her back. She pulled herself closer to me so that every curve of hers matched my own and her breasts became rigid against my chest.

  There was a tenderness to her mouth that was only at the beginning, then her lips parted with a gentle searching motion and her tongue flicked at mine with the wordless gestures of love. Somehow the couch was behind us and we sank down on it together. There was no restraint at all, simply the knowledge that it was going to happen here and now at our own time and choosing.

  No fumbling motions. Each move was deliberate, inviting, provoking the thing we both wanted so badly. Very slowly there was a release from the clothes that covered us, each in his own way doing what he wanted to do. I kissed her neck, uncovered her shoulders, and ran my mouth along them. When my hands cradled her breasts and caressed them they quivered at my touch, nuzzling my palms for more like a hungry animal.

  Her stomach swelled gently against my fingers as I explored her, making her breath come in short, hard gasps. But even then there was no passiveness in her. She was as alive as I was, as demanding and as anxious. Her eyes told me of all the love she had for so long and the dreams she had had of its fulfillment.

  The fiery contact of living flesh against living flesh was almost too much to stand and we had gone too far to refuse the demand any longer. She was mine and I was hers and we had to belong to each other.

  But it didn’t happen that way.

  The doorbell rang like some damn screaming banshee and the suddenness of it wiped the big now right out of existence. I swore under my breath, then grinned at Velda, who swore back the same words and grinned too.

  “When will it be, Mike?”

  “Someday, kitten.”

  Before I could leave she grabbed my hand. “Make it happen.”

  “I will. Go get your clothes on.”

  The bell rang again, longer this time, and I heard Pat’s voice calling out in the hall.

  I yelled, “All right, damn it, hold on a minute.”

  He didn’t take his finger off the bell until I had opened the door.

  “I was on the phone,” I explained. “Come on in.”

  There were four others with him, all men I had seen around the precinct. Two I knew from the old days and nodded to them. The others went through a handshake.

  “Velda here?”

  “Inside, why?”

  “She was down asking questions around the party headquarters. They want an explanation. Charlie Force is pushing everybody around on this.”

  “So sit down and I’ll explain.”

  Velda came out as they were pulling up chairs, met the officers and perched on the arm of the couch next to me. I laid it out for Pat to save him the time of digging himself, supplied him with Velda’s notes and the names of the persons she spoke to, and wrapped it up with Art’s little speech to me.

  When Pat put his book away he said, “That’s one reason why I’m here. We’re going to see what we can get on Howie Green. These officers have been working on it already and have come up with something that might get us started.”

  “Like what?”

  “The real estate agency Howie Green operated went into the hands of his partner after his death. The guy’s name was Quincy Malek. About a year later he contracted T.B. and died in six months. Now from a nephew we gather that Malek was damn near broke when he kicked off. He had sold out everything and his family picked over what was left. The original records left over from his partnership with Green went into storage somewhere, either private or commercial.

  “Right now I have one bunch checking all the warehouses to see what they can dig up. The nephew does remember Malek asking that the records be kept so it’s likely that they were. It wouldn’t take up much room and a few hundred bucks would cover a storage bill on a small package for a long, long time.

  “Now that’s a supposition, the commercial angle. Malek and Green had a few other pr
operties still in existence and we’ll go through them too. Until everything is checked out you can’t tell what we’ll find. Meanwhile, we’re taking another angle. We’re checking all property transactions carried out by Green within a certain time of his death. If you’re right something will show up. We’ll check every damn one of them if we have to.”

  “You know how long it will take, Pat?”

  “That’s what I want to know. You got a better idea in that screwy mind of yours?”

  “I don’t know,” I told him. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “Oh no, not you, boy. If you got anything you have it now. You just aren’t the prolonged-thinking type. You got something going this minute and I want to know what it is.”

  “Stow it.”

  “Like that?”

  “Like that. If it proves out I’ll get it to you right away. The only reason I’m slamming it to you like this is because you’re in deep enough as it is. Let me try my way. If there’s trouble I’ll take it alone.”

  “Mike . . . I don’t like it. We have a killer running loose.”

  “Then let me be the target.”

  His eyes drifted to Velda beside me.

  I said, “She’ll stay safe. I went through that once before.”

  “Watch her,” Pat said softly, and I knew he was never going to change about the way he felt for her.

  “How many men you going to put through the files?”

  “As many as I can spare.”

  “Suppose you get to it first?” I queried.

  He smiled crookedly. “Well, with your official status I imagine I can pass on a tip to you. Just make sure it works both ways.”

  “Deal. How will we make contact?”

  “Keep in touch with my office. If anything looks promising I’ll leave word.”

  He got up to go and I reached for my coat. I picked the letter out and handed it to him. “It was in Sue’s teddy bear. It puts a lock on Sim all the way. I don’t advise showing it to the kid though.”

  Pat read it through once, shook his head, and put it in his inside coat pocket. “You’re a card, man, a real card. What kind of luck have you got?”