The Mike Hammer Collection, Volume 3

by Mickey Spillane

  I went after that other one like a bird after a bug. “What other one?” My hands were shaking like mad. It was all I could do to keep my hands off his shirt and shake the facts out of him.

  “The one what come up t’other day. Maybe it was yesterday. I disremember days. What ya joining?”

  “Er . . . a club. We have to swim the river then reach the house without being seen. Guess they won’t let me join now that somebody saw me. Did you see the other guy too?”

  “Sure. I seed him, but I don’t say nothing. I seed lotta funny things go on and I don’t ask no questions. It’s just that this was kinda funny, that’s all.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Well, I couldn’t see him too good. He was big and fat. I heered him puffing plenty after he come out of the weeds. Yeah, he was a big feller. I didn’t know who he was so I went back through the woods to my boat.”

  “Just the other guy, that’s all you saw?”

  “Yep.”

  “Nobody else?”

  “Nope.”

  “Anybody live in that shack?”

  “Not now. Comes next month and Pee Wee’ll move in. He’s a tramp. Don’t do nothing but fish and live like a pig. He’s been living there three summers now.”

  “This other one you saw, did he have a mean-looking face, sort of scowling?”

  “Ummmm. Now that you mention it, he looked kinda mad. Guess that was one reason why I left.”

  Dilwick. It was Dilwick. The fat slob had gotten the jump on me again. I knew he was smart . . . he had to be to get along the way he did, but I didn’t think he was that smart. Dilwick had put the puzzle together and come out on top. Dilwick had found Grange in the shack and carted her off. Then why the hell didn’t he produce her? Maybe the rest of the case stunk, but this part raised a putrid odor to high heaven. Everybody under the sun wanted in on the act, now it was Dilwick. Crime upon crime upon crime upon crime. Wasn’t it ever going to end? Okay, fat boy, start playing games with me. You think you pulled a quickie, don’t you? You think nobody knows about this . . . T.S., junior, I know about it now, and brother, I think I’m beginning to see where I’m going.

  “How can I get back to the bridge without swimming, Pop?”

  He pointed a gnarled finger toward the tree line. “A path runs through there. Keeps right along the bank, but stick to it and nobody’ll see ya in ya jeans. Hope they let ya join that club.”

  “I think I can fix it.” I batted away the bugs that were beginning to swarm around me and took off for the path. Damn Dilwick anyway.

  CHAPTER 10

  Going back was rough. My feet were bleeding at the end of the first hundred yards and the blue-tailed flies were making my back a bas-relief of red lumps. Some Good Samaritan had left a dirty burlap bag that reeked of fish and glinted with dried scales in the path and I ripped it in half and wrapped the pieces over my instep and around my ankles. It wasn’t so bad after that.

  By the time I reached the bridge the sun was hanging well up in the sky and a few office workers were rolling along the road on their way to town. I waited until the road was clear, then made a dash across the bridge to the car and climbed into some dry clothes. My feet were so sore I could hardly get into my shoes, but leaving the laces open helped a little. I threw the wet shorts in the back with the rest of the junk and reached for a butt. There are times when a guy wants a cigarette in the worst way, and this was one of them.

  I finished two, threw the car in gear and plowed out to the concrete. Now the fun began. Me and Dilwick were going to be as inseparable as clamshells. Grange was the key to unlock this mess. Only Dilwick had Grange. Just to be certain I pulled into a dog wagon and went to the pay phone. Sergeant Price was in again. It was getting to be a habit.

  I said hello, then: “Get a report on Grange yet, Sergeant?”

  He replied in the negative.

  “How about the city cops?”

  “Nothing there either. I thought you were looking for her?”

  “Yeah . . . I am. Look, do me a favor. Buzz the city bulls and see if they’ve turned up anything in the last few hours. I’ll hold on.”

  “But they would have called me if . . .”

  “Go on, try it anyway.”

  Price picked up another phone and dialed. I heard him ask the cop on the desk the question, then he slammed the receiver down. “Not a thing, Mike.”

  “Okay, that’s all I want to know.” I grinned to myself. It was more than a feud between the city and the state police; it was monkey business. But it was all right with me. In fact, I was happier about it than I should have been. I was looking forward to kicking Dilwick’s teeth right down his big fat yap.

  But before I did anything I was going to get some breakfast. I went through my first order, had seconds, then went for another round. By that time the counterman was looking at the stubble of the beard on my face and wondering whether or not I was a half-starved tramp filling my belly then going to ask to work out the check.

  When I threw him a ten his eyes rolled a little. If he didn’t check the serial number of that bill to see if it was stolen I didn’t know people. I collected my change and glanced at the time. Ten fifteen. Dilwick would be getting to his office about now. Swell.

  This time I found a spot on the corner and pulled in behind a pickup truck. I shut off the motor then buried my nose in a magazine with one eye on the station house across the street. Dilwick came waddling up five minutes later. He disappeared inside and didn’t show his face for two hours. When he did come out he was with one of the boys that had worked over Billy that night.

  The pair stepped into an official car and drove down the street, turning onto Main. I was two cars behind. A half mile down they stopped, got out and went into a saloon. I took up a position where I could cover the entrance.

  That was the way the day went: from one joint to another. By five o’clock I was dying for a short beer and a sandwich, and the two decided to call it quits. Dilwick dumped his partner off in front of a modern, two-story brick building, then cut across town, beating out a red light on the way. By the time I had caught up with him he was locking the car up in front of a trim duplex. He never saw me, not because I slouched down in my seat as I shot by, but because he was waving to a blonde in the window.

  I only got a glimpse of her well-rounded shoulders and ample bust, but the look on her face told me that I had might as well go home because this was going to be an all-night affair.

  No sense taking any chances. I bought a container of coffee and some sandwiches in a delicatessen then circled the block until I eased into the curb across the street and fifty yards behind the police buggy. The sandwiches went in a hurry. On top of the dash I laid out my cigs and a pack of matches, then worked the seat around until I was comfortable. At nine o’clock the lights went out in the duplex. Twenty cigarettes later they were still out. I curled up on the seat and conked off.

  I was getting to hate the morning. My back ached from the swim yesterday and the cramped position behind the wheel. I opened the door and stretched my legs, getting a peek at myself in the rear-vision mirror. I didn’t look pretty. Dilwick’s car was still in front of the duplex.

  “Have a rough night?”

  I raised my eyebrows at the milkman. He was grinning like a fool.

  “See a lot of you guys around this morning. Want a bottle of milk? It’s good and cold.”

  “Hell yeah, hand one over.” I fished in my pocket and threw him a half.

  “Someday,” he said, “I’m going to sell sandwiches on this route. I’ll make a million.”

  He walked off whistling as I yanked the stopper out and raised the bottle to my lips. It was the best drink I ever had. Just as I reached the bottom the door opened in the duplex. A face came out, peered around, then Dilwick walked out hurriedly. I threw the empty bottle to the grass beside the curb then waited until the black sedan had turned the corner before I left my position. When I reached the intersection Dilwick was tw
o blocks ahead. Tailing him was too easy. There were no cars out that early to screen me. When he stopped at a diner I kept right on going to the station house and got my old spot back, hoping that I hadn’t made a mistake in figuring that Dilwick would come back to his castle after he had breakfast.

  This time I was lucky. He drove up a half hour later.

  Forcing myself to be patient was brutal. For four solid hours Dilwick went through the saloon routine solo, then he picked up his previous companion. At two in the afternoon he acquired another rummy and the circus continued. I was never far behind. Twice, I hopped out and followed them on foot, then scrambled for my heap when they came out of a joint. Six o’clock they stopped in a chop suey joint for supper and I found a chance to get a shave and watch them at the same time from a spot on the other side of the avenue. If this kept up I’d blow my top. What the hell was Dilwick doing with Grange anyway? What goes on in a town where all the cops do is tour the bars and spend their nights shacking up with blondes? If Grange was such a hot potato why wasn’t Dilwick working on her? Or did he have her stashed away somewhere . . . ? Or what could be worse, maybe I was all wet in thinking Dilwick had her in the first place.

  Nuts.

  I had a coffee and was two cigarettes to the good when the trio came out of the restaurant, only this time they split up in front of the door, shaking hands all around. Dilwick got in the car, changed his mind and walked down to a liquor store. When he came out with a wrapped bottle under his arm the other two were gone. Good, this was better. He slid under the wheel and pulled out. I let a convertible get between us and went after him. No blonde tonight. Dilwick went through town taking his time until he reached the highway, stopped at one of those last chance places for a beer while I watched from the spacious driveway, unwrapped his bottle before he started again and had a swig.

  By the time he was on the highway it was getting dark. What a day. Five miles out of Sidon he turned right on a black macadam road that wound around the fringes of some good-sized estates and snapped on his lights. I left mine off. Wherever he was going, he wasn’t in a hurry. Apparently the road went nowhere, twisting around hills and cutting a swath through the oaks lining the roads. After a while the estates petered out and the countryside, what was visible of it, became a little wild.

  Ahead of me his taillight was a red eye, one that paced itself at an even thirty-five. On either side of me were walls of Stygian blackness, and I was having all I could do to stay on the road. I had to drive with one eye on the taillight and the other on the macadam, but Dilwick was making it easy for me by taking it slow.

  Too easy. I was so busy driving I didn’t see the other car slide up behind me until it was too late. They had their lights out too.

  I hit the brakes as they cut across my nose, my hand fumbling for my rod. Even before I stopped the guy had leaped out of the car and was reaching through my window for me. I batted the hand away from my neck then got slammed across my eyes with a gun barrel. The door flew open. I kicked out with my feet and somebody grunted. Somehow I got the gun in my hand, but another gun lashed out of the darkness and smashed across my wrist.

  Damn, I was stupid! I got mousetrapped! Somehow I kicked free of the car and swung. A formless shape in front of me cursed and grunted. Then a light hit me full in the face. I kicked it out of a hand, but the damage had been done. I couldn’t see at all. A fist caught me high on the head as a pair of arms slipped around my waist and threw me into a fender. With all my strength I jerked my head back and caught the guy’s nose. The bone splintered and hot blood gushed down my collar.

  It was kick and gouge and try to get your teeth in something. The only sounds were of fists on flesh and feet on the road. Heavy breathing. I broke free for a moment, ducked, and came in punching. I doubled one up when I planted my knuckles in his belly up to the wrist. A billy swooshed in the air, missed and swooshed again. I thought my shoulder was broken. I got so damn mad I let somebody have it in the shins and he screamed in pain when I nearly busted the bone with my toe. The billy caught me in the bad shoulder again and I hit the ground, stumbling over the guy who was holding his leg. He let go long enough to try for my throat, but I brought my knee up and dug it in his groin.

  All three of us were on the ground, rolling in the dirt. I felt cold steel under my hand and wrapped my fingers around a gun butt as a foot nearly ripped me in half. The guy with the billy sent one tearing into my side that took the breath out of my lungs. He tried again as I rolled and grazed me, then landed full on my gut with both his knees. Outlined against the sky I could see him straddling me, the billy raised in the air, ready to crush in my skull. Little balls of fire were popping in my brain and my breath was still a tight knot in my belly when that shot-weighted billy started to come down.

  I raised the gun and shot him square in the face, blowing his brains all over the road.

  But the billy was too much to stop. It was pulled off course yet it managed to knock me half senseless when it grazed my temple. Before I went completely out I heard feet pounding on the road and an engine start up. The other guy wasn’t taking any chances. He was clearing out.

  I lay there under a corpse for three-quarters of an hour before I had enough strength to crawl away. On my hands and knees I reached my car and pulled myself erect. My breath came in hot, jerky gasps. I had to bend to one side to breathe at all. My face felt like a truck went over it and I was sticky with blood and guts, but I couldn’t tell how much of it was my own. From the dash I pulled a flashlight and played its beam over the body in the road. Unless he had some identifying scars, nobody would ever be able to tell who he was. Ten feet away from his feet his brainpan lay like a gooey ashtray on the road.

  His pockets held over a hundred bucks in cash, a wallet with a Sidon police shield pinned to it and a greasy deck of cards. The billy was still in his hand. I found my own gun, cleaned off the one I had used and tossed it into the bushes. It didn’t matter whether they found it or not. I was going to be number-one client in a murder case.

  Lousy? It was stinking. I was supposed to have been rubbed out. All very legal, of course. I was suspiciously tailing a cop down a dark road with my lights out, and when ordered to halt put up a fight and during it got myself killed. Except it didn’t happen that way. I nailed one and the other got away to tell about it. Maybe Dilwick would like it better this way.

  So they caught me. They knew I was trailing them all day and laid a lot of elaborate plans to catch me in the trap. I had to get out of there before that other one got back with reinforcements. I let the body stay as it was, then crawled under the wheel and drove onto the grass, swinging around the corpse, then back on the highway. This time I used my lights and the gas pedal, hightailing it away as fast as I could hold the turns. Whenever I reached an intersection I cut off on it, hoping it wasn’t a dead end. It took me a good two hours to circle the town and come out in the general vicinity of York’s place, but I couldn’t afford using the highway.

  The car was in my way now; it could be spotted too easily. If they saw me it would be shoot to kill and I didn’t have the kind of artillery necessary to fight a gang war. Dilwick would have every cop in town on the lookout, reporting the incident to Price only after they cornered me somewhere and punched me full of holes, or the death of the cop was printed in the papers.

  There was only one reason for all the hoodah . . . Grange was still the key, and Dilwick knew I knew he had her.

  Trusting luck that I wasn’t too far from home, I ran the car off the road between the trees, pulling as far into the bushes as I could get. Using some cut branches for camouflage I covered up the hood and any part that could be seen by casual observation from the road. When I was satisfied I stepped out and began walking in a northerly direction.

  A road finally crossed the one I was on with phone wires paralleling it. A lead from a pole a hundred yards down left the main line and went into the trees. When I reached it I saw the sleepy little bungalow hidden in the shadows. I
f my feet on the pavement didn’t wake the occupants, my sharp rapping did.

  Inside someone said, “George . . . the door.”

  Bedsprings creaked and the guy mumbled something then crossed the room to the door. A light went on overhead and when the guy in the faded bathrobe took a look at me he almost choked.

  “I had an accident. Do you have a phone?”

  “Accident? Yeah . . . yeah. Come in.”

  He gulped and, glancing at me nervously, called, “Mary. It’s a man who’s had an accident. Anything I can do for you, mister? Anybody else hurt?”

  The guy back there would never feel anything again. “No, nobody else is hurt.”

  “Here’s the phone.” His wife came out while I dialed Price’s number. She tried to fuss around with a wet rag, wiping the blood off my face, but I waved her off. Price wasn’t there, but I got his home number. He wasn’t there, either, he had left for headquarters. The woman was too excited. I insisted that I didn’t need a doctor, but let her go over my battered face with the rag, then dialed headquarters again.

  Price was there. He nearly exploded when he heard my voice. “What the hell happened? Where are you?”

  “Out of town. What are you doing up at this hour?”

  “Are you kidding? A police reporter slipped me the news that a cop was killed south of town. I got the rest from Dilwick. You’re in a jam now.”

  “You’re not telling me anything new,” I said. “Has he got the police combing the town for me?”

  “Everyone on the force is out. I had to put you on the Teletype myself. All the roads are blocked and they have a cordon around York’s house. Are you giving yourself up?”

  “Don’t be silly. I’d be sticking my head in a noose. As far as Dilwick is concerned I have to be knocked off. It’s a screw pitch, pal, and I’m in it deep, but don’t believe all you hear.”

  “You killed him, didn’t you?”

  “You’re damn right. If I hadn’t it would have been me lying back there with my head in sections all over the ground. They squeezed me good. I was tailing Dilwick, but they got wise and tailed me. Like a damn fool I let Dilwick lead me out in the sticks and they jumped me. What was I supposed to do, take it lying down? They didn’t have orders to pick me up, they were supposed to knock me off.”