We went downstairs and out on Atlantic Avenue. We played a game of not being seen in case there were watchers and if there were they weren’t good enough to keep up with us. We used the subway to go home and took a cab to the door. When I was sure nobody was in the lobby I took her in.
It was all very simple.
When we got upstairs I told her to hop into the sack and showed her the spare bedroom. She smiled, reached out and patted my cheek and said, “It’s been a long time since I met a nice guy, Mike.”
That strange excitement seemed to be inside her like a coiled spring. I squeezed her wrist and she knew what I was saying without having to use words and her mouth started to part.
I stopped it there.
Or maybe she stopped it.
The spring wound tighter and tighter, then I let her go and walked away.
Behind me the door closed softly and I thought I heard a whispered “Good night, Mike.”
I started it that night. At three-thirty the word went out in the back room of a gin mill off Forty-second and Third. Before morning it would yell and before the night came again it would pay off. One way or another.
Wherever they were, whoever they were, they would hear about it. They’d know me and know what the word meant. They’d sit and think for a little while and if they knew me well enough maybe they’d feel a little bit sweaty and not so sure of themselves any more. They couldn’t laugh it off. With anybody else, perhaps, but not with me.
Wise guys, A pack of conniving slobs with the world in their hands and the power and money to buck a government while they sat on their fat tails, yet before morning there wouldn’t be one of them who didn’t have a funny feeling around his gut.
This time they had to move.
The word was out.
I went back to the apartment and listened at the door of Lily’s room. I could hear her regular, heavy breathing. I stood there a minute, took a final drag on the butt, put it out and headed for my sack.
CHAPTER 7
She was up when the phone rang in the morning‘. I heard the dishes rattling and smelt the coffee. She called out, “Any time you’re ready, come eat:’
I said okay and picked up the phone.
The voice was low and soft, the kind you’d never miss in a million years. It was the best way to wake up and it showed in my voice when I said, “Hi Velda, what’s doing?”
“Plenty is doing, but nothing I want to talk about over the phone.”
“Get something?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you now?”
“Down at the office. A place you ought to try to get to once a week, at least.”
“You know how things are, honey,” I said.
Lily looked in the door, waved and pointed toward the kitchen. I nodded, glad that Velda didn’t know how things were right then.
“Where were you last night? I called until I was too tired to stay awake and tried again this morning.”
“I was busy.”
“Oh, Pat called.” She tried to keep her voice its natural huskiness but it wanted to get away.
“I suppose he said too much.”
“He said enough.” She stopped and I could hear her breathing into the phone. “Mike, I’m scared.”
“Well don’t be, kitten. I know what I’m doing. You ought to know that.”
“I’m still scared. I think somebody tried to break into my apartment last night.”
That one got a low whistle out of me. “What happened?”
“Nothing. I heard a noise in the lock for a while but whoever was trying it gave up. I’m glad I got that special job now. Are you coming over?”
“Not right away.”
“You ought to. A lot of mail is piling up. I paid all the bills, but you have a sackful of personal stuff.”
“I’ll get to it later. Look, did you make out on that info?”
“Somewhat. Do you want it now?”
“Right now, kitten. I’ll meet you in the Texan Bar in an hour.”
“All right, Mike.”
“And kitten ... you got that little heater of yours handy?”
“Well ...”
“Then keep it handy but don’t let it show.”
“It’s handy.”
“Good. Grab a cab and get over there.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
I slapped the phone back, hopped up and took a fast shower. Lily had everything on the table when I got there, a hopeful smile on her face. The table was spread with enough for a couple of lumberjacks and I ate until I made a dent in the mess, then went for seconds on the coffee.
Lily handed me a fresh pack of Luckies, held out a match and smiled again when I slumped back in my chair. “Have enough?”
“Are you kidding? I’m a city boy, remember?”
“You don’t look like a city boy.”
“What do I look like?”
Her eyes did it slow. Up and down twice, then a steady scrutiny of my face. For a minute it was supposed to be funny, but the second time there was no humor in it. The eyes seemed to get bigger and deeper with some far-away hungry quality that was past defining. Then almost as quickly as it had come there was a crazy, fearful expression there in its place that lasted the blink of an eye and she forced a laugh out.
“You look like a nice guy, Mike. I haven’t seen many nice guys. I’m afraid they make an impression.”
“Don’t get the wrong impression, Lily,” I told her. “I used to think I wasn’t much of a sentimentalist, but sometimes I wonder. Right now you’re pretty important to me so I may look like a good egg to you. Just don’t go walking off with anything while you’re here or I’ll look different to you.”
Her smile got bigger. “You’re not fooling me.”
I tossed the butt in my empty cup and it fizzled out. “So I’m getting old. You don’t stay young in this racket very long.”
“Mike ...”
I knew what she was going to say before she said it. “I’ll be gone for awhile. I don’t know how long. The chances are nobody will be up here, but just to keep from sticking our necks out, don’t answer that door. If a key goes in the lock it’ll be me. Keep the chain on the door until I open it, look for yourself then to make sure and then open up.”
“Supposing the phone rings?”
“Let it ring. If I want you I’ll call the janitor, have him push the doorbell twice, then I’ll call you. Got it?”
“I got it.”
“Good. Now take it easy until I get back.”
She gave me a slow, friendly wink and a grin, then followed it up with a soft kiss that formed on her lips and crossed the room to me. She was all dressed up with no place to go and didn’t care, a beautiful white-headed doll with funny eyes that said she had been around too long and seen too many things. But now she looked happy.
I went downstairs, waited until a cab cruised by and grabbed it. We made the Texan Bar with ten minutes left out of the hour so I loafed around outside until a cab pulled into the curb and Velda got out.
Getting out of a cab is one of the things most women don’t do right. But most women aren’t Velda. Without half trying she made a production out of it. When you saw her do it you knew she wasn’t getting out of a cab so much as making an entrance onto the street. Nothing showed, but there was so much to show that you had to watch to see if it would happen or not and even when it didn’t you weren’t a bit disappointed.
She turned around, gave me that impish grin and took my arm with a tight squeeze that said she was happy as all get out to see me and the guy with the packages beside me sighed and muttered something about some guys having all the luck.
Inside the Texan we picked a booth as far back as we could get, ordered up lunch for Velda, a beer for me and then she handed me the envelope from her handbag. “As much as I could get. It cost two hundred and a promise of favors to be repaid ... if necessary.”
“By you?”
Her face darkened, then twisted into a smile. �
��By you.”
I slipped my finger under the flap and drew out the sheets. One was a handwritten copy of the sanitarium report with the rest filling in Berga Torn’s life history. Velda had carried out instructions. At the bottom of the last page was a list of names.
Evello’s was there. So was Congressman Geyfey’s. At the tail end was Billy Mist and when I held my finger on it Velda said, “She went out with him periodically. She was seen with him, but whenever it was, the spotlight was on him ... not her.”
“No,” I said softly, “the spotlight is always on Billy. The picture’s starting to get dirty.”
“Mike ...” She was tapping her nails against the table. “Who is Billy Mist?”
I grunted, picked up a Lucky and lit it. “It’s a picture that goes back pretty far. He used to be known as Billy the Kid and he had as many notches on his rod as the original, if they still notch rods. Just before the war he went legit. At least on the outside he looked clean. He’s been tied into a lot of messy stuff but nothing’s been proven against him.”
“So?”
“He’s a known Mafia connection,” I said. “He sits pretty high, too.”
Velda’s face paled a little. “Brother!”
“Why?”
“Eddie Connely gave me the lead this morning in Toscio’s Restaurant. He and another reporter seemed to have a pretty good inside track on the Torn gal, both of them being on the police beat. Trouble was, they had to suppress most of it and they were pretty disgusted. Anyway, Eddie mentioned Billy Mist and pointed him out. He was over at the bar and I turned around to look at him. About then he happened to turn around too, caught me watching him and got the wrong slant on things. He left his drink, came over and handed me the slimiest proposition I ever heard right out in the open. What I told him no lady should repeat, but Eddie and his pal got a little green and I thought the Mist character would pop his buttons. Eddie didn’t say much after that. He finished his coffee, paid the check and out they went.”
I could feel my teeth showing through the grin. My chest was tight and things were happening in my head. Velda said, “Easy, chum.”
I spit the cigarette out and didn’t say anything for a minute. Billy Mist, the jerk with the duck‘s-tail haircut held down with a pound of grease. The tough guy who took what he wanted whenever he wanted. The uptown kid with the big money and the heavy connections.
When I got rid of the things in my head I squinted at her across the table. “Kitten, don’t ever say I’m the guy who goes looking for trouble.”
“Bad, Mike?”
“Bad enough. Mist isn’t the type to forget. He can take anything except a slam at his manhood.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Honey ... no dame can take care of herself, including you. Be careful, will you?”
She seemed to smile all over. “Worried, Mike?”
“Certainly.”
“Love me?”
“Yeah,” I said, “I love you, but I go for the way you are and not the way you could look if Mist started working you over.” I grinned at her and slapped my hand down over hers. “Okay, I’m not the romantic type this early and in this place.”
“I don’t care.”
She sat there, tall and straight, the black page-boy hair swirling around her shoulders like a waterfall at night with the moon glinting on it. Broad-shouldered, smooth and soft-looking, but firm underneath. She always had that hungry animal quality about her, eyes that drank everything in and when they looked at me seemed to drain me dry. Her mouth was expressive, with full, ripe lips that shone wetly, a crimson blossom that hid even white teeth.
I said it again and this time it sounded different and her fingers curled up over mine and squeezed.
A guy like me doesn’t take the kind of look she was giving me very long. I shook my head, got my hand loose and went back to the report she had compiled.
“Let’s not get off the track.” Her laugh was a silent thing, but I knew she felt the same way I did. “We have three names here. What about the other three?”
Velda leaned across the table to see where I was pointing and I had to keep my eyes down. “Nicholas Raymond was an old flame apparently. She went with him before the war. He was killed in an auto accident.”
It wasn’t much, but to pick up details like that takes time. “Who said?”
“Pat. The police know that much about her.”
“He’s really going all out, isn’t he?”
“The next one came from him too. Walter McGrath seemed to be another steady she was heavy on. He kept her for about a year during the war. She had an apartment on Riverside Drive then.”
“He local?”
“No, from out of state, but he was in the city often.”
“Business?”
“Lumber. Gray-market operations on steel too. He has a police record.” She saw my eyebrows go up. “One income-tax evasion, two arrests for disorderly conduct, one conviction and suspended sentence for carrying concealed weapons.”
“Where is he now?”
“He’s been in the city here for about a month taking orders for lumber.”
“Nice.” She nodded agreement.
“Who’s this Leopold Kawolsky?”
Velda frowned, her eyes turning a little darker. “I can’t figure that one out. Eddie tapped him for me. Right after the war Berga was doing a number in a night club and when the place closed down there was a street brawl that seemed to center around her. This guy knocked off a couple of men giving her a hard time and a photog happened along who grabbed a pic for the front page of his tabloid. It was pure sensationalism, but the picture and the name stuck in Eddie’s mind. The same thing happened about a month later and one of those kids who snap photos in the night clubs caught the action and submitted it for the usual pay-on-acceptance deals. That’s how Eddie remembered who the girl was so well.”
“The guy, honey ... what about him?”
“I’m coming to him. From the pictures he looked like an ex-fighter. I called the sports editor of a magazine and he picked the name out for me. Kawolsky fought under the name Lee Kawolsky for a year and was looking pretty good until he broke his hand in training. After that he dropped out of the picture. Now, about a month and a half after the last public brawl Lee was hit by a truck and killed. Since there were two deaths by cars in the picture I went into the insurance records and went over them carefully. As far as I could tell, or anybody else for that matter, they were accidents, pure and simple.”
“Pure and simple,” I repeated. “The way it would have to look.”
“I don’t think so, Mike.”
“Positive.”
“Good enough.”
I ran my eyes over the copy of the medical report, folded it before I finished it and tucked it back into the envelope. “Brief me on this thing,” I said.
“There really isn’t much. She appeared before Dr. Martin Soberin for an examination, he diagnosed her case as extreme nervousness and suggested a rest cure. They mutually agreed on the sanitarium she was admitted to, an examination there confirmed Dr. Soberin’s diagnosis and that was that. She was to stay there approximately four weeks. She paid in advance for her treatment.”
If ever there was a mess, this was it. Everything out of place and out of focus. The ends didn’t even try to meet. Meet? Hell, they were snarled up so completely nothing made any sense.
“How about this Congressman Geyfey?”
“Nothing special. He was seen with her at a couple of political rallies. The man isn’t married so he’s clean that way. Frankly, I don’t think he knew anything about her.”
“This keeps getting worse.”
“Don’t get impatient. We’re only getting started. What did Pat have to say about her?”
“It’s all in writing. Probably the best parts they’re not telling. Except for her connection with Evello she didn’t seem to be out of the ordinary for a kid with her tastes. She was born in Pittsburgh in 1920. Her fa
ther was Swedish, her mother Italian. She made two trips to Europe, one when she was eight to Sweden, the next one in 1940 to Italy. The jobs she held didn’t pay the kind of money she spent, but that’s easy to arrange for a babe like that.”
“Then Evello’s the connection?”
“Evello’s the one,” I said. She looked at my face and her breathing seemed to get heavier. “He’s here in New York. Pat’ll give you the address.”
“He’s mine then?”
“Until I get around to him.”
“What’s the angle?”
“An approach. Better arrange for a regular introduction and let him do the rest. Find out who his friends are.”
Only her eyes smiled. “Think I can pull it off?”
“You can’t miss, baby, you can’t miss.”
The smile in her eyes got bigger.
“Where are you carrying the heater, kitten?”
The smile faded then. It got a little bit cold and deadly. “The shoulder rig. Left side and low down.”
“Nobody’d ever notice, kitten.”
“They’re not supposed to,” she said.
We finished eating and went back into the daylight. I watched her get into the cab the way she had got out and when the hack turned the corner I could feel the skin on my shoulder crawl thinking about where she was going. The next cab that came along I flagged down, gave him a Brooklyn address with instructions to stop by the Atlantic Avenue apartment first. The answer came fast enough when we reached the joint. The name was still on the wall but the neighbors said she had moved out during the night and the apartment was empty. A small truck with the trunks of a new customer started backing into the curb as we drove away.
The second Brooklyn address belonged to a newspaperman who had retired ten years ago. He was forty-nine years old but looked seventy. One side of his face had a scar that ran from the corner of his eye to his ear and down to his mouth. If he took off his shirt he could show you the three dimples in his stomach and the three larger angry pink scars in his back. One arm couldn’t move at the elbow. He hadn’t retired because he had wanted to. Seems like he had written an expose about the Mafia one time.
When I came out it was two hours later and I had a folio of stuff under my arm that would have been worth ten grand to any good slick magazine. I got it free. I took another cab back uptown, sat in the back room of a drug store a buddy of mine ran, went through it twice, then wrapped it and mailed it back to the guy I got it from. I went into a bar and had a beer while the facts settled down in my mind. While I sat there I tried to keep from looking at myself in the mirror behind the back bar but it didn’t work. My face wasn’t pretty at all. Not at all. So I moved to a booth in the back that had no mirrors.
The Mike Hammer Collection, Volume 2 Page 50