The Snake mh-8

by Mickey Spillane

  I grinned at her. "Only when they need it," I said.

  I stood in the room that had been Velda's and scanned the other side of the street. It didn't take long to sort out the only windows that were set right for an ambush. Ten bucks to a fat old man got me the key with no questions asked and when I opened the door to the first one that was it.

  The gun was an expensive sporting rifle with a load in the chamber, blocked in on a tripod screwed to a tabletop and the telescopic sights were centered on the same window I had looked out of a few minutes before. There were two empty cigarette cartons beside the gun, a tomato-juice can full of butts and spent matches, and the remains of a dozen sandwiches scattered around.

  Basil's vigil had been a four-day one. For that long a time he had waited. At any time he could have had Velda. He knew she was there. He told me so. He had watched her that long but couldn't move in.

  The reason for his wait was plain now. It wasn't her he was after at all. It was the kid. He wanted her. He was on a contract to knock her off and had to wait for her to show.

  Only she didn't. Velda had kept her upstairs out of sight. It was only when I came on the scene that he had to break his pattern. He didn't know, why I was there but couldn't take any chances. I might be after the same target he was after but for a different reason to get her out.

  So now it was back to the little Lolita-type again.

  Chapter Four

  It had been a long time since I had seen Joey Adams and his wife Cindy. Now, besides doing his major nightclub routines with time off for tent-circus Broadway musicals and world-wide junkets, he was president of AGVA. But he hadn't changed a bit. Neither had Cindy. She was still her same stunning self in the trademark colors of scarlet and midnight whamming out a column for TV Guide.

  I told the girl not to announce me and when I went in Joey was perched on the edge of his desk trying to talk Cindy out of something new in minks. He wasn't getting anywhere. I said, "Hello, buddy."

  He looked over his shoulder, grinned, and hopped off the desk with his hand out. "I'll be damned," he said, "you finally picked up the rain check. Where you been?"

  "On the wrong street." I looked past him. "Hello, beautiful."

  Cindy threw me a flashing smile. "I told Joey you'd show up. We've been following the obituaries. You leave a trail, Mike."

  "I was following one."

  "That's what Hy said. You big fink, why didn't you come visit when you needed help?"

  "Hell, kid, I didn't need any help to stay drunk."

  "That's not what I meant."

  Joey waved at her impatiently. "Come on, come on, what's new? Look, suppose we..."

  "I need help now, pal."

  It caught him off balance a second. "Listen, I'm no AA, but..."

  "Not that kind of help," I grinned.

  "Oh?"

  "You've been bugging me to play cop for how long, Joey?"

  His eyes lit up like a marquee but Cindy got there first.

  "Listen, old friend, you keep my boy away from the shooters. Like he's mine and I want to keep him in one piece. He's just a comedian and those gun routines are hard on the complexion."

  "Cut it out, Cindy. If Mike wants..."

  "Don't sweat it, friend. Just a simple favor."

  He looked disappointed.

  "But it's something you can get to where I can't," I added.

  Joey laughed and faked a swing at my gut. "So name it, kid."

  "How far back do your files go?"

  "Well," he shrugged, "what do you want to know?"

  I sat on the edge of the desk and lined things up in my mind. "There was a showgirl named Sally Devon who was in business over twenty years ago. Name mean anything?"

  Joey squinted and shook his head. "Should it?"

  "Not necessarily. I doubt if she was a headliner."

  "Mike..." Cindy uncoiled from her chair and stood beside Joey. "Wasn't she Sim Torrence's wife at one time?"

  I nodded.

  "How'd you know?" Joey asked.

  "I'm just clever."

  "What do you know about her, honey?"

  "Nothing at all, but I happened to be talking politics to one of Joey's friends and he dropped her name in the hat. He had worked with her at one time."

  "Now she's in politics," Joey grunted. "So who were you talking to?"

  "Bert Reese."

  "What do you think, Joey? Do a rundown for me? Maybe Bert can steer you to somebody else that would know about her."

  "Sure, but if it's politics you want, Cindy can..."

  "It's not politics. Just get a line on her show-biz activities. She would've been in from twenty to thirty years back. Somebody at Equity might know her or the old chorus-line bunch. She was married to Sim Torrence while he was still a small-timer so the connection might bring somebody's memory back. Seem possible?"

  "Sure, Mike, sure. The kids always keep in touch. They never forget. Hell, you know show business. I'll dig around."

  "How long will it take?"

  "I ought to have something by tomorrow. Where'll I get in touch?"

  "My old office. I'm back in business, or reach me through the Blue Ribbon Restaurant."

  He gave me that big grin again and winked. Now he was doing an act he liked. There are always frustrated cops and firemen. I shook hands with Joey, waved at Cindy, and left them to battle about the mink bit again.

  Rickerby's man gave me a funny look and a curt nod when I showed, asked if there were anything else, and when I said no, made his phone call to clear and took off. Then I went upstairs.

  I could hear her all the way, like a wild bird singing a crazy melody. She had an incredible range to her voice and just let it go, trilling some strange tune that had a familiar note, but was being interpreted out of its symphonic character.

  The singing didn't come from the floor where I had left her, either. It was higher up and I made the last flight in a rush and stood at the end of the corridor with the .45 in my hand wondering what the hell was going on. She had everything wrapped up in that voice, fear, hate, anxiety, but no hope at all.

  When I pushed the door open slowly her voice came flooding out from the peculiar echo chamber of the empty room. She stood facing the comer, both hands against the wall, her head down, her shoulders weaving gently with the rhythm of her voice, her silken blonde hair a gold reflection from the small bulb overhead.

  I said, "Sue..." and she turned slowly, never stopping, but, seeing me there, went into a quiet ballet step until she stopped and let her voice die out on a high lilting note. There was something gone in her eyes and it took a half minute for her to realize just who I was.

  "What are you doing up here?"

  "It's empty," she said finally.

  "Why do you want it like that?"

  She let her hands drift behind her back. "Furniture looks at you. It means people and I don't want any people."

  "Why, Sue?"

  "They hurt you."

  "Did somebody hurt you?"

  "You know."

  "I know that nobody has hurt you so far."

  "So far. They killed my mother."

  "You don't know that."

  "Yes I do. A snake killed her."

  "A what?"

  "A snake."

  "Your mother died of natural causes. She was... a sick woman."

  This time Sue shook her head patiently. "I've been remembering. She was afraid of a snake. She told me so. She said it was the snake."

  "You were too young to remember."

  "No I wasn't."

  I held out my hand to her and she took it. "Let's go downstairs, sugar. I want to talk to you."

  "All right. Can I come back up here when I want to?"

  "Sure. No trouble. Just don't go outside."

  Those big brown eyes came up to mine with a sudden hunted look. "You know somebody wants to hurt me too, don't you?"

  "Okay, kid, I won't try to con you. Maybe it will make you a little cautious. I think somebody is af
ter you. Why, I don't know, but stick it out the way I tell you to, all right?"

  "All right, Mike."

  I waited until she had finished her coffee before I, dropped the bomb on her. I said, "Sue..."

  Then her eyes looked up and with a sudden intuition she knew what I was going to say.

  "Would you mind going home?"

  "I won't go," she said simply.

  "You want to find out what really happened to your mother, don't you?"

  She nodded.

  "You can help if you do what I ask."

  "How will that help?"

  "You got big ears, kid. I'm an old soldier who knows his way around this business and you just don't fool me, baby. You can do anything you want to. Go back there and stay with it. Somebody wants you nailed, sugar, and if I can get you in a safe place I can scrounge without having you to worry about."

  Sue smiled without meaning and looked down at her hands. "He wants me dead."

  "Okay, we'll play it your way. If he does there's nothing he can do about it now. There're too many eyes watching you."

  "Are yours, Mike?"

  I grinned. "Hell, I can't take 'em off you."

  "Don't fool with me, Mike."

  "All right, Sue. Now listen. Your old man paid me five grand to handle this mess. If isn't like he's caught in a trap and is trying to con me because he knows all about me. I'm no mouse. I've knocked over too many punks and broke too many big ones to play little-boy games with."

  "Are you really convinced, Mike?"

  "Honey, until it's all locked up, tight, I'm never convinced, but at this stage we have to work the angles. Now, will you go back?"

  She waited a moment, then looked up again. "If you want me to."

  "I want you to."

  "Will I see you again?"

  Those big brown eyes were a little too much. "Sure, but what's a guy like me going to do with a girl like you?"

  A smile touched her mouth. "Plenty, I think," she said.

  Sim Torrence was out, but Geraldine King made the arrangements for a limousine to pick up Sue. I waited for it to arrive, watched her leave, then went back to my office. I got out at the eighth floor, edged around the guy leaning up against the wall beside the buttons with his back to me, and if it didn't suddenly occur to me that his position was a little too awkward to be normal and that he might be sick I never would have turned around and I would have died face down on the marble floor.

  I had that one split-second glance at a pain and hate-contorted face before I threw myself back toward the wall scratching for the .45 when his gun blasted twice and both shots rocketed off the floor beside my face.

  Then I had the .45 out and ready but it was too late. He had stepped back into the elevator I had just left and the doors were closing. There wasn't any sense chasing him. The exit stairs were down the far end of the corridor and the elevator was a quick one. I got up, dusted myself off, and looked up at the guy who stuck his head out of a neighboring door. He said, "What was that?"

  "Be damned if I know. Sounded like it was in the elevator."

  "Something's always happening to that thing," he said passively, then closed his door.

  Both slugs were imbedded in the plaster at the end of the hall, flattened at the nose and scratched, but with enough rifling marks showing for the lab to make something out of it. I dropped them in my pocket and went to my office. I dialed Pat, told him what had happened, and heard him let out a short laugh. "You're still lucky, Mike. For how long?"

  "Who knows?"

  "You recognize him?"

  "He's the guy Basil Levitt shot, buddy. I'd say his name was Marv Kania."

  "Mike..."

  "I know his history. You got something out on him?"

  "For a month. He's wanted all over. You sure about this?"

  "I'm sure."

  "He must want you pretty badly."

  "Pat, he's got a bullet in him. He's not going to last like he is and if he's staying alive it's to get me first. If we can nail him we can find out what this is all about. If he knows he's wanted he can't go to a doctor and if he knows he's dying he'll do anything to come at me again. Now damn it, a shot-up guy can't go prancing around the streets, you know that."

  "He's doing it."

  "So he'll fall. Somebody'll try to help him and he'll nail them too. He just can't follow me around, I move too fast."

  "He'll wait you out, Mike."

  "How?"

  "You're not thinking straight. If he knows what this operation is about he'll know where you'll be looking sooner or later. All he has to do is wait there."

  "What about in the meantime?"

  "I'll get on it right away. If he left a trail we'll find it. There aren't too many places he can hole up."

  "Okay."

  "And, buddy..."

  "What, Pat?"

  "Hands off if you nail him, understand? I got enough people on my back right now. This new D.A. is trying to break your license."

  "Can he?"

  "It can be done."

  "Well hell, tell him I'm cooperating all the way. If you look in the downstairs apartment in the building across the street from where Velda was staying you'll find a sniper's rifle that belonged to Basil Levitt. Maybe you can backtrack that."

  "Now you tell me," he said softly.

  "I just located it."

  "What does it mean?"

  I didn't tell him what I thought at all. "Got me. You figure it out."

  "Maybe I will. Now you get those slugs down to me as fast as you can."

  "By messenger service right now."

  When I hung up I called Arrow, had a boy pick up, the envelope with the two chunks of lead, got them off, then stretched out on the couch.

  I slept for three hours, a hard, fight sleep that was almost dreamless, and when the phone went off it didn't awaken me until the fourth or fifth time. When I said hello, Velda's voice said, "Mike..."

  "Here, kitten. What's up?"

  "Can you meet me for some small talk, honey?"

  My fingers tightened involuntarily around the receiver. Small talk was a simple code. Trouble, it meant, be careful.

  In case somebody was on an extension I kept my voice light. "Sure, kid. Where are you?"

  "A little place on Eighth Avenue near the Garden... Lew Green's Bar."

  "I know where it is. Be right down."

  "And, Mike... come alone."

  "Okay."

  On the way out I stopped by Nat Drutman's office and talked him out of a .32 automatic he kept in his desk, shoved it under my belt behind my back, and grabbed a cab for Lew Green's Bar. There was a dampness in the air and a slick was showing on the streets, reflecting the lights of the city back from all angles. It was, one of those nights that had a bad smell to it.

  Inside the bar a pair of chunkers were swapping stories in a half-drunken tone while a TV blared from the wall. A small archway led into the back room that was nestled in semi-darkness and when I went in a thin, reedy voice said from one side, "Walk easy, mister."

  He had his hands in his side pockets and would have been easy to take, loaded or not, but I went along with him. He steered me past the booths to the side entrance where another one waited who grinned in an insolent way and said, "He carries a heavy piece. You look for it?"

  "You do it," the thin guy said.

  He knew right where to look. He dragged the .45 out, said, "Nice," grinned again, and stuck it in his pocket. "Now outside. We got transportation waiting. You're real V.I.P."

  The place they took me to was in Long Island City, a section ready to be torn down to make way for a new factory building. The car stopped outside an abandoned store and when the smart one nodded I followed him around the back with the thin one six feet behind me and went on inside.

  They sat at a table, three of them, with Velda in a chair at the end. A single Coleman lamp threw everything into sharp lights and shadows, making their faces look unreal.

  I looked past them to Velda. "You
okay, honey?"

  She nodded, but there was a tight cast to her mouth.

  The heavy-set guy in the homburg said, "So you're Mike Hammer."

  I took a wild guess. "Del Penner."

  His face hardened. "He clean?"

  Both the guys at the door behind him nodded and the one took my .45 out and showed it. Del said, "You came too easy, Hammer."

  "Who expected trouble?"

  "In your business you should always expect it."

  "I'll remember it. What's the action, Penner?"

  "You sent her asking about me. Why?"

  "Because I'm getting my toes stepped on. A guy named Kid Hand got shot and I hear you're taking his place. I don't like to get pushed. Now what?"

  "You'll get more than pushed, Hammer. Word's around that you got yourself some top cover and knocking you off can make too much noise. Not that it can't be handled, but who needs noise? Okay, you're after something, so spill it."

  "Sure. You are stepping up then?"

  Penner shrugged elaborately. "Somebody takes over. What else?"

  "Who's Dickerson?"

  Everybody looked at everybody else before Del Penner decided to answer me. He finally made up his mind. "You know that much, then you can have this. Nobody knows who Mr. Dickerson is."

  "Somebody knows."

  "Maybe, but not you and not us. What else?"

  "You pull this stunt on your own?"

  "That you can bet your life on. When this broad started nosing around I wanted to know why. So I asked her and she told me. She said they were your orders. Now get this ,... I know about the whole schmear with you knocking off Kid Hand and getting Levitt bumped and leaving Marv Kania running around with a slug in his gut. I ain't got orders on you yet but like I said, when anybody noses around me I want to know why."

  "Supposing I put it this way then, Penner... I'm the same way. Anybody tries to shoot me up is in for a hard time. You looked like a good place to start with and don't figure I'm the only one who'll think of it. You don't commit murder in this town and just walk away from it. If you're stepping into Kid Hand's job then you should know that too."

  Penner smiled tightly. "The picture's clear, Hammer. I'm just stopping it before it gets started."

  "Then this bit is supposed to be a warning?"

  "Something like that."